Chapter 2 - Waking Up to BloodTony’s eyes didn’t open all at once. Reality trickled in through sensory agony: the chemical smell of antiseptic, the sharp pull of stitches in his right shoulder, and a dull, throbbing ache radiating across his ribs.
He tried to sit up, but a heavy weight pinned his legs down.
"Don't move," a gruff voice commanded.
Tony turned his head slowly. Miller stood by the window, moonlight cutting sharp shadows across his weathered face. Near the foot of the bed, Bruno raised his head, letting out a soft, questioning whine as he inched closer to lick Tony’s calloused hand.
"The dog wouldn't let the doctors touch you until they let him inside," Miller said quietly, walking over to the bedside. "He saved your life, Tony. If he hadn't stayed, you would have bled out in that alley while the neighborhood pretended not to hear the shots."
Tony stared at the ceiling, his mind racing through the fog of heavy painkillers. The phone call. The glass shattering. The double-tap through the rear windshield.
"Marco," Tony rasped, his voice sounding like grinding gravel.
"Federal agents think he’s the one who greenlit the hit," Miller replied, watching Tony’s reaction closely. "They intercepted a digital data wipe originating from his safehouse an hour ago. They're moving to arrest him tonight."
Tony’s eyes hardened, the cold, calculated mafia boss instantly replacing the wounded man. "Vance is walking into a meat grinder."
Miller frowned. "What are you talking about?"
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"Marco isn't smart enough to orchestrate a double-tap ambush with professional mercenaries," Tony whispered, gritting his teeth as he forced his left arm to twitch. "Marco wants money. This wasn't about money. This was about silence. Someone else gave the order."
Before Miller could answer, the door to the room swung open with a violent crash.
