Rain came down on the Moretti estate like someone had paid it to. Grace Donovan got off the bus two miles short of the gates because the driver wouldn't take the

The interior of the Moretti estate was a cathedral of dark oak, polished marble, and quiet money. It smelled of old wood polish, crisp linen, and the faint, bitter scent of espresso. But underneath the luxury, Grace felt the tension humming in the walls. The staff moved like ghosts on soft soles, whispering in corners and darting glances toward the grand staircase.

Dolores handed Grace a ring of heavy brass keys and a clipboard stacked with daily schedules. "You’ll start with the ground floor reception rooms, the formal dining hall, and the study. Do not touch the heavy steel door at the far end of the east corridor. That is Mr. Moretti’s private quarters. Nobody goes in there except Mr. Moretti himself."

"Understood," Grace said, setting her cleaning caddy down on the marble floor.

"And another thing," Dolores added, leaning in closer, her voice dropping to a low rustle. "Don't get comfortable with those dogs. They are guard beasts trained to attack on command. What happened in the courtyard was a fluke. The last maid tried to pet Nero while he was eating, and he tore her sleeve off before Mr. Moretti grabbed his collar. This family has enemies, Grace. Real enemies. Those dogs are weaponized."

Grace remembered the warmth of Titan's heavy head on her lap, the gentle thud of his tail against the grass. "Dogs don't bite without a reason, Dolores. They bite when they're terrified, confused, or hurt."

"Well, don't say I didn't warn you," Dolores snapped, turning on her heel and marching toward the kitchen.

Grace spent the next three hours sweeping, dusting, and polishing. She didn't mind hard labor. Growing up in a working-class town with a sick father and three younger siblings had taught her how to put her head down and earn a check. At twenty-six, she was curvy, soft-spoken, and used to being overlooked. People usually noticed her size before they noticed her brains, but Grace didn't care. She was here to work, save money, and keep her head low.

By 2:00 PM, she was dusting the mahogany bookshelves in the main library when she heard soft, heavy footfalls behind her.

She turned around carefully.

Titan and Nero stood in the doorway. They weren't wearing their heavy leather working harnesses now. Without their master or the security detail present, they looked surprisingly vulnerable—two massive, muscular animals with scarred ears and cautious eyes. Titan took two slow steps into the library, sniffing the air, his tail tucked low.

"Hey, big guys," Grace murmured, lowering herself onto her knees so she wasn't looming over them. She held out the back of her hand, keeping her posture completely relaxed.

Nero was the first to move. He trotted across the Persian rug, pressing his large snout directly against her palm, letting out a long, shuddering sigh. Titan followed, wedging his massive body between Grace and the bookshelf, practically knocking her over as he demanded chin scratches.

"You're not monsters, are you?" Grace whispered, running her hands over Titan's broad back. As her fingers moved along his flank, she felt a sharp flinch. Titan whined, turning his head quickly.

Grace froze. She gently parted his short gray fur. Underneath, near his shoulder blade, was a jagged, angry red scar—and right beside it, a swollen knot under the skin that looked fresh and inflamed.

"Oh, sweet boy," Grace breathed, her heart aching. "You've got an abscess. No wonder you're touchy. You're in pain."

"What are you doing to my dog?"

The sharp, ice-cold voice broke the silence of the library. Grace jumped slightly, but kept her hand resting gently on Titan's flank to keep him calm.

Matteo Moretti leaned against the doorframe, his dark jacket unbuttoned, revealing a crisp white shirt beneath. His dark eyes were fixed on her with lethal concentration.

"He's hurt, Mr. Moretti," Grace said honestly, looking straight at him. "Titan has an infected cyst or a foreign body embedded under his skin right near his shoulder. He flinched because it hurts. Have you had your vet check his back recently?"

Matteo stepped into the room, his eyes darkening. "Dr. Rossi examined both dogs three days ago. He said they were fine."

"Well, Dr. Rossi missed something," Grace said flatly, standing up slowly. "If a dog is in pain every time someone touches his collar or shoulder, he's going to snap. People call it aggression, but it's just self-defense."

Matteo stared at her. For a long, dangerous silence, the air in the library grew so thick Grace could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall. A powerful mafia boss wasn't used to being corrected by a temporary maid in a damp uniform.

"You claim to know more than a licensed veterinarian?" he asked, his voice dangerously smooth.

"I know dogs," Grace replied simple. "My grandfather ran a rescue for abused pit bulls for thirty years. I grew up digging splinters out of paws and treating infected bite wounds. If you let me grab warm water, salt, and a pair of sterile tweezers from your medical kit, I can clear that pocket out right now. He'll feel relief in ten minutes."

Matteo looked down at Titan. The dog had sat down beside Grace's knees, leaning his heavy ribcage against her legs, panting softly. He looked completely relaxed—a state Matteo had rarely seen the dog in around strangers.