Chapter 1 - The Weight of a Small Hand
Alessandro Moretti, a man who navigated the treacherous waters of international business and underworld politics with lethal precision, stood paralyzed in a cramped housekeeper’s apartment. A three-year-old girl—the daughter of his employee—was holding his fingers.
"Sit," Emma repeated, gesturing to the solitary wooden chair near the kitchenette.
Sophia Carter, pale as a ghost, rushed forward. "Mr. Moretti, please, I am so sorry—Emma, you must not—!"
Alessandro raised his free hand to silence her. He looked down at the tiny fingers entwined with his own, then at the massive Cane Corso currently using the child as a pillow. He slowly lowered himself into the chair. It was a mundane action, yet in the context of his life, it felt like an act of surrender.
"He is tired," Emma whispered, leaning against his knee. "He had a long day of being a good boy."
Alessandro looked at the dog. Bruno’s golden eyes tracked him, not with the usual predatory challenge, but with a strange, weary intelligence. He realized, with a jolt, that the dog wasn't just guarding the child; he was shielding her from the tension of the room.
"I didn't come to take him away," Alessandro said, his voice unusually raspy. "I came to see if he needed… anything."
Sophia stood by the stove, her posture rigid. She had lost her husband two years prior, a man who had died in an accident that left her penniless and forced into the service of a man feared by the world. She didn't fear Alessandro’s violence; she feared his reach.
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"He’s happy here, sir," Sophia said.
"I see that," Alessandro replied. He stood up abruptly, breaking the contact with Emma. The room felt smaller, the air thick with an unspoken shift in power. "Keep him, then. But he belongs to the estate. If he moves, he moves with my protection."
