Chapter 7 - THE WOLF AND THE JACKALThe battle raged through the labyrinthine corridors of the Cole estate—a brutal, close-quarters firefight between syndicate loyalists and Moretti’s elite hit squad.
Claire stayed glued to Adrien’s right flank, the old Remington bucking against her shoulder with deafening roars as she dropped two of Moretti’s men who tried to flank them near the library gallery. She wasn't a killer, but she was a survivor—and survival had its own brutal geometry.
Beside them, Titan moved like a phantom of death. Stripped of his domestic collar, the massive Cane Corso was a war machine, clearing corners, disarming gunmen with savage efficiency, and clearing a path through the smoke.
They fought their way down to the underground armory—the heart of the estate’s security grid.
Waiting for them at the bottom of the spiral steel staircase stood Viktor Moretti himself.
Moretti was a heavy-set man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit, holding a silver-plated Beretta to the head of a trembling Leo, who had been cut off during the initial breach. Behind Moretti stood four heavily armed mercenaries, their assault rifles trained directly on the stairs.
"Well, well, well," Moretti sneered, his voice oily and dripping with malice. "The king of the harbor and his little stray dog. And a stray woman to keep them company. Put the weapons down, Cole, or the old man loses what little brain he has left."
Adrien stopped at the bottom of the landing. His pistol was lowered, but his posture was coiled like a spring about to snap.
"Let the old man go, Viktor," Adrien said, his voice deceptively calm. "This is between you and me."
"Everything is between you and me, Adrien!" Moretti snarled, his face twisting with rage. "You took the shipping lanes. You took the council seats. And now you’re adopting stray dogs and playing savior to bankrupt animal shelters just to mock me? You think you own this city?"
"I don't think I own it," Adrien replied softly, taking half a step forward. "I run it."
Moretti’s finger tightened on the trigger against Leo’s temple. "End of the line, Cole—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
From the dark shadows of the lower armory ventilation shaft behind Moretti, a hundred and sixty pounds of black lightning dropped without a single sound.
Titan didn't bark. He didn't growl. He hit Moretti square in the spine with the force of a falling safe.
The silver-plated Beretta flew from Moretti’s hand as he crashed face-first into the concrete floor. Before Moretti’s mercenaries could pivot their rifles, Marcus and his guards opened fire from the stairs, filling the lower chamber with blinding muzzle flashes and deafening thunder.
In less than three seconds, it was over.
Moretti lay groaning on the floor, pinned beneath Titan’s massive front paws, the dog’s heavy jaws resting inches from Moretti’s throat, vibrating with a low, menacing growl that promised immediate execution if he so much as blinked.
Adrien walked slowly forward, stepping over a discarded assault rifle, and crouched down beside Moretti. He grabbed Moretti by his expensive silk tie and yanked his face up.
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"Tell your bosses in Europe," Adrien whispered, his voice colder than liquid nitrogen, "that if they ever touch Second Chance Haven, or anyone inside it, I won't just take their docks. I'll take their names out of the history books."
Moretti nodded frantically, his eyes wide with stark, unadulterated terror, staring straight into the yellow-flecked eyes of the massive dog standing over him.
