THE DON’S CHOSEN BRIDE: THE DOG THAT KNEW HER BLOODLINE BEFORE ANYONE ELSE

The silence in the library was suffocating, heavy with the stench of imminent death.

Frank didn't flinch, even with three heavy-caliber muzzles trained on the center of his chest. His posture remained perfectly relaxed, his hands resting lightly on the edge of the mahogany desk. Beside him, Titan’s lips curled back over massive, razor-sharp canines, a deep, continuous vibration rumbling in the dog’s broad chest.

"Easy, Titan," Frank murmured without taking his eyes off Sofia. The dog stayed glued to Villa's side, his hackles raised like steel needles.

"You really thought you were untouchable, didn't you, Frank?" Sofia taunted, stepping further into the room, her boots silent on the Persian rug. "You ruled the Commission with fear and old-world sentimentality. You mourned a dead woman for nearly twenty years, letting millions of dollars slip through your fingers because you refused to move narcotics through the docks. My father got tired of waiting for you to die."

"Your father couldn't manage a fruit stand without getting his cousins killed," Frank replied coldly. "He was a dog then, and he’s a dog now."

"That dog just bought your entire inner circle," Sofia snapped, gesturing with her gun toward the three guards. "Giancarlo, Enzo, and Pietro. They realized that when the old lion loses his teeth, it’s time to back the new blood. And tonight, Frank, your bloodline officially ends."

Villa felt the blood drain from her face. She looked at the three guards. These were the men who had opened the elevator doors for them five minutes ago, men who wore Costello crests on their lapels.

"You don't have to kill her," Frank said, his voice deadly calm, though Villa could see the cords of muscle standing out like steel cables along his neck. "She knows nothing about the syndicates. She has no claim to the ledgers. Take the docks, take the casinos, take the whole damn city, Sofia. Let the girl walk. Put her on a plane out of the country."

Sofia threw her head back and laughed—a high, mocking sound that chilled Villa to the marrow.

"Are you insane, Frank? She is Elena's spitting image! If a single Don on the Commission sees her face, they’ll rally behind her out of sheer loyalty to your father’s name. No. The heiress dies tonight. And tomorrow morning, the news will report that Frank Costello took his own life after a tragic shootout with unknown rivals, leaving Carmine Falcone as the sole trustee of the Costello empire."

Sofia leveled the pistol directly between Villa’s eyes.

"Goodbye, little waitress."

"No!" Villa screamed, stepping forward not away from the gun, but in front of Frank—an instinct born of pure, defiant bloodline fury that shocked even herself.

In that fraction of a second, chaos exploded.

Titan did not wait for an order. With an explosive leap that shattered an antique wooden side table, the ninety-pound bulldog launched straight at Sofia’s gun arm.

Sofia shrieked in horror as the beast’s jaws clamped around her wrist. The suppressed pistol discharged harmlessly into the ceiling plaster, dislodged by the sheer force of the dog’s momentum.

"Shoot the dog! Kill it!" Sofia shrieked, falling backward onto the marble foyer.

Giancarlo, the traitorous guard to the left, swung his assault rifle toward Titan.

Frank moved faster than human thought. He grabbed the heavy crystal decanter from the desk and hurled it across the room with terrifying force. The thick crystal struck Giancarlo squarely in the temple, shattering upon impact and dropping the traitor instantly to the floor in a spray of bourbon and blood.

Before Enzo and Pietro could adjust their aim, Frank had already closed the distance. He seized Enzo’s rifle barrel, ripping it upward as a burst of automatic fire shredded the priceless oil portrait of Elena behind the desk. With a brutal headbutt, Frank shattered Enzo’s nose, drove an elbow into his windpipe, and swept his legs out from under him in a single fluid sequence of lethal violence.

Pietro panicked, raising his sidearm toward Frank’s back.

"Behind you!" Villa shouted.

Without thinking, Villa grabbed a heavy brass desk lamp by its cord and swung it with all the strength in her body. The heavy metal base slammed into the side of Pietro’s knee. The joint buckled with a sickening pop, sending the guard crashing sideways into a glass bookshelf, dropping his weapon.

Frank spun around, retrieved Pietro's fallen Glock, and put two rounds into the floor an inch from the guard's ear, instantly ending any further resistance.

In the foyer, Titan stood triumphantly over Sofia, his heavy front paws planted firmly on her chest, his teeth bare inches from her throat. Sofia lay hyperventilating, weeping in sheer terror, her broken wrist bleeding onto the white marble.

"Titan, heel," Frank commanded.

The bulldog stepped back immediately, panting happily, trotting back over to Villa and resting his head against her trembling knee as if he had just fetched a tennis ball in the park.

Frank stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving slightly, his tailored suit completely ruined. He looked at the shattered portrait of Elena, then down at the traitors groaning on the floor, and finally at Villa, who stood panting, the heavy brass lamp still clutched defensively in her white-knuckled grip.

A dark, savage pride gleamed in Frank’s eyes.

"You really are my daughter," he murmured.

Suddenly, Frank’s encrypted satellite phone vibrated violently on the desk. He walked over, picked it up, and clicked the speakerphone button.

Carmine Falcone’s raspy voice echoed through the destroyed library.

"Sofia? Did you finish it? Tell me the bastard is dead."

Frank picked up the receiver, his voice dropping into a register of icy, murderous clarity.

"Carmine," Frank said softly.

A choked gasp came from the other end of the line. "Costello...?"

"You sent your daughter to kill mine," Frank said, each syllable ringing like an iron bell. "Listen to me very carefully, Carmine. I am coming to the docks. Bring every soldier you have left in this city. Because when the sun rises tomorrow, there won't be a single person left carrying the Falcone name."