The catering girl hummed a lullaby — and a crime lord's killer dog crawled to her like a long-lost puppy

The captive operative—a scarred professional named Vance who had once run black-ops contracts in the Balkans—sat tied securely to a sturdy dining chair with heavy plastic zip-ties. His tactical helmet had been removed, revealing a shaved head slick with sweat and a nasty purple bruise where Emily’s cast-iron skillet had connected with his skull.

Enzo stood over him, the Walther PPK held loosely in his right hand, his face carved from cold granite.

Siri sat directly beside Emily, who was kneeling on the floor inspecting a shallow graze on the dog's left shoulder where a tactical knife had clipped him during the melee. The dog was calm now, its massive head resting in Emily's lap while she gently dabbed an antiseptic wipe across the torn fur.

"I'll ask you once, Vance," Enzo said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Who bought the override code?"

Vance spat a glob of blood onto the imported marble floor and offered a bloodstained, defiant grin. "Go to hell, Dante. You're dead anyway. The board voted you out forty-eight hours ago. You just haven't received the paperwork yet."

Enzo didn't blink. He didn't raise his voice. He simply stepped forward and brought the heavy polymer grip of his pistol down hard across Vance's collarbone with a sickening crunch.

The mercenary let out a ragged scream, his body convulsing against the zip-ties.

"The board consists of three old men in Geneva who haven't set foot on a dock in twenty years," Enzo said coldly. "They don't know the difference between a shipping manifest and a grocery list. Who gave you the basement override?"

Vance wheezed, his chest heaving, his defiance finally cracking under the sheer, unyielding weight of Enzo’s stare. "Maria... the old woman..." he gasped out, coughing up a spray of crimson. "She... she took the payoff for her grandson's medical debts... offshore account in Zurich... she let the strike team into the service elevator..."

Emily stopped wiping Siri's shoulder. Her hands went cold. She looked toward the dark service corridor where the housekeeper had vanished ten minutes before the breach occurred.

"Maria?" Emily whispered. "She was just... she was making espresso."

"Loyalty in my business is like oxygen," Enzo said without looking at her, his eyes still fixed on the bleeding mercenary. "People only appreciate it when it runs out." He raised the pistol, pressing the barrel against Vance's forehead. "Where is the ledger Arthur Marcus stole?"

Vance squeezed his eyes shut, his whole body trembling. "I don't know... I swear to God I don't know! Arthur hid it before he jumped—or before he was pushed! But his locker... his locker at the Port Authority bus terminal in Hoboken... his daughter has the key!"

Enzo’s eyes slowly shifted from the mercenary down to Emily.

Emily froze. Her hand tightened instinctively in Siri's fur.

"Your father died in a car accident," Enzo said slowly, his voice dropping into a dangerous, hypnotic cadence. "Your uncle Arthur disappeared. And yet, your apartment rent has been paid on time every month by a postal money order originating from Hoboken."

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," Emily stammered, standing up slowly, the mastiff rising with her like a living shadow. "Uncle Arthur never gave me anything. He was a deadbeat!"

"He was a deadbeat who knew he was being hunted," Enzo corrected, stepping closer to her, his dark eyes searching her face for any sign of deception. "He knew that if he kept the ledger, he'd be fish food within a week. But if he gave it to the one person he hadn't completely corrupted—his niece—no one would ever think to look."