"The most powerful mafia boss in Queens brought his deadliest dog to a little girl’s funeral—only for the beast to refuse to leave her coffin and growl at the boss’s most trusted underboss. Everyone thought the dog had lost control, until one phone call exposed a betrayal tied to the child’s death. But the real nightmare began when Bruno pressed his ear back to the coffin… as if something inside was still alive.

The Brooklyn Navy Yard at 2:00 AM was a labyrinth of towering stacked shipping containers, glowing crane gantries, and cold, salty air blowing off the East River.

Our three unmarked vans rolled through the perimeter gate without firing a shot, our electronic spoofing devices mimicking the transponder codes of Harlan’s own supply trucks.

We parked in the shadows of Pier 14, right beside a massive cargo vessel flying a Panamanian flag—the primary export hub for Victor Harlan’s illegal syndicate.

“Deploy,” I whispered into my comms headset.

Thirty elite enforcers poured out of the vans like ghosts, melting into the maze of steel containers. Bruno dropped out last, his black coat blending seamlessly with the midnight shadows, moving with an eerie, silent grace.

We moved toward the central warehouse where Victor Harlan was reportedly holding court with his inner circle.

The firefight started when an automated surveillance drone caught Daniel scaling a lighting tower.

Whirrrrr-boom!

The drone dropped a flash grenade, detonating with a blinding white flare that illuminated the entire yard.

“We’re compromised!” Tony yelled over the comms. “Push forward!”

Instantly, the docks erupted into a warzone.

Harlan’s men poured out of the shipping containers and the central warehouse, raising assault rifles and screaming orders. Tracers cut through the foggy night air like glowing red ribbons, pinging off steel containers and shattering asphalt.

“Move, move, move!” I shouted, leading our strike team through a narrow gap between two forty-foot containers.

Tomas stayed right at my shoulder, firing his Colt .45 with terrifying accuracy, dropping two of Harlan’s mercenaries who tried to flank our position.

We fought our way across the open tarmac, step by step, inch by inch, until we reached the heavy steel double doors of the central warehouse.

Daniel slammed a shaped breaching charge against the center seam of the doors.

“Fire in the hole!” he roared.

BOOM!

The steel doors blew inward in a cloud of thick gray smoke and shredded metal.

We surged inside.

At the far end of the vast, echoing warehouse stood Victor Harlan. He was flanked by six of his deadliest enforcers, his face twisted in a snarl of absolute panic as he realized his empire was burning to the ground around him.

“Moretti!” Harlan screamed, raising a gold-plated SIG Sauer pistol. “You think you can walk into my yard—?!”

Before Harlan could finish his sentence, a massive black shape vaulted over a stack of wooden crates behind him.

Bruno.

The mastiff landed squarely on the back of Harlan’s lead enforcer, driving him face-first into the concrete and ripping the assault rifle right out of his hands.

The remaining guards raised their weapons to fire on the dog, but Tony and Daniel opened up, dropping them in a synchronized volley of lead.

Harlan tried to aim his gold pistol at me, but I stepped forward, raised my Sig Sauer, and fired a single, clean round that clipped his wrist, sending his gun clattering across the concrete floor.

Harlan shrieked, clutching his bleeding hand as he stumbled backward against a stack of stacked export crates.

I walked slowly across the warehouse floor, my boots crunching on empty shell casings. Bruno trotted up beside me, stopping two feet from Harlan, his teeth bared, a low, menacing growl vibrating in his chest.

Tomas walked up behind me, his pistol raised, pointing straight between Victor Harlan’s eyes.

“Please…” Harlan choked out, sliding down the side of the crate until he was sitting on the floor, bleeding and broken. “Please, Dom… we can make a deal. I have money. Millions in offshore accounts. I can give you everything!”

I stopped right in front of him, looking down as if he were an insect crawling in the dirt.

“You tried to buy my city,” I said softly. “You tried to traffic children through my streets. And you buried a seven-year-old girl alive in a white box to hide your cowardice.”

Harlan’s face turned gray. “I… I didn't know she was still—!”

“My dog knew,” I interrupted, my voice dropping into a lethal whisper. “And that was your first and last mistake.”

I turned to Tomas.

“He’s yours,” I said.

Tomas lowered his pistol just an inch, took a deep, shuddering breath, and pulled the trigger.