Chapter 8 - The Bridge at MidnightThe Navigator came to a violent halt against the concrete Jersey barrier of the Route 9 overpass, steam hissing from a punctured radiator under the crumpled hood.
The air inside the cabin smelled of cordite, shattered glass, and hot oil.
"Stay in the car," Moretti ordered, his voice iron-hard as he kicked open the bullet-riddled passenger door and slipped out into the freezing twilight, his Beretta raised in a classic two-handed combat stance.
Outside, the scene was a war zone.
Fifty yards back, Moretti’s lead security SUV was burning fiercely, thick black smoke billowing into the evening sky. Two men in unmarked tactical gear—wearing black Kevlar vests with no insignia, their faces hidden behind dark balaclavas—were advancing rapidly down the shoulder of the highway, assault rifles raised, methodically firing into the wreckage.
Moretti fired twice.
Bang. Bang.
The lead tactical operative spun around and dropped hard onto the wet asphalt, his rifle clattering across the pavement. The second operative dove behind the concrete barrier, returning fire with a blistering burst of submachine gun rounds that chewed up the side panel of the Navigator just inches from where Lena sat.
Inside the car, Nero raised his massive head.
The blind mastiff didn't cower. His ears pivoted sharply toward the sound of the gunfire, tracking the high-pitched whistle of the rounds cutting through the damp evening air.
He didn't growl. He let out a low, deep-throated roar—the ancient, terrifying battle cry of a Roman war dog bred to protect its pack against impossible odds.
"Nero, stay," Lena whispered, her hands gripping the thick leather collar around his neck.
But the dog had already made his decision.
With a sudden, explosive surge of muscle that belied his twelve years of age and eight days of starvation, Nero lunged forward, throwing his hundred-and-four-pound bulk directly against the shattered rear window frame.
CRASH.
The remaining glass exploded outward in a glittering cascade. Before Lena could grab his collar, the giant mastiff vaulted through the broken window frame, landing squarely on all four paws on the wet highway asphalt.
"Nero, no!" Lena screamed, scrambling out the shattered door after him.
"Lena, get back!" Moretti shouted over the roar of gunfire, firing another three rounds down the highway to pin the second operative behind the barrier.
But Nero wasn't running away.
Completely blind, guided entirely by the vibration of footsteps on the concrete and the acrid smell of gunpowder in the wind, the mastiff charged straight toward the concrete barrier where the second tactical operative was reloading his rifle.
The operative turned just in time to see a hundred-and-forty-pound mass of black fur and snapping ivory teeth materialize out of the smoke.
He didn't even have time to raise his weapon.
Nero slammed into the man's chest with the force of a falling boulder, sending him crashing backward over the concrete guardrail. A sickening crunch echoed through the overpass, followed by absolute, dead silence from the attacker.
Moretti lowered his Beretta slowly, his chest heaving as he stared down the empty stretch of highway.
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The other tactical vehicles had already retreated, their taillights fading red into the dark New York mist as they hauled ass off the overpass, leaving their wounded behind in the smoke.
Nero stood alone on the edge of the overpass, his massive black tail wagging slowly in the freezing wind, his blind, milky eyes staring blankly into the dark sky where the stars were just beginning to break through the clouds.
