Chapter 2 - The Microchip Scanner
Ten minutes later, the private service elevator dinged, and two armed guards escorted a stout, middle-aged man in an expensive camel-hair coat into the penthouse.
Dominic Moretti—the Castellano family’s chief logistics and security broker for two decades—walked in brushing raindrops from his lapels, his mouth already set in an easy, confident smile.
"Lorenzo, what happened here?" Dominic asked, gesturing to the shattered plates and red sauce on the floor. "Where are the guests? The senator was supposed to—"
Dominic’s words died in his throat.
He saw Nina sitting on the floor. He saw Ghost lying flat across her lap, ears flattened, eyes dark and watchful.
"Dominic," Lorenzo said smoothly, pouring himself two fingers of scotch at the marble bar. "Do you remember the day you delivered Ghost to my estate in upstate New York?"
Dominic swallowed, his eyes darting toward the two guards stationed at the elevator. "Of... of course, Boss. June 2020. Flew him in direct from the kennel in Frankfurt. Certified pedigree papers. Cost two hundred and fifty grand with full tactical conditioning."
"Get the universal microchip scanner from the security drawer," Lorenzo ordered Rocco.
Rocco moved quickly, returning within seconds and handing a handheld blue digital scanner to Lorenzo.
Lorenzo walked back to Nina. "Hold his head."
Nina wrapped both arms around Ghost’s neck, humming the six descending notes into his ear. The dog leaned his heavy muzzle against her collarbone and closed his eyes.
Lorenzo placed the blue scanner against the dog’s left shoulder blade.
BEEP.
A high-pitched tone echoed through the room.
The digital LCD screen lit up with a nine-digit code: US-985-140-772.
Lorenzo tapped the alphanumeric sequence into his phone’s database terminal. A moment later, the state registry record appeared on the screen, registered to Vasquez Auto Repair, Astoria, Queens — Canine Name: Ghost (Rottweiler Mix) — Reported Stolen: October 14, 2020.
Dominic took an involuntary step backward toward the terrace doors.
"You charged me a quarter of a million dollars for an imported German champion," Lorenzo said, his voice dropping into a register of sub-zero ice, "and you stole a mutt from an auto shop in Queens."
"Lorenzo, listen to me!" Dominic stammered, raising his hands. "The breeder in Frankfurt fell through! I had already promised you an elite guard dog for the syndicate meeting! The dog was exceptional—he had the drive, the size! I sent him to a black-site training facility in New Jersey for six months! He's protected you for five years!"
Lorenzo set his scotch glass on the counter with a quiet, lethal clink.
"You didn't just steal a dog, Dominic," Lorenzo said. "You brought an unvetted asset into my private residence. You compromised my perimeter for five years. And you charged me for the privilege."
Lorenzo nodded to the guards.
May you like
Rocco and two operators moved forward like shadows. Before Dominic could reach for his waistband, they pinned him against the glass window, stripped his weapon, and locked heavy steel cuffs around his wrists.
"Take him down to the basement holding cells," Lorenzo said. "I’ll deal with him after dinner."
