Chapter 2 - The Third-Floor Shadow
The third floor of Villa Moretti was a place most servants treated with quiet dread.
While the lower floors were decorated in warm Italian marble, historical tapestries, and bright glass doors overlooking Lake Como, the master suite was a fortress of dark walnut paneling, soundproof doors, and heavy velvet drapes. It was where Matteo ran his vast international shipping empire—and where he handled the private security operations that kept the northern Italian syndicate families from creeping into his territory.
Clara walked up the wide spiral staircase wearing a clean, dry black maid’s dress, a crisp white apron, and dry leather shoes.
Beside her, walking in perfect, unprompted synchronization, was Bruno.
The Cane Corso refused to leave her side. When she had gone to the staff quarters to change, Bruno had sat outside her bedroom door, letting out a warning growl whenever anyone walked down the corridor. Now, his heavy paws made a rhythmic thump-thump-thump against the Persian runner rugs as they approached the tall mahogany doors of Matteo’s private study.
Clara knocked twice.
“Enter,” Matteo’s voice came from within.
Clara pushed the heavy door open.
The study was bathed in the warm amber glow of a burning marble fireplace. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined three walls, while a massive antique oak desk sat in front of a floor-to-ceiling window looking out over the snow-covered lake.
Matteo sat behind the desk, his jacket off, his crisp white shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing structured, powerful wrists and a faded pale scar running across his left forearm. He was studying a thick stack of financial ledgers, a silver fountain pen resting between his long fingers.
Bruno immediately walked into the room, trotted past the desk, and laid his massive head down on Clara’s shoes, completely blocking her exit.
Matteo looked up, taking in the sight of his ferocious war dog acting like a giant footwarmer.
“Sit, Clara,” Matteo said, gesturing to the high-backed leather armchair opposite his desk.
Clara hesitated. “Servants aren't supposed to sit in the master study, Signor Moretti. Rosa said—”
“Rosa is not in this room,” Matteo cut her off smoothly. “Sit down.”
Clara sank into the soft leather chair, holding her hands neatly in her lap.
Matteo leaned back, capping his fountain pen. “Tell me about your ex-husband.”
Clara stiffened. The sudden question felt like a bucket of ice water poured down her spine. “My... my ex-husband? I don't see what Grant has to do with my employment here.”
“I run a high-security estate, Clara,” Matteo said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low register. “I do not hire anyone without checking their background. Grant Hayes. A small-time gambling addict in Milan who owes sixty thousand euros to loan sharks connected to the Lucresi family.”
Clara swallowed hard, her pulse racing. “I left him eight months ago. I don't owe anyone money. I took this job because I needed a place with room and board where he couldn't find me.”
“He tried to contact you three days ago,” Matteo stated, pulling a small folded note from his desk drawer and sliding it across the polished oak toward her. “He called the estate’s landline asking for you. My security team intercepted the call.”
Clara reached out with trembling fingers, opening the note. It contained a transcript of Grant’s panicked voice, begging the estate receptionist to pass a message to Clara about clearing his debts before “the bad people” came looking for her.
Heat flooded Clara’s cheeks with anger and shame. “I knew it. He’s still trying to drag me down with him. Signor Moretti, I swear to you, I have no contact with him. If my presence brings trouble to your estate, I will pack my bags and leave right now.”
She started to stand up, but Bruno immediately let out a soft whine, pressing his heavy paw down onto her shoe, preventing her from moving.
Matteo looked at the dog, then raised his dark eyes to meet hers.
“You aren't going anywhere, Clara,” Matteo said softly. “Grant Hayes is a weak man who uses women as shields. But he made a mistake by mentioning the Lucresi family to my switchboard. The Lucresi family has been trying to find a vulnerability in my perimeter for two years.”
He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk, his dark, commanding presence filling the room.
“Starting today, you do not leave the estate gates without my personal escort,” Matteo declared. “Grant Hayes will be dealt with by my legal team in Milan. His debts will be acquired by my holding company. He will never bother you again.”
Clara stared at him, stunned. “Why... why would you do that for me? You barely know me.”
“I don't do it for you, Clara,” Matteo lied smoothly, his eyes lingering on her soft, determined face, her bright green eyes, and the slight flush on her cheeks. “I do it because Bruno trusts you. And in this house, Bruno’s instincts are rarely wrong.”
Before Clara could answer, a sharp knock echoed at the study door.
The door swung open, and Bianca Russo stepped into the room holding a sleek crystal decanter of vintage Scotch and two glasses. She was wearing an emerald-green silk cocktail dress that clung to her figure, her blonde hair styled in flawless waves.
“Matteo, darling,” Bianca purred, completely ignoring Clara sitting in the chair. “The snow storm is getting worse. The roads down to the village are blocked. I told the kitchen staff to prepare a private late dinner for us in the west dining room.”
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She walked up to the desk, setting the crystal glasses down with a sharp clink.
Bruno’s head snapped up. A low, thunderous growl began deep inside his chest.
