Page 9 of Assassin's Obsession

The shadow detaches itself from the wall beside the dumpster, a deep rumble issuing from deep in its chest.

A dog.

Huge and black, it reminds me of the Cane Corso mastiff my grandparents had when I was a kid.

Fiercely loyal, that dog gave its life trying to protect my nonno from the scum who robbed him coming out of the hospital where my nonna lay dying after a massive stroke.

Nonna's heart gave out completely when she heard the news her husband of 62 years had been murdered and their dog was dead.

Some people said nonno and nonna dying on the same day was poetic. They loved each other so much.

I called it fucking unacceptable and tracked down every member of that bullshit gang before exterminating them like the cockroaches they were.

They were the first ones to lose their hands to my knife.

Severu's father, Don Enzo, insisted I join the Army after what he called my undisciplined killing spree. He said the Army would instill the much needed discipline in me. They did. And they trained me for my future career.

Killing people.

Favoring one of its back legs, the dog nevertheless takes up an assertive stance in front of the dumpster.

Is he protecting someone?

"Whoever the fuck you are, get your ass out here."

Another shape steps away from the dumpster, right in front of the dog. "You'll have to shoot me before you kill the dog."

"Who are you?" I ask, noticing that my prey is trying to crawl away.

Ronnie's headed toward the end of the alley that's blocked by another building. I'm not worried he's going to get away, so I ignore him and focus on the old man barely visible in the dim light of the alley.

"You the one who knocked out the streetlight?"

His ratty clothes and unkempt hair indicate he's living rough, but he stands straight and looks me in the eye. "The dog wouldn't sleep when it was on. Kept jumping at shit."

"He's limping. Does he need a vet?"

"Probably, but if I take him in, they'll scan his chip and return him to his people."

"And that is a bad thing?"

"Yep."

Something about the old man is familiar to me. The way he stands with a ramrod straight spine, his head fixed forward? That's pure military. But that's not the familiarity pricking at my brain.

"Why?" I ask.

"His owner is the reason he's limping."

"How do you know that?" I wouldn't, and don't, give the owner the benefit of the doubt either, but maybe the old man saw something.

"They was walking in Central Park and the dog went running after something. Probably a damned squirrel. He's big, but I doubt he's more than a year old. Still thinks he's a puppy."

If he's that young, he still is a puppy, no matter how big he is. "You an expert on Cane Corsos?" I ask.

"Knew a man who preferred them for his guard dogs."

I nod. It's a popular breed for that. My nonno wasn't the only man who grew up in Little Italy that thought so. Descended from the original breed to protect Roman emperors, the Cane Corso is the most popular breed of guard dog amongla famiglia.

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