Chapter 6 - THE FEDS, THE FILE, AND THE FANGSThe conference room went dead silent. The only sound was the hum of the central air conditioning units filtering down from the ceiling.
"My dog?" Vincenzo repeated, his tone dangerously calm.
"That animal," Agent Vance said, pointing a finger directly at Titan, "isn't a rescue shelter mutt. He’s federal property. He was registered under the Ministry of Defense-adjacent contractor program used by Viktor Petrov to launder high-grade military assets. He’s classified as a biological tactical weapon. Under federal statute 44-B, we have the right to seize him, study him, and euthanize him as a public hazard."
Titan didn't flinch. But his ears flattened slightly against his skull, and a low, subsonic vibration began to emanate from his deep chest, making the water in the crystal carafes on the table ripple in concentric circles.
"You want to take my daughter's dog?" Vincenzo asked, his voice dropping into a register so cold it made the air in the room feel frosty.
"Your daughter found a rabid wolf in a pound, Mr. Caruso," Vance said, stepping closer, though he kept a cautious three-foot buffer between himself and the massive beast. "That animal killed an operative from the Red Scorpions in your courtyard four nights ago. We have the satellite thermal imaging. We know what he did. If you harbor him, you're obstructing federal justice and accessory to manslaughter."
"Manslaughter?" Vincenzo stood up, towering over the federal agent. "A masked intruder broke onto private property with an automatic weapon in the middle of the night. In this state, my property line is a graveyard for trespassers. As for the dog... he has all his shots, he’s microchipped, and he’s licensed under my name."
"You don't understand, Vincenzo," Vance hissed, leaning in close. "Petrov’s men aren't just sending hit squads. They’re coming for the dog specifically. That dog has a microchip embedded in his skull that contains the encrypted access codes to Petrov’s offshore accounts in the Caymans—twelve million dollars in untraceable bearer bonds. The Scorpions want the dog alive to cut that chip out of his head. If you keep him here, you're putting a target on your entire family's back."
Before Vincenzo could answer, the heavy glass windows of the boardroom suddenly shattered inward in a blinding shower of crystal shards.
CRASH!
"Sniper!" Paulie screamed, drawing his weapon.
Three flashbang grenades came flying through the broken windows, rolling across the conference table and detonating with deafening, blinding blasts of white light and thunderous sound.
BANG! FLASH!
Chaos erupted. The capos ducked under the table, screaming in panic. Agent Vance hit the floor, covering his head.
Through the shattered windows, two figures in black tactical gear swung down on rappelling ropes from the roof, their submachine guns raised, their red laser sights painting the walls of the boardroom.
"Get the dog!" one of the mercenaries shouted in broken English through a gas mask. "Cut him loose!"
They weren't aiming for Vincenzo. They weren't aiming for the feds. Their barrels were locked squarely on the massive brindle shape standing beside Vincenzo’s chair.
Titan didn't panic.
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In the blinding white haze of the flashbang smoke, the massive dog didn't bark. He launched himself off the floor like a furry artillery shell, clearing the ten-foot conference table in a single, gravity-defying bound.
He hit the first mercenary mid-air, driving the man backward through the remaining glass partition with a sickening crunch of breaking bones and splintering wood.
