Chapter 3 - The Broken Decanter
Bianca froze, her eyes darting toward the dog lying at Clara’s feet.
“Matteo!” Bianca shrieked softly, taking a step back. “Get that monster away from me! Why is he still in your private study with this maid?”
“Bruno stays where he wishes, Bianca,” Matteo said calmly, his tone devoid of warmth. “And Clara is currently receiving her new security directives.”
Bianca glared at Clara, her eyes narrowing into cold slits of hatred. “Directives? For a girl who washed dishes in a diner two weeks ago? Matteo, your generosity is noble, but you are being foolish. She is a distraction. And frankly, her presence in the private quarters is unseemly.”
Clara stood up slowly, keeping her hands relaxed so as not to agitate Bruno. “I will return to the staff quarters, Signor Moretti. Bruno needs his evening meal.”
“Sit down, Clara,” Matteo commanded again, his voice leaving zero room for debate.
Clara hesitated, then sat back down.
Bianca’s face turned bright red with fury. She reached out to pick up the crystal decanter to pour Matteo a drink, her manicured hands trembling with anger. “Matteo, I am your guest! My father is your primary logistics partner in Genoa! You cannot treat me like an unwanted intruder in front of a servant!”
In her anger, Bianca lifted the heavy decanter too quickly. Her foot caught the edge of the Persian rug, and the decanter slipped from her fingers.
The heavy lead crystal smashed against the corner of Matteo’s mahogany desk, shattering into a hundred razor-sharp shards, splashing amber Scotch and sharp glass across the floor—right toward Clara’s bare ankles.
Bruno reacted instantly.
Expecting a threat, the massive black dog lunged forward with a fierce, deafening bark, his body shielding Clara’s legs from the falling glass.
Bianca screamed in terror, stumbling backward, her high heels twisting as she fell heavily onto her hands and knees in the doorway.
“Security!” Bianca shrieked hysterically. “He’s attacking me! Shoot him!”
Two armed guards rushed into the hallway, pulling their weapons.
“Hold your fire!” Matteo roared, standing up from his desk like an angry god, his presence so terrifying that the two guards instantly froze, dropping their muzzles to the floor.
The study fell into a deathly silence, broken only by Bianca’s heavy, frantic sobbing on the floor and Bruno’s deep, rhythmic breathing as he stood over Clara.
Matteo walked around his desk, stepping over the puddle of Scotch and broken crystal. He didn't look at Bianca. He looked directly at Clara.
“Are you cut?” Matteo asked, his voice unexpectedly gentle.
Clara looked down at her feet. Bruno was pressing his body against her shins, making sure no glass touched her skin. “No. I’m fine. Bruno blocked it.”
Matteo looked down at the dog, reaching out his hand to stroke Bruno’s scarred head. The dog leaned into his master’s touch, his growl subsiding completely.
Then, Matteo turned his head slowly toward Bianca, who was pushing herself up from the floor, her silk dress stained and her expensive hair ruined.
“You broke my father’s crystal decanter, Bianca,” Matteo said, his voice dropping into a whisper that was far more dangerous than any roar. “And you raised your voice in my private quarters.”
“Matteo... it was an accident!” Bianca wept, clutching her bruised wrist. “The dog frightened me! The maid made me lose my balance!”
“You will leave Villa Moretti tonight,” Matteo stated coldly.
Bianca blinked through her tears, utterly stunned. “Tonight? Matteo, there is a blizzard outside! The mountain roads are covered in ice!”
“Then your driver had better drive carefully,” Matteo replied, turning his back on her. “My security team will escort you to your vehicle in ten minutes. If you are still on my property at fifteen minutes, my guards will remove you by force.”
“My father will hear about this!” Bianca screamed, her voice cracking with desperation. “He will cancel the shipping contracts in Genoa!”
Matteo stopped, looking over his shoulder with eyes like dark steel. “Tell your father that if he cancels a single contract, I will buy his shipping company by Friday morning and fire him from his own board. Now get out.”
Bianca scrambled up from the floor, casting one final, venomous look at Clara before turning and fleeing down the grand hallway, her tears leaving black streaks of mascara down her cheeks.
Matteo turned back to Clara.
The room was quiet now, save for the crackle of the fireplace.
“Call the cleaning staff to clear this glass,” Matteo ordered gently. “And then, Clara... stay here.”
May you like
Clara looked at him, her heart beating wildly in her chest. “Stay here, sir?”
“The snow is heavy,” Matteo said, walking over to the wide glass window, looking out into the white night. “And Bruno prefers to sleep by this fireplace. Which means you will have your dinner served in this study tonight.”
