Chapter 3 - The Ghost UnleashedThe massive Cane Corso launched himself up the stairs with terrifying speed, clearing the entire flight in a single bound. Max bypassed Isabella completely, his amber eyes locked on the shadowy figure emerging from the stairwell behind her.
A muffled curse rang out as a silenced pistol was drawn from a shoulder holster.
Crack.
The suppressed gunshot was drowned out by the heavy thud of a body hitting the hardwood floor. Max had slammed into the intruder with the force of a freight train, knocking the man's arm upward just as he pulled the trigger. The bullet buried itself harmlessly in the plaster ceiling, showering white dust over the landing.
"Get him off me! Get this damn beast off me!" a man's voice shrieked in absolute terror.
I recognized the voice instantly.
It was Marcus Vance—my own chief of security, the man I had personally pulled out of a federal penitentiary ten years ago, the man who managed my personal guards and swore an oath written in blood.
"Marcus?" I stepped forward, keeping the gun trained on Isabella while keeping my peripheral vision locked on the struggle.
Max had Marcus pinned to the floor, his massive jaws clamped firmly around the man's tactical vest, just inches from his throat. The dog wasn't tearing him apart; he was holding him with absolute, terrifying precision. And throughout the entire struggle, Max hadn't made a single sound. No growl, no bark. Absolute, chilling silence.
Isabella didn't look shocked. She didn't look horrified. She simply brushed a stray lock of dark hair from her face and picked her laptop back up.
"Marcus was expensive, I'll give you that," Isabella said calmly, checking her fingernails. "Takes a lot of money to buy the man who guards the boogeyman. But loyalty, darling? Loyalty was never about money for him. It was about ambition."
Marcus thrashed beneath the hundred-and-forty-pound beast, his face turning purple as Max's weight crushed the wind out of him. "Boss... help me... the dog..."
I looked from Marcus to Isabella, the pieces of the puzzle violently snapping into place in my mind. The missing shipments from the Brooklyn docks over the last three months. The leak on the federal indictments that miraculously got dismissed last week. The exact layout of my safehouses being compromised.
It wasn't just Isabella. It was an inside job orchestrated from my own bed.
"You planned this," I said, my voice dangerously low. "The marriage, the kids, the entire life. All of it."
"Every single second," Isabella said, her eyes meeting mine with chilling clarity. "You killed my father’s business in Milan twenty-five years ago, Alessandro. You took everything from him, left him penniless, and forced him to jump off a balcony in Verona. I was twelve years old."
She took a step toward me, her smile razor-sharp. "I didn't want to kill you right away. That would have been too easy. I wanted you to build an empire, to trust me, to love me—and then, when you had everything, I wanted to watch you lose it all."
"Boss!" Marcus choked out, spitting blood onto the rug. "Shoot her! Shoot her, she's insane!"
Max pressed his jaw tighter, and a sickening crunch echoed down the hallway as Marcus's collarbone fractured.
"Quiet," I whispered to the dog.
May you like
Max immediately eased the pressure slightly, keeping Marcus immobile, his amber eyes fixed on me for instructions.
I lowered the Beretta—not away from them, but shifting my aim. From Marcus's chest to Isabella's forehead.
