Four armed men stormed into my pet supply store to take back a 130-pound Cane Corso—and somehow,

Titan slammed into him like a runaway locomotive, sending the man crashing backward through the glass railing of the catwalk. They plummeted thirty feet down to the concrete warehouse floor below in a shatter of glass and a sickening thud.

“Shoot the dog!” Victor screamed, raising his pistol toward Titan.

“No!” I roared, throwing my body sideways and slamming my elbow directly into the ribs of the nearest guard, while Roman drew his sidearm with lightning speed and fired two rapid shots that punched clean through Victor’s weapon, sending it flying out of his hand in a shower of sparks.

Chaos erupted across the catwalk.

Gunfire chewed through the metal walls of the office as Roman engaged the remaining guards in close-quarters combat, moving with lethal, terrifying precision. I dropped to my knees, scrambling behind a heavy steel filing cabinet as bullets sparked off the metal just inches from my fingers.

Below, on the warehouse floor, Titan rose from the wreckage of the guard he had tackled, shaking his massive head, entirely uninjured, and let out a roar that echoed off the corrugated iron roof like thunder.

The remaining syndicate guards panicked, dropping their weapons and scrambling for the exits as the massive black Corso charged across the open floor toward them.

Within sixty seconds, the firefight was over.

Silence descended on the warehouse, broken only by the hum of the servers and the groans of the defeated guards pinned beneath Titan’s heavy paws.

Victor Vance knelt on the metal catwalk, clutching his bleeding right hand where Roman’s bullets had grazed his fingers, his face twisted in absolute terror as Roman stepped over the shattered glass and stood directly over him.

Roman didn't fire. He simply holstered his weapon, reached down, grabbed Victor by the lapels of his expensive linen suit, and hoisted him off his feet with one hand.

“The data is recovered,” Roman said, his voice deadly quiet. “And your operation is finished. If I ever see your face, or hear your name whispered anywhere within five hundred miles of Boston again, I won't just take your terminals—I’ll take everything.”

He tossed Victor back onto the metal floor like a piece of garbage.

Victor scrambled backward, clutching his bleeding hand, and fled down the stairs into the shadows of the warehouse, disappearing into the night.

Roman turned around slowly, walking back toward where I was still sitting against the steel filing cabinet, trying to steady the wild, frantic beating of my heart.

He extended a hand down toward me.

I looked at his calloused palm, took a deep breath, and placed my hand in his. He hauled me smoothly to my feet, pulling me just a fraction closer than necessary.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his dark eyes scanning my face with a depth of genuine concern that completely dismantled his usual icy armor.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “Just... ready to go home.”

Roman offered a rare, genuine smile—the first one I had ever seen touch his eyes.

“Come on,” he said softly, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go home.”

Three months later, the sign hanging above the doorway of the newly rebuilt and expanded Second Chance Pet Supply read: Open for Business.

Inside, the store smelled of fresh cedar shavings, lavender shampoo, and organic dog treats. The annoying electronic Jingle Bell motion sensor had been permanently replaced by a deep, resonant brass ship’s bell that chimed warmly whenever someone walked through the door.

I stood behind the cash counter, unboxing a new shipment of chew toys, when the brass bell rang.

I looked up.

Roman stood in the doorway, wearing a tailored charcoal overcoat, rain glittering across the broad expanse of his shoulders. But he wasn't alone.

Trotting proudly beside him, wearing a brand-new, unblemished leather harness without a single tracking beacon or data drive in sight, was a massive 130-pound Cane Corso.

Titan walked straight across the clean linoleum floor, ignored every toy, walked right around the counter, and planted himself squarely on my right foot, nearly crushing my toes.

Crunch.

I laughed, reaching down to scratch him right behind his velvet ears, before looking up to meet Roman’s dark, smoldering gaze across the counter.

“You know,” I said, resting my chin on my hands with a playful smirk, “he’s still taking up all my floor space.”

Roman walked over, leaning his forearms against the counter, looking at me with a warmth in his eyes that no mob boss or rival syndicate could ever touch.