He swapped the magazine of his pistol with a sharp, metallic click.

“Stay down, Mara,” he said.

I held my phone out so he could see the glowing screen.

His gray eyes narrowed as he read the words, his jaw tightening until the muscle ticked.

“Marcus,” Lucian whispered, his voice dangerously quiet. “He was my father’s most trusted man.”

“He’s the one who leaked the accounts,” I said, holding Bishop’s collar tightly.

The dog let out a low, rumbling growl, his muscles vibrating against my palm.

Outside, the rain poured down, mixing with the smell of burnt gunpowder and gasoline.

A heavy boot stepped through the shattered glass of the entrance.

I saw the silhouette of a man carrying a rifle, his boots crunching on the shards.

Lucian raised his gun, but I reached out and touched his wrist.

“There is a second one coming through the kitchen door,” I whispered.

“How do you know?” he asked.

“Bishop,” I said. “His ears. He is listening to the back.”

The gray pit bull’s head was turned toward the pantry hallway, his ears twitching.