Chapter 12 - Blood on the Granite
"Alexander, behind you!" Clara screamed.
The mercenary was already squeezing the trigger. But Titan was faster.
With an ear-splitting, primal roar, the Cane Corso launched himself across the granite floor, a black missile of pure fury. The mercenary’s shot went wide, chewing into the ceiling plaster, as Titan slammed into the man's chest. The impact drove the operative violently through a glass display cabinet, shattering antique porcelain into a thousand sharp fragments.
The mercenary screamed, struggling frantically to draw a combat knife from his tactical vest, but Titan locked his massive jaws around the man's arm, shaking his head with bone-crushing ferocity.
Alexander spun instantly, raising the shotgun and eliminating the second contractor who had charged through the corridor. Whirling around, he saw Clara scrambling across the floor, completely disregarding the pain in her knee. She grabbed a heavy brass fireplace poker from the hearth and drove it with all her strength into the downed mercenary's hand, dislodging the combat knife before he could plunge it into Titan’s neck.
The mercenary howled, releasing the blade. Titan delivered a final, concussive bite that rendered the man unconscious on the bloody floor.
Silence abruptly descended over the great room, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the ragged pants of the dog and the hiss of ruptured water pipes in the west wing.
Alexander stood in the center of the smoke-filled room, his white shirt torn and stained with soot and gun oil. He lowered the smoking barrel of the shotgun and stared at Clara, who knelt on the floor holding the bent brass poker, her chest heaving, her eyes wild with adrenaline.
"You saved my dog," Alexander whispered, his voice thick with uncharacteristic emotion.
"He saved me first," Clara breathed, dropping the poker. It clattered loudly against the stone.
Alexander crossed the room in two strides. He dropped his weapon, fell to his knees beside her, and grabbed her face in his large, calloused hands. His thumb brushed against a faint smudge of blood on her temple. "Are you hit?"
"No," she gasped, her hands instinctively clutching his wrists. "It’s not my blood. Are you okay?"
Alexander let out a ragged breath that sounded almost like a laugh, pulling her forehead against his. "I am now."
The heavy double doors of the foyer burst open, making them both flinch. But it was Marcus, his tactical gear shredded, blood dripping from a gash across his brow, supported by three surviving estate guards.
"The perimeter is secure, sir," Marcus panted, leaning heavily against his rifle. "They were a reconnaissance-breach unit. We wiped out the secondary squad at the dock. But sir... their transport vessel had a secure comms hub. We intercepted a priority transmission sent to downtown Seattle five minutes ago."
Alexander rose slowly, helping Clara to her feet, keeping one protective arm locked securely around her waist. "What did it say, Marcus?"
"Sovereign Apex isn't waiting for the morning, Mr. Vance," Marcus said, his face pale beneath the grime of battle. "Julian Vance just posted a fifteen-million-dollar cash bail using Vanderbilt’s legal network. He’s out of custody. And right now, Julian’s private security force is surrounding Providence St. Peter Hospital."
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Clara’s heart stopped. The air vanished from her lungs.
"My mother," Clara choked out, terror tearing through her chest with a ferocity worse than any bullet. "They're going to kill my mother."
