Chapter 2 - The Rules of the House
The interior of the Moretti mansion was less like a home and more like a high-security museum built out of polished black marble, dark mahogany, and bulletproof glass. The air inside was cool, sterile, and smelled faintly of expensive citrus polish, ancient leather, and underlying tension.
Dolores marched Grace through a maze of quiet corridors, pointing out rooms with the rapid-fire efficiency of a drill sergeant.
“The east wing is off-limits unless you are specifically assigned to clean it,” Dolores instructed, stepping over a pristine runner rug. “Mr. Moretti’s private office is on the second floor. You do not knock on that door. You do not look through the glass. If the door is closed, you walk past it. If it is open, you clean the hallway and keep your head down.”
“Understood,” Grace said, carrying her bucket and mop.
“There are six full-time guards inside the residence at all times,” Dolores continued, stopping outside a massive linen closet. “They don't like people moving quickly. They don't like sudden noises. You keep your movements slow, predictable, and quiet. Do you have any questions?”
Grace looked down the long, shadows-drenched corridor. “Where do the dogs sleep?”
Dolores paused, her keys jingling loudly in the quiet hall. She looked at Grace with an expression bordering on exasperation. “They have a climate-controlled kennel suite near the garages. Though lately, Mr. Moretti allows them in his private study at night. Why?”
“Because Titan’s right hip is stiff,” Grace said simply, setting her bucket down. “He’s favoring his front left paw to compensate for it. If he’s sleeping on cold stone or hardwood, it’s going to get worse.”
Dolores stared at her for three long seconds. “You are here to dust the baseboards and scrub the kitchen tiles, Grace. You are not the estate veterinarian.”
“Just making an observation,” Grace smiled mildly, picking up her dusting rag.
By noon, Grace had fallen into a comfortable, methodical rhythm. Her body was built for hard, practical work—she was stout, strong-backed, and accustomed to spending eight hours on her knees scrubbing floors that other people took for granted. She tackled the grand staircase with a bucket of warm water and oil soap, humming a quiet tune her grandmother had taught her.
As she reached the second-floor landing, a heavy mahogany door near the end of the hall swung open.
Matteo Moretti stepped out, holding a thick leather folder. He was flanked by two broad-shouldered men in dark suits with visible ear-pieces. He was speaking in a low, rapid Italian, his brow furrowed in dark concentration.
The moment he stepped into the hallway, two gray shapes exploded from inside his office.
Titan and Nero sprinted down the long runner rug, ignoring the guards entirely. They didn't even slow down as they approached Grace. Instead, Titan slid to a stop on the polished floor, slamming his massive flank against Grace’s knees, while Nero thrust his large, wet snout directly into her apron pocket, sniffing enthusiastically for scraps.
The two security guards instantly reached for their jackets, their eyes wide. “Mr. Moretti!”
“Hold,” Matteo commanded sharply, raising a single hand.
The hallway went dead silent save for the wet, rhythmic sound of Nero sniffing Grace's pocket.
Grace didn't flinch. She set her cleaning rag down into her bucket and reached into her apron, pulling out a small, dried piece of liver treat she had tucked away from her morning coat pocket.
“Sit,” Grace whispered softly.
Both eighty-pound pitbulls instantly slammed their hindquarters onto the hardwood floor, their ears slicked back, their eyes locked onto Grace’s face with pure, unwavering discipline. They didn't look at Matteo. They didn't look at the guards. They looked only at the chubby woman holding a scrub brush.
Grace gave each dog a piece of the treat, gently patting their wide heads. “Good boys.”
Matteo walked slowly down the hallway toward her, his leather shoes clicking sharply against the floorboards. The two guards trailed three paces behind him, looking thoroughly bewildered.
“Where did you get those?” Matteo asked, stopping five feet away. His eyes swept over her posture, noting how neither dog showed a single hint of aggression toward her.
“Brought them from home,” Grace said, standing up and wiping her wet hands on her apron. “I keep them in my coat for the strays near the bus stop. Hope you don't mind, sir. Titan looked like he needed a little motivation today.”
Matteo’s sharp eyes dropped down to the dogs, then back up to Grace’s face. “Titan doesn't take food from strangers. The last trainer we hired tried to bribe him with prime rib. Titan almost took his hand off.”
“Well, prime rib is insulting to a dog like this,” Grace offered a small, easy smile. “He doesn't want fancy food, Mr. Moretti. He wants consistency and a job to do. Right now, his job is keeping an eye on me while I clean your stairs.”
Matteo stood motionless for a moment. The harsh light from the chandelier above caught the sharp angles of his jawline and the faint, pale scar running along the left side of his neck—a mark that looked suspiciously like a knife wound.
“Dolores told me you noticed his leg,” Matteo said softly.
“His hip,” Grace corrected gently. “He’s got early-stage arthritis, or an old injury that didn't heal right. He needs a heated bed and a little joint supplement in his dinner. Cold floors are murder on a dog built like a tank.”
One of the guards stepped forward, his tone clipped. “Boss, the meeting in Midtown is in thirty minutes. We need to move.”
Matteo ignored the guard entirely, keeping his gaze locked onto Grace.
“You’re supposed to be here for two weeks, Miss Donovan,” Matteo said, his voice dropping into that quiet, heavy register that made the hair on the back of Grace's neck stand up. “Temporary coverage while our full-time staff is away.”
“That’s what the agency said, sir.”
“I’m extending your contract,” Matteo said flatly. “Indefinitely. You’ll be paid double the agency’s standard rate.”
Grace blinked, surprised. “To clean?”
“To clean,” Matteo nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly as Titan rested his blocky head directly against Grace's knee. “And to keep my dogs from eating the rest of the staff.”
Before Grace could reply, Matteo turned on his heel and strode down the hallway, his guards scrambling to keep pace behind him.
May you like
Grace watched his tall, dark form disappear down the grand staircase. She reached down to scratch Nero behind the ears, letting out a long, quiet sigh.
“Double pay,” she whispered to the dogs. “I guess we’re going to be good friends after all.”
