Chapter 7 - The Trap at Pier 4
The ring tone echoed through the high-ceilinged room like an executioner's bell.
Adrian didn't look at the phone immediately. His amber eyes remained fixed on Elena, his hands still resting firmly on her knees, holding her in place as if he could shield her from whatever bad news was waiting at the other end of the line.
"Let it ring," Elena whispered, her fingers still tangled in his dark hair.
"Can't," Adrian said grimly. He stood up slowly, his tall frame uncoiling like a coiled spring, and walked across the Persian rug to the mahogany sideboard. He picked up the heavy brass receiver. "Mercer."
Marcus’s voice crackled through the earpiece, harsh and urgent. "Boss, we've got a situation at the South Boston docks. Pier 4. Moretti didn't just send a hit squad to your house tonight—he hit the supply warehouses. Half the container yard is on fire."
Adrian’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. "Casualties?"
"None of our men, but the fire department is locked out by local union blockades that Moretti bought off an hour ago. The whole block is going up, Adrian. And... boss, you need to hear this. They didn't just burn the shipping containers."
Adrian's eyes flickered across the room toward Elena, who was standing up now, watching his face turn to stone. "Spit it out, Marcus."
"They hit Second Chance Paws."
The receiver in Adrian’s hand creaked under the immense pressure of his grip. The temperature in the room dropped to freezing.
"Explain," Adrian said, his voice dropping into a dark, lethal register that made even Marcus hesitate on the other end of the line.
"Someone threw an incendiary device through the front window about ten minutes ago," Marcus reported quickly. "The neighbors called it in, but the local precinct is sitting on their hands. The whole building is a tinderbox with the wood shavings and bedding. It's gone, boss."
Adrian hung up the phone without a word.
The silence that followed was heavier than the storm outside. Elena was already moving toward her coat draped over the armchair, her face pale, her hands shaking violently.
"My shop," she whispered, her voice cracking. "The dogs—"
"Marcus said the neighbors called it in," Adrian interrupted, his voice surprisingly calm, though his eyes were completely black with rage. He moved across the room in two long strides, grabbing her shoulders. "Elena, look at me."
"The dogs are still in there, Adrian!" she cried, her voice breaking as tears spilled over her lashes. "There were four new puppies in the back pen—they couldn't even walk yet! I have to go—"
"You're not going alone," Adrian said, his grip tightening. He turned toward the door, shouting into the hallway. "Marcus! Bring the Tahoe around. Now!"
Goliath was already standing by the front door, his deep chest rumbling with a sound that wasn't a growl anymore—it was a war cry. The massive Cane Corso knew what fire smelled like. He knew what enemies smelled like.
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"We're going to burn Moretti to the ground," Adrian whispered, his mouth pressed against Elena’s ear as he pulled her toward the exit. "Every last one of them."
***
