Chapter 7 - The Final Ambush
A bullet slammed into the stone pillar three inches above Dante’s head, showering them in white plaster dust.
“Down!” Dante roared.
In a fraction of a second, Dante tackled Emily to the ground, shielding her entire body with his massive frame as two more bullets whistled through the night air, shattering the glass balcony doors into a thousand sparkling shards.
Brutus let out a deafening, terrifying roar, his black fur standing on end as he lunged toward the broken doorway.
Through the smoke stepped Leo Marcone—the oldest Capo from Dante’s council—holding a silenced automatic pistol, his face contorted in psychotic rage. Behind him stood three rogue enforcers.
“Leo!” Dante snarled from the floor, keeping Emily pinned safely beneath his chest. “You traitorous bastard!”
“You gave my shipping routes to the feds, Dante!” Leo screamed, his eyes wild. “Carmine was my business partner! You ruined twenty years of profit for a street girl and a damn hound! You’re weak!”
Leo raised his gun, aiming directly at Dante’s head.
“BRUTUS! ATTACCA!” Dante roared.
The massive Cane Corso didn't hesitate. Despite his injured shoulder, the ninety-pound beast launched himself through the air like a cannonball, slamming his massive chest into Leo’s torso.
Leo let out a horrific gasp as he was thrown backward onto the marble floor, his gun flying out of his hand.
The three rogue enforcers raised their weapons toward the dog, but before they could pull their triggers, the heavy hallway doors burst open.
Marco and ten loyal Valente guards poured into the room, their weapons blazing. The three traitors were cut down instantly in a hail of gunfire.
Dante stood up in a single, fluid motion. He pulled his silver sidearm from his shoulder holster, stepped over the bleeding enforcers, and walked out onto the hallway floor where Brutus was pinning a screaming Leo Marcone to the ground.
Dante looked down at the old man who had served his father. There was no rage in Dante’s face—only an absolute, freezing finality.
“You called me weak, Leo,” Dante said quietly, raising his weapon. “My father died because he trusted snakes like you. I will not make the same mistake.”
BANG.
The room went dead silent.
Dante lowered his gun. He turned around instantly, his eyes searching frantically until they landed on Emily, who was standing near the shattered balcony doors, covered in plaster dust, her green silk dress torn at the hem.
Dante dropped his gun to the floor and sprinted across the room, pulling her violently into his arms.
“Are you hurt?! Did a bullet touch you?!” Dante gasped, his hands flying over her arms, her shoulders, her face, his voice trembling with a terrifying panic he had never shown in his entire life.
Emily looked at the blood on the floor, at the fallen traitors, and then up at the formidable mob boss holding her as if she were made of fragile glass.
She didn't scream. She didn't cry. She reached up with both of her hands, cupped Dante’s fierce, blood-stained jawline, and pulled his face down to hers.
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And kissed him.
Dante froze for a fraction of a second in absolute shock. Then, with a deep, guttural growl, he wrapped his massive arms around her waist, lifting her off her feet, kissing her back with a fierce, breathtaking passion that consumed everything in its path.
