Chapter 3 - Warm Hands and Cold Steel
Ten minutes later, Grace was seated on the marble floor of the side parlor, a stainless-steel medical tray resting on a towel beside her. Matteo sat in a leather armchair a few feet away, watching her every movement with the hawkish intensity of a predator waiting for a mistake.
Titan lay on his side, his head resting squarely in Grace’s lap.
Grace spoke in a low, rhythmic hum—a soft lullaby her grandfather used to sing in the kennels. She soaked a clean washcloth in warm saline solution and gently applied pressure to the swollen bump on Titan's shoulder.
The dog let out a sharp whine and stiffened, his muscles contracting like iron bands.
"Easy, handsome," Grace cooed, her fingers massaging the uninjured skin around his neck. "I know. It stings. Just give me one second."
Matteo leaned forward, his hands tensing on the armrests of his chair. He knew how Titan reacted to pain. When the vet had given Titan his rabies booster six months ago, it had taken three grown guards holding him down with ropes to keep the animal from tearing the clinic apart.
Yet here was this girl—curvy, unbothered, wearing a faded cotton maid uniform—holding eighty pounds of lethal muscle in her lap with nothing more than warm water and a soft voice.
With quick, practiced precision, Grace used a pair of sterile tweezers to pull a long, sharp splinter of blackened wood out from under the skin. A small amount of dark fluid drained out behind it. Titan let out a deep, contented sigh, his body instantly deflating against Grace’s thighs.
"There," Grace smiled, wiping the area clean and applying a dab of soothing antiseptic ointment. "All gone. Just a nasty wood splinter from the old courtyard fences."
Titan turned his head and gave Grace’s hand a massive, sloppy lick before rolling onto his stomach and nestling closer into her lap.
Matteo stood up slowly from his chair. The dark aura that usually surrounded him seemed momentarily cracked. He walked over, kneeling on one knee beside Grace and his dog.
"He didn't even try to bite you," Matteo said, his dark eyes searching her face.
"Dogs don't bite out of malice, Mr. Moretti," Grace said, looking up at him. Being this close to him was intimidating. He smelled of cedarwood, leather, and expensive tobacco. His features were sharp—a straight nose, a harsh jawline, and eyes so dark they looked almost black. "They bite when they feel cornered or misunderstood. You treat them like weapons, so they act like weapons."
"In my line of work, weapons are necessary," Matteo said coldly, though his fingers reached out and tentatively touched Titan’s head. Titan leaned into his master's touch, but kept his body pressed against Grace. "People in my world do not understand kindness. They understand force."
"That sounds like a very lonely way to live," Grace said softly.
Matteo’s eyes snapped to hers. Nobody talked to him like this. Not his lieutenants, not his family, and certainly not the staff. But before he could respond, the heavy double doors of the parlor banged open.
A woman walked in, her high heels clicking loudly against the hardwood floor. She was tall, slender, wearing a red designer dress that screamed money, her face painted into a mask of cold perfection.
"Matteo, darling!" she purred, stopping dead in her tracks when she saw the scene on the floor. Her nose wrinkled in instant disgust. "What on earth is going on here? Why is the new cleaning girl sitting on the rug with those filthy beasts?"
Nero and Titan immediately scrambled to their feet. Low, guttural growls rumbled deep within both of their chests. Titan stepped directly in front of Grace, his hackles rising, his ears pinning back in an aggressive display.
"Stay back, Isabella," Matteo warned, standing up smoothly and stepping between the woman and the dogs. "They're on edge."
"They're always on edge!" Isabella snapped, casting a venomous glare at Grace. "They ought to be put down! They ruined my Italian leather handbag last month, and now you have the help rolling around on the floor with them!" She turned her piercing eyes onto Grace. "You! Get up and clean this mess. And fetch me a glass of sparkling water immediately."
Grace stood up calmly, dusting off her apron. She noticed how Titan’s body language changed around Isabella. The dog wasn't just aggressive; he was terrified. He was guarding Grace from Isabella.
Interesting, Grace thought to herself. The dogs didn't hate women. They hated HER.
"Isabella is my fiancee," Matteo said, his voice dropping an octave, cold and unreadable. "And Grace is currently performing duties authorized by me. Show some patience."
Isabella’s mouth twisted into a ugly line. "Fiancee for now, Matteo. Our fathers finalize the arrangement next month. I suggest you start teaching your staff—and your mutts—their place before I take over this household."
She turned and swept out of the room, her heels clicking angrily down the hall.
Grace looked at Matteo. He hadn't defended his fiancee. In fact, his jaw was clenched so hard a muscle twitched near his temple.
"I'll get back to my cleaning, Mr. Moretti," Grace said quietly, picking up her tray.
"Grace," Matteo called out as she reached the doorway.
May you like
She stopped and looked back.
"Starting tomorrow, your duties are reassigned," Matteo said smoothly. "You are no longer taking care of the east wing floors. You are in charge of Titan and Nero. You will feed them, walk them, and remain with them. You report directly to me."
