The Mafia Boss’s Killer Dog Bowed to My 6-Year-Old Daughter—Then He Demanded My Mother’s Name

Stepping out from behind a towering marram-grass dune was a tall, thin man in a leather trench coat. He had sharp, hawkish features, slicked-back dark hair, and a cruel, jagged scar running from his ear down to his collarbone—a souvenir from a prison riot five years ago.

It was Julian Cruz.

Flanking him were two heavily armed mercenaries, their assault weapons trained directly on my chest.

""You really have your mother's eyes, sweetheart,"" Julian said, taking a slow, insolent drag from a cigarette and flicking the butt onto the sand. ""Elena Ramos was a troublemaker thirty years ago, and it seems her little bastard daughter is causing just as much grief.""

I pulled Sophia behind my back, stepping directly between my daughter and their gun barrels. ""Let her go, Julian. She's just a child. She has nothing to do with your war.""

""She has everything to do with it,"" Julian sneered, stepping closer. ""Mateo's direct lineage was supposed to end in that tenement fire in Pilsen. That was my father's order. But somehow, Elena slipped through the cracks. And now, Damian thinks he can use you two to keep the Chicago syndicate from my hands?""

He raised his pistol, pointing it straight at my forehead.

""The Cruz empire belongs to the strong. Not to housekeepers and crying brats.""

Low against the sand, behind the shadow of my legs, Bruno went deathly still.

The 130-pound Cane Corso had flattened his body into the marram grass, his dark fur blending seamlessly with the night. His yellow eyes were locked onto Julian's throat. Not a single sound escaped his lungs. He was hunting.

""Where is Damian?"" Julian demanded. ""Did he burn inside like a coward?""

""Damian is more of a man than you will ever be,"" I spat, my voice ringing with a defiance I didn't know I possessed.

Julian's eyes flared with rage. His finger tightened on the trigger. ""Goodbye, cousin.""

""BRUNO, KILL!"" I screamed.

The word ripped from my throat with the force of thirty years of hidden grief and maternal fury.

Bruno exploded from the sand like a thunderbolt.

Before Julian could pull the trigger, the massive black beast collided with him mid-air. The force of the impact tore Julian backward into the sand, his pistol flying out of his hand and disappearing into the darkness.

Julian's terrified scream echoed across the beach as Bruno's massive jaws clamped down on his shoulder, tearing through the heavy leather trench coat with devastating power.

""Shoot it! Shoot the damn dog!"" Julian shrieked, thrashing desperately in the sand.

The mercenary on the left swung his rifle toward Bruno, but before he could fire, I lunged forward with everything I had. I grabbed a heavy piece of driftwood buried in the sand and swung it with both hands, smashing it squarely across the guard's temple.

The wood shattered. The guard crumpled to his knees, dazed and disoriented.

The second mercenary turned toward me, raising his weapon—

Crack! Crack!

Two gunshots echoed through the night air.

The second guard collapsed backward into the surf, dead before he hit the water.

Emerging from the smoke of the burning cottage was Damian Cruz. His suit jacket was gone, his white dress shirt scorched and bloodied, a deep shrapnel wound slicing across his cheek. But his hand was steady, his smoking pistol aimed squarely at the remaining men.

""Back off the dog, Julian,"" Damian said, his voice cold as the grave as he walked across the sand.

Bruno kept his heavy paws planted on Julian's chest, his bared teeth inches from the man's throat, a terrifying growl vibrating through his massive frame. Julian was sobbing, his face covered in blood, clutching his mangled shoulder.