Chapter 7 - The Threat in the Shadows
The gala ended late into the night, but the air inside the Moretti estate remained thick with underlying tension.
While the guests departed, a sudden storm rolled in over the bay, plunging the grounds into heavy fog. Matteo had spent the last two hours locked in his study with his top lieutenants, discussing disturbing intelligence: Arthur Vance, Bianca’s ruthless father, was planning a hostile takeover of Moretti’s harbor shipping routes—and he intended to use tonight’s event to strike.
Grace was in the small kitchen pantry, hanging up her green gown after changing back into a comfortable sweater and trousers, when the back door latch clicked softly.
She turned around.
A tall, heavy-set man in a dark tactical jacket stepped out of the shadow of the service hallway. He had a scarred face and held a silenced automatic pistol in his hand.
It was one of Vance’s primary enforcement operatives.
“Don't scream, big girl,” the man rasped, raising the gun toward Grace’s chest. “You’re coming with me. Vance wants a little collateral to make sure Moretti signs over the docks tonight.”
Grace’s blood ran cold, but her instincts kicked in instantly. She didn't scream. She stepped back slowly, her hand behind her back feeling for the heavy cast-iron skillet resting on the pantry rack.
“He won't give you anything,” Grace said, her voice steady. “You’re making a mistake.”
“The only mistake was Moretti making his soft spot so obvious tonight,” the hitman sneered, taking a step toward her. “Now move—”
A sudden, terrifying sound rattled the small pantry walls.
It wasn't a bark. It was a low, gut-wrenching, guttural roar of pure, predatory hatred.
From the dark shadow beneath the pantry table, two gray shapes exploded forward like lethal missiles.
Titan hit the gunman at full speed, his eighty pounds of muscle slamming directly into the man’s chest, throwing him violently backward against the steel shelving unit. The gun flew out of his hand, clattering across the floor.
Before the man could hit the ground, Nero clamped his massive, powerful jaws around the hitman’s right wrist, pinning him brutally to the floorboards.
The hitman let out a high-pitched, agonizing scream of terror as both dogs stood over him, their teeth bared, their eyes flashing with feral fury, waiting for a single movement to tear him apart.
Grace picked up the fallen gun using her sleeve, stepping back safely.
Footsteps thundered down the hallway.
Matteo burst into the pantry, his pistol drawn, flanked by four armed guards.
He saw the hitman pinned helplessly beneath the dogs, Grace holding the gun safely, and his two pitbulls standing guard over her like iron demons.
Matteo’s eyes swept over Grace frantically. “Grace! Are you hurt?!”
“I’m fine,” Grace said calmly, lowering the gun. “Titan and Nero took care of it.”
Matteo walked over to the hitman, his face turning into a mask of pure, murderous rage. He kicked the man’s remaining knife away and looked down at his guards.
“Lock him in the basement,” Matteo commanded, his voice cold as ice. “Find out where Vance is hiding. And bring me my coat.”
He turned back to Grace, grabbing her by her shoulders, pulling her fiercely against his broad chest. He buried his face in her hair, breathing heavily, his entire frame shaking with raw adrenaline and fear.
“If anything had happened to you...” Matteo whispered hoarsely into her ear. “If he had touched you...”
Grace wrapped her thick arms around his waist, holding him tight, feeling the wild, rapid beat of his heart against her cheek.
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“I’m fine, Matteo,” she whispered back softly. “Your boys protected me.”
Matteo pulled back slightly, looking down into her eyes, his hands framing her face tenderly. “They protected you because you are the heart of this house, Grace. And I am never letting anyone endanger you again.”
