A nine-year-old boy followed his dog into a frozen Appalachian forest and found a cold-blooded mafia boss buried alive beneath the snow, his wrists bound and his mouth taped shut.

A nine-year-old boy followed his dog into a frozen Appalachian forest and found a cold-blooded mafia boss buried alive beneath the snow, his wrists bound and his mouth taped shut.

The child had no idea the dying stranger was the Reaper, a man feared across the East Coast, or that saving him would put an innocent boy directly in the path of the traitor who wanted the mafia king dead.

The cold hit first.

Not fear. Not anger.

Cold.

Snow crushed my chest. My wrists were tied behind me, tape covered my mouth, and every breath came slower than the last.

For twenty-five years, men along the East Coast had whispered my name like a warning.

The Reaper.

Now I was going to die without anyone knowing where to find my body.

Six hours earlier, I’d been in Manhattan when my adviser suggested a private trip to West Virginia. I’d trusted him for fifteen years.

“Go alone,” he’d said. “Too many eyes otherwise.”

I should’ve heard the trap in those words.

Instead, four men intercepted me on an empty road.

They didn’t shoot me. That would’ve left evidence.

They buried me alive.

By morning, I’d simply be another wealthy man lost in a blizzard. Eventually, my brother would inherit everything.

Then I heard barking.

Something powerful tore at the snow above my face.

“Goliath! What did you find?”

A child’s voice.

Light broke through.

A boy stared down at me, maybe nine, his brown eyes widening when he realized his dog hadn’t uncovered an animal.

He ripped the tape from my mouth.

“Mister, are you alive?”

“Get help.”

His face tightened. “I can’t leave you here.”

“You can.” I forced the words out. “Leave the dog. Run.”

The boy vanished into the storm.

Goliath stayed.

That enormous dog pressed against me, giving me his warmth while I fought to remain conscious.

I’d commanded hundreds of armed men. I’d purchased loyalty and punished betrayal.

Yet at the edge of death, my protector was a dog who didn’t know my name.

Nearly an hour later, voices broke through the wind.

The boy had returned with his grandfather and rescuers.

At the hospital, a doctor told me, “Another thirty minutes and we’d be having a very different conversation.”

Two days later, I opened my eyes.

My right-hand man was beside me.

“Where’s the boy?” I asked.

He hesitated. “Waiting room. Kid refused to leave.”

When they brought him in, Goliath followed.

I studied the boy. “Why did you come back?”

He shrugged and looked at his dog.

“I didn’t know who you were. But Goliath wouldn’t leave you. I figured he knew you were worth saving.”

A smile almost escaped me.

Then my right-hand man stepped closer.

“We found who ordered it.”

The warmth disappeared.

“He knows you survived.”

I looked toward the door.

“What else?”

“He hired a professional. Triple rate. Twenty-four hours to finish you.”

My eyes returned to the boy.

He was still here.

So was his grandfather.

So was Goliath.

The traitor thought his mistake was failing to kill the Reaper.

He was wrong.

His mistake was dragging an innocent child into my war.

And somewhere nearby, a killer was already coming for us.