The Mafia Boss Unleashed His Dog on a Waitress, Then Froze When Her Necklace Hit the Pavement

Marcone’s smile vanished instantly.

Through the open speakerphone from the brownstone miles away, the sounds of chaos erupted with terrifying speed. Shouts of panic, the heavy thud of bodies hitting hardwood floors, and the unmistakable, bone-shattering snarl of a 150-pound mastiff tearing through an elite strike team.

"What... what is that?" Marcone stammered, staring at the phone in disbelief. "That’s impossible! My men disabled the perimeter guards!"

Lucas didn't answer with words. He answered with motion.

In a blur of absolute violence, Lucas drew his Sig Sauer P226, firing two rounds through the chest of the enforcer holding the blade to Teddy’s throat before the man could even twitch his finger.

Teddy lunged sideways, sweeping the legs of the second enforcer, while the third man raised his weapon toward Lucas.

Lucas didn't miss. A single shot caught the third enforcer squarely in the shoulder, spinning him around and sending his gun clattering across the floor.

Marcone stumbled backward, his face turning ash-white as he realized the fatal miscalculation he had made. He had underestimated not just Lucas Hale, but the contingency network that protected everything Lucas held dear.

"You're a dead man," Marcone hissed, reaching inside his white jacket for a hidden revolver.

Lucas closed the distance across the room in three long strides, kicking the weapon out of Marcone’s hand with a vicious roundhouse strike that sent the older boss crashing over the glass conference table. Shards of glass rained down around him as Lucas pinned Marcone to the floor with his boot planted squarely on his chest, pressing the cold barrel of his pistol right between Marcone’s eyes.

"You wanted to know what happens to men who threaten my life?" Lucas asked, his voice shaking with restrained rage. "I’ll show you."

The office door burst open behind them.

Teddy staggered to his feet, wiping blood from his cheek, holding a secure encrypted radio handset connected directly to the private security team at the brownstone.

"Boss!" Teddy yelled over the static. "The strike team has been neutralized! Bruno cornered the last two in the hallway. Quinn is safe! She’s untouched!"

Lucas closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, letting out a long, shuddering breath as the suffocating weight lifted from his chest.

He looked down at Marcone, whose face was twisted in terror.

"Take him," Lucas told Teddy, stepping off Marcone’s chest with absolute disgust. "Take him down to the shipping containers on Pier 4. Put him on a slow boat to anywhere outside this hemisphere, and make sure he knows that if he ever breathes the air of Ashford Bay again, I’ll feed him to my dog."

As Teddy dragged the whimpering old boss out of the room, Lucas picked up the burner phone still sitting on the conference table.

His hand was shaking slightly.

He pressed the call button, listening to the soft ringtone on the other end.

It picked up instantly.

“Lucas?” Quinn’s voice was trembling, heavy with adrenaline and unshed tears. “Lucas, are you okay? I heard gunshots—Bruno went crazy, he took down two men in the hallway—are you alright?”

"I’m alright," Lucas said, his voice softening instantly, shedding every ounce of the cold syndicate boss he had been just seconds before. "Are you hurt, Quinn? Did they touch you?"

“No,” she sobbed softly, the tension finally breaking on her end. “No, I’m safe. Bruno wouldn't let anyone near me. He’s sitting right on my foot like a giant black rug, refusing to move.”