Chapter 8 - The Breach
The peace was short-lived.
At three o'clock in the morning, the estate’s secondary power grid was severed. The lights plunged into total darkness, and the backup generators failed to kick in—sabotaged from the inside.
Ruby woke up instantly as Caesar let out a fierce, alarm-like bark, scrambling off the bed and positioning himself at the bedroom door.
The door burst open. Luca slipped inside, dressed in full tactical gear, holding a silenced assault rifle.
"They're inside," Luca said, his voice cold and devoid of panic. "Don Valenti brought everything he had left. He bought off one of my perimeter guards."
Ruby sat up, pulling the blanket to her chest. "How many?"
"Twenty. Maybe thirty," Luca said, stepping over to her. He reached into his belt and pulled out a small, heavy silver key, pressing it into her palm. "There is a panic room behind the wine cellar. Take Caesar, lock yourself inside. It has an independent oxygen supply and a direct satellite uplink to the State Police."
"I'm not leaving you," Ruby said, her hands closing over the key.
"Ruby, listen to me," Luca said, grabbing her shoulders, his eyes fierce. "My entire life, I’ve had nothing worth protecting except an empire built on dirt. Now I have you. If anything happens to you, there is nothing left of me. Go to the cellar."
"Luca—"
Before she could finish, gunfire erupted in the hallway outside. Shouting, glass shattering, and the heavy thud of explosive charges shook the walls.
Luca kissed her hard on the lips—a brief, fierce promise—then turned to Caesar. "Protect her," he commanded in Italian. "Guardala con la tua vita."
Caesar didn't growl at Luca this time. The dog gave a sharp, definitive bark, acknowledging the command. Luca turned and sprinted out into the smoky hallway, engaging the enemy with lethal efficiency.
Ruby didn't hesitate. She threw on her coat, grabbed Caesar by his collar, and ran toward the service stairs leading down to the basement.
The mansion had become a war zone. Smoke filled the grand corridors, punctuated by the flash of muzzle fire. Caesar moved ahead of Ruby, clearing corners, his massive body an immovable wedge of muscle.
As they reached the entrance to the wine cellar, a shadow stepped out from behind a concrete pillar.
Matteo Valenti—Don Valenti’s sadistic son—stood holding a shotgun, a twisted grin on his blood-stained face.
"Well, well," Matteo sneered, racking the shotgun. "The fat vet and the mob dog. Luca’s little treasures."
Caesar didn't wait. He didn't bark. He launched himself through the air like a two-hundred-pound cannonball.
Matteo fired, the blast missing Caesar’s head by inches, shattering the wine racks behind him. Caesar hit Matteo with full force, driving him onto the hard concrete floor. The shotgun flew from Matteo’s hands as Caesar locked his jaws onto the man’s tactical vest, thrashing him like a ragdoll.
Matteo screamed, reaching for a knife at his belt.
Ruby saw the glint of steel. Instinct took over. She grabbed a heavy, unopened bottle of 1945 Vintage Bordeaux from a wooden crate and swung it with everything she had, slamming it directly into the side of Matteo’s head.
The bottle shattered. Glass and dark wine exploded across the floor. Matteo went limp instantly.
Ruby stood panting over the unconscious assassin, covered in sixty-year-old wine, holding the broken neck of the bottle like a dagger.
May you like
Caesar stood up, stepped over Matteo’s body, and licked Ruby’s hand.
"Good boy," Ruby gasped, her chest heaving. "Very good boy."
