Chapter 4 - The Poisoned Dish
The next two weeks passed in a blur of routine and subtle shifts within the Moretti household.
Grace's life changed dramatically. Instead of scrubbing floors until her knees bled, she spent her days walking Titan and Nero through the vast, rolling grounds of the estate. Under her calm care, the dogs transformed. They stopped pacing frantically in their runs; their coats grew glossy, and they began obeying basic commands with eager devotion. Wherever Grace went, eighty pounds of gray-brindle muscle followed like faithful shadows.
The staff watched in absolute astonishment. Guards who had previously used iron poles to move the dogs now saw Grace sitting on the lawn, reading a book while Titan rested his heavy head in her lap and Nero chased tennis balls across the grass.
More surprisingly, Matteo Moretti began spending his mornings on the terrace, drinking his coffee while watching Grace work with the dogs.
"He's watching you, child," Dolores warned Grace one afternoon in the kitchen as Grace prepped the dogs' fresh meat meals. "Matteo Moretti doesn't spend four hours sitting on a terrace unless he's evaluating a target or protecting an asset. Be careful. In this house, attention from the Boss is dangerous."
"He's just keeping an eye on his dogs," Grace insisted, dicing fresh carrots and mixing them into raw beef. "He cares about them more than he lets on."
"It's not the dogs he's looking at," Dolores muttered under her breath, turning back to her stove.
That evening, a heavy storm rolled over the estate. Lightning cracked across the sky, shaking the thick glass windows of the mansion. Thunder boomed, rattling the chandeliers.
Grace knew Titan and Nero would be terrified. Bully breeds were notoriously sensitive to loud noises. She grabbed her raincoat and hurried down to the ground-floor kennel room where the dogs slept during severe weather.
When she opened the door, she found both dogs whining nervously inside their large stainless-steel enclosures.
"Hey, sweet boys," Grace called softly, unlocking their gates. Both dogs burst out, pressing themselves against her legs, trembling slightly at a loud thunderclap. "It's okay. Just a little noise."
She sat down on the bench inside the room, letting the dogs lean into her for comfort. As she stroked Nero’s ears, her eyes fell upon their stainless-steel feeding bowls sitting near the corner wall.
The evening meal had already been served by one of the junior kitchen staff. But the meat looked wrong.
Grace frowned. She stood up, walking over to the bowls, and knelt down. The raw beef was covered in a strange, slick yellowish sheen, and a faint, sweet chemical smell—like bitter almonds—drifted up from the dish.
Grace’s training from her grandfather's shelter kicked in instantly.
Rat poison. Strychnine.
Her blood ran cold. Someone had intentionally poisoned the dogs' food.
At that exact moment, Titan stepped toward the bowl, lured by the scent of the meat.
"Titan, NO!" Grace yelled sharply, lunging forward and dropping to her knees. She shoved her body between the dog and the bowl, knocking the stainless-steel dish across the floor with her arm.
Titan yelped in surprise, stepping back, while Nero let out a soft bark.
The heavy oak door of the kennel room swung open. Matteo walked in, flanked by his chief security officer, Marco.
"What is going on here?" Matteo demanded, taking in the scene—Grace on her knees, the spilled food, and the agitated dogs.
"Don't touch that food!" Grace shouted, her voice trembling with adrenaline as she pointed at the slick, meat-covered floor. "It's poisoned! Someone put chemical bait in their dinner!"
Marco immediately pulled his firearm, stepping in front of Matteo, while Matteo’s eyes turned into absolute ice.
"Are you certain?" Matteo asked, his voice dropping into a register so dark it sent shivers down Grace's spine.
"Smell it," Grace rasped, standing up and holding her trembling hands out to keep the dogs away. "It's laced with rat bait. If they had eaten even two bites, their lungs would have paralyzed within twenty minutes."
Matteo walked over, kneeling down near the spilled meat. He took one brief whiff, and his jaw set into an expression of raw, murderous rage. He stood up, turning to Marco.
"Lock down the estate," Matteo commanded, his voice dead calm. "Nobody leaves. Review every security camera covering the kitchen and the kennel corridor over the last two hours. Bring me whoever touched those bowls."
"Yes, Boss," Marco said, rushing out of the room.
Matteo turned back to Grace. She was still sitting on the floor, holding both massive dogs by their collars, her body shaking from the close call.
Matteo walked over, reached down, and took Grace by her hands, lifting her gently to her feet. His hands were huge, warm, and surprisingly gentle against her cold fingers.
"You saved them," Matteo whispered, his dark eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. "Again."
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"They don't deserve to be hurt just because people are fighting wars around them," Grace whispered back, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.
Matteo leaned in slightly, his face inches from hers. "You are not just a maid anymore, Grace. From this moment on, you are under my personal protection. Anyone who tries to harm you—or what you care about—answers to me."
