Chapter 2 - The Hound’s Shadow
By seven o'clock the following morning, the snow storm had buried the Wisconsin woods in six inches of fresh white powder. Inside the servants' quarters beneath the east wing of the Moretti estate, Clara woke to the sharp, mechanical ringing of her alarm clock.
Her body ached. Her hands were raw from scrubbing stone floors, and her left knee was bruised purple from her fall in the courtyard yesterday.
Six days. She had survived six days.
Her ex-fiancé, Grant, had sneered when she packed her single worn suitcase three weeks ago in Chicago. “You’re too soft, Clara,” he had told her, leaning against her apartment door with a beer in his hand. “You panic when people raise their voices. You’ll last four days working for high-society people before they throw you out on the street.”
Clara sat on the edge of her narrow twin bed, pulled on her thick wool socks, and tied her worn leather shoes. She couldn't fail. She had three hundred dollars left in her savings account, and her younger sister’s tuition payment at the state community college was due at the end of the month. She needed this job—even if the estate was owned by a man whose name made local businessmen sweat through their tailored shirts.
She opened her bedroom door to step into the quiet hallway.
She immediately froze.
Lying across the threshold, his massive black chin resting on his front paws, was Bruno.
Clara gasped, pulling her foot back just in time to avoid stepping on his ear. The Cane Corso lifted his head, his dark eyes fixing on her face. His tail gave two heavy, deliberate thumps against the wooden floorboards, the sound echoing down the empty servants' corridor.
“Bruno?” Clara whispered, dropping to her knees. “What are you doing here? How did you get past the security gates?”
The heavy doors separating the main house from the staff quarters were locked every night at ten o'clock. Yet here was the estate's most dangerous predator, lying on the rag rug outside her door like a oversized farm hound.
Bruno stood up slowly, stretching his front legs forward with a low groan before shaking his entire body. His thick coat was dry now, soft and glossy from the heated towel treatment Clara had given him by the hearth fire yesterday. He stepped forward and shoved his cold, wet nose directly into Clara’s palm.
“Oh, boy,” Clara murmured, stroking his broad muzzle. “Mrs. Gable is going to murder me if she sees you down here.”
Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper whose stern face could curdle fresh milk, was already waiting at the end of the kitchen hall with a clipboard in her hand. When Clara rounded the corner with a hundred and forty pounds of Cane Corso walking beside her, Mrs. Gable dropped her pen.
“Sweet mother of God,” Mrs. Gable whispered, backing against the pantry door. “Clara! Why is that creature loose?”
“I don't know, Mrs. Gable,” Clara said quickly, keeping her hand on Bruno’s collar. “He was sleeping outside my door when I woke up.”
“Get him back to the stables! Immediately!” Mrs. Gable’s voice quavered. “Mr. Moretti’s security team has been looking for him since six AM! They thought he breached the perimeter fence!”
Before Clara could answer, heavy footsteps echoed down the main staircase. Luca, Matteo’s chief of security—a broad-shouldered man with a scar running from his ear to his jawline—swept into the hallway holding a drawn firearm. Two guards followed close behind him.
Luca stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Bruno. The dog didn't growl, nor did he tense up. He simply sat down beside Clara’s left leg, leaned his heavy flank against her skirt, and let out a soft yawn.
Luca slowly lowered his gun, his scarred face twisted in absolute bewilderment. “Is he... is he sitting with you?”
“He was waiting outside my room,” Clara explained defensively. “I didn't lead him down here, I promise.”
Luca rubbed his jaw, staring at the dog as if he had transformed into a lap cat overnight. He pulled a radio from his tactical belt and pressed the button. “Boss. We found him. He’s in the lower staff corridor... with the maid.”
There was a brief pause on the radio static. Then Matteo’s calm, deep voice came through the speaker. “Bring them both to the library.”
Ten minutes later, Clara stood on the thick Persian rug inside Matteo Moretti’s private library.
The room was vast, lined with two stories of dark mahogany bookshelves, a marble fireplace roaring with birch logs, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the snowbound gardens. Matteo sat behind a massive oak desk, an open leather ledger before him and a cup of black coffee at his elbow.
He wore a crisp charcoal suit without a tie, his dark hair neatly brushed back, his sharp jaw freshly shaved. Sitting on a leather sofa near the fire was Bianca Russo, wearing a pale blue cashmere sweater and looking thoroughly annoyed.
Bruno walked into the room, walked straight past Matteo’s desk, and laid down on the rug directly at Clara’s feet, resting his snout over her shoe.
Matteo set his gold pen down on the desk. He looked at the dog, then raised his gaze to Clara’s nervous face.
“He refused his breakfast this morning,” Matteo said quietly. “The kennel master opened his run at six, and Bruno walked past him, opened the latch on the yard gate with his muzzle, and walked straight into the house.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Moretti,” Clara said quickly. “I can take him back to the stables—”
“He didn't go to the stables,” Matteo interrupted. “He went to you.”
“She probably fed him sausages from the kitchen,” Bianca snapped from the sofa, sipping her tea. “Dogs are simple creatures, Matteo. She’s bribing him.”
Clara felt a flash of irritation overcome her usual timidity. “I haven't given him a single scrap of food, Miss Russo. I gave him warm towels and treated him like a living creature instead of an weapon.”
Bianca’s eyes flashed with anger. “How dare you speak to me—”
“Bianca,” Matteo said. His voice was not loud, but it contained a sharp, metallic edge that instantly cut Bianca off.
Matteo stood up from his desk and walked around to the front, leaning his hip against the heavy oak wood. He crossed his arms over his chest, studying Clara with an intensity that made her pulse race.
“Mrs. Gable tells me you dropped a coffee service two days ago,” Matteo said.
Clara flushed red. “The silver pot was slippery, sir. I’m very sorry.”
“She also tells me you spent forty minutes yesterday meticulously polishing the brass fixtures in the conservatory because you noticed the sea-salt air from the indoor pool was dulling them,” Matteo continued. “She says you are clumsy with light porcelain, but you pay attention to details others miss.”
Clara didn't know whether she was being praised or prepared for termination. She kept her chin up, refusing to look away.
“Starting today,” Matteo declared, “your duties as a general housemaid are terminated.”
Clara’s heart dropped into her stomach. Grant was right, she thought bitterly. Seven days. I couldn't even make it seven days.
“Mr. Moretti, please,” Clara begged, her voice cracking. “I need this job. My sister—"
“You didn't let me finish,” Matteo said, holding up a finger. “Your housekeeping duties are terminated because you have a new assignment. You are now Bruno’s primary handler and handler-in-training under Dr. Hale’s supervision.”
The library went completely silent.
Bianca stood up so fast her teacup rattled violently against the saucer. “Matteo! You cannot be serious! She is a maid! Bruno is a fifty-thousand-dollar personal security asset!”
“And currently, that security asset refuses to move unless she is within ten feet of him,” Matteo replied coolly, glancing down at Bruno, who was watching Clara with steady, devoted eyes. “Starting today, Clara, you will oversee his meals, his physical therapy exercises for his hip, and his daily walks. You will receive double your current salary, and your living quarters will be moved to the guest wing adjacent to my private quarters so Bruno has direct access to you.”
Clara stared at him, her breath catching in her throat. “Double my salary?”
“With one condition,” Matteo added, his gray-green eyes darkening with an unreadable emotion. “Wherever I go on this estate when Bruno is present, you go as well. You keep him calm, you keep him disciplined, and you do not let him revert to the wild creature he was two days ago.”
Clara looked down at the massive black head resting on her shoe, then up at the feared boss of northern Illinois.
“I accept, Mr. Moretti,” she said clearly.
Matteo looked at her for a long, silent moment before giving a single, firm nod. “Good. Go see Mrs. Gable. Move your things before noon.”
As Clara turned to leave, Bruno instantly rose to his feet and trotted at her side. But just as she reached the heavy oak library door, Matteo’s voice called out behind her.
“Clara.”
She stopped and turned back. “Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“Your shoes,” Matteo said, glancing down at the worn leather footwear with the split sole that had caused her to slip yesterday. “Tell Luca to take you into town this afternoon. Buy three pairs of proper boots. Put them on my personal account.”
May you like
Clara felt a strange, unfamiliar warmth blossom in her chest. “Thank you, sir.”
From the sofa, Bianca Russo watched Clara leave with a glare so toxic it could have withered the potted orchids on the windowsill. But Matteo didn't look at Bianca. His gaze lingered on the open doorway long after Clara and his dog had disappeared down the hall.
