Billionaire Mafia Boss Offers $500,000 Reward for Retired Police Dog That Sends His Son to Prison

Chapter 5

Bullets tore through the air — shattering what remained of the station’s windows, pinging off metal, kicking up concrete dust.

Mike counted rounds. He had maybe twenty bullets left between his weapon and spare magazines. Davis was firing methodically — picking shots, making each one count.

But twelve against two — with one of them forty-eight years old and exhausted — wasn’t sustainable math.

Mike’s phone rang.

Impossible timing. He almost ignored it, but the caller ID showed Sarah. He answered, shouting over the gunfire:

— Sarah, unless you’re calling with an air strike, this isn’t a good time.

Her response was urgent:

— Mike, listen carefully. I contacted the FBI. They’re fifteen minutes out. Helicopter. But you need to stay alive for fifteen minutes. Can you do that?

Mike looked at their situation. Pinned down. Surrounded. Low on ammunition.

Fifteen minutes might as well be fifteen hours.

— I’ll do my best, he said, and ended the call.

He turned to Davis.

— Help’s coming. Fifteen minutes.

Davis laughed. A sound without humor.

— Fifteen minutes in a firefight is a lifetime, son. But I’ve lived through worse. Let’s make these bastards work for it.

—

The contractors were advancing — using fire and movement tactics. One group providing cover while another moved closer. Professional. Disciplined.

Mike realized they were trying to take him alive. Their shots carefully aimed to wound rather than kill. They wanted him to watch Shadow die. Just like Castellano had promised.

That gave Mike a small advantage.

They would hesitate.

He wouldn’t.

Shadow suddenly bolted from cover — moving so fast he was a blur.

Mike shouted, but the dog was already committed.

Shadow hit the nearest contractor like a missile — seventy pounds of muscle and teeth. The man went down screaming. Two others turned their weapons toward Shadow.

Mike didn’t think.

He rose from cover and fired. Dropping both men with center-mass shots.

Instantly, returned fire drove him back down — bullets tearing through the air where his head had been a second before.

Davis was bleeding from his shoulder, but still fighting, his rifle barking steadily.

Mike called to Shadow — the recall signal. The dog released the contractor and sprinted back, diving behind cover just as more bullets chewed up the ground where he had been.

Eight contractors left. Maybe.

Mike’s ears were ringing from the gunfire. He checked his ammunition. Eight rounds in the magazine. One spare magazine left. Fifteen rounds total.

Had to make them count.

He risked a glance around the corner — immediately drew fire, but caught a glimpse of their positions.

They were setting up for a final assault. Preparing to overwhelm the station from multiple angles simultaneously.

—

A new sound cut through the battle.

Helicopter rotors. Deep and powerful.

Mike looked up.

A black helicopter crested the treeline. FBI markings clearly visible.

A voice boomed from a loudspeaker:

— This is the Federal Bureau of Investigation. All armed individuals, drop your weapons immediately. This area is now under federal jurisdiction. Failure to comply will result in lethal force.

The contractors hesitated. Their job was to collect a bounty — not fight the federal government.

Several began lowering their weapons.

But three others — the ones closest to Mike’s position — made a different choice.

They opened fire on the helicopter.

Massive mistake.

The helicopter’s door gunner returned fire. A belt-fed machine gun that turned the contractors’ position into a kill zone.

Within seconds, it was over.

The helicopter landed in the parking lot — dust and debris swirling. Six FBI agents emerged, weapons ready, securing the area with practiced efficiency.

An agent in a suit approached Mike, his badge held high.

— Michael Cross?

Mike nodded. Too exhausted to speak.

— I’m Special Agent Rodriguez. Sarah Chen called in a lot of favors to get us here. You’re safe now. Both of you.

Mike looked at Shadow, who sat beside him, panting but alert. The dog’s amber eyes met his.

*Safe.*

The word felt foreign.