Chapter 2 - BRUNO WAS STILL BREATHING
Luca did not take Emma with him.
That mattered.
Five minutes earlier, he had been furious enough to look like the man Chicago whispered about.
Now he stood in the study holding a forged euthanasia authorization while Emma sat with a bandaged shoulder and dried blood still hidden beneath the collar of her torn uniform.
Everything about him said move.
Fast.
Now.
Personally.
Instead, he looked at Mrs. Carter.
“Emma stays here.”
Emma’s stomach tightened.
“No.”
Luca turned.
She swallowed.
“I mean—I want to know if Bruno is alive.”
His face softened slightly.
“I’ll tell you.”
“That isn’t the same.”
No.
It wasn’t.
But neither was putting an injured employee in a car for a ninety-minute night drive because a powerful man was panicking.
Luca seemed to understand that.
He looked toward Dr. Harris, who had remained to finish writing treatment instructions.
“Can she travel?”
Dr. Harris frowned.
“Physically? Probably.”
Emma straightened.
Then the doctor continued.
“But she should rest. And she doesn’t need to be in the middle of whatever this is.”
There.
Good.
Luca closed his eyes once.
Then nodded.
“Right.”
Emma hated that he was right.
She hated more that she was grateful.
Then Daniel entered.
“Car is ready.”
Luca held up the paper.
“Did you confirm the clinic?”
“Yes. Greenfield Veterinary Emergency in Valparaiso.”
“Is Bruno alive?”
Daniel hesitated.
Emma stopped breathing.
“The receptionist would only confirm he arrived.”
Luca’s face hardened.
“They won’t give details?”
“They said the listed owner has to verify identity.”
Luca stared at the forged signature.
“Good.”
Emma looked at him.
He meant it.
Good that a clinic did not hand out private medical information to a stranger on a phone.
Even when the stranger was his security chief.
That small normal rule suddenly felt sacred.
Then Luca called the clinic himself.
He put the call on speaker.
Not for drama.
For Emma.
A woman answered.
“Greenfield Veterinary Emergency.”
“This is Luca Moretti. I’m calling about a fourteen-year-old golden retriever named Bruno.”
A pause.
“Mr. Moretti, can you confirm the address attached to his microchip?”
Luca did.
Then the last four digits of his phone.
Then the veterinarian listed on Bruno’s records.
Good.
No:
Do you know who I am?
No pressure.
Then the receptionist said:
“One moment.”
Emma’s hands began shaking.
Luca stood absolutely still.
Finally another voice.
“Mr. Moretti? This is Dr. Leah Monroe.”
“Yes.”
“I’m caring for Bruno.”
Emma made a sound she could not stop.
Alive.
Luca looked at her.
The entire room exhaled.
Dr. Monroe continued.
“He is alive. He’s anxious and dehydrated, but stable.”
Luca gripped the edge of the desk.
“Was he scheduled for euthanasia?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
Emma’s eyes filled.
“Why wasn’t it done?”
Dr. Monroe’s voice changed.
“Because the transfer paperwork was inconsistent.”
There.
Not miracle.
Procedure.
“The shelter paperwork said owner-requested euthanasia for aggression. But the transport note said advanced age and mobility. When he arrived here, he was frightened, but not aggressive.”
Good.
“We scanned his microchip. The registered veterinary contact did not match the surrendering party’s description. I called Dr. Patterson.”
Luca closed his eyes.
Good doctor.
Dr. Monroe continued.
“She told me Bruno has no aggression history and that she specifically advised against boarding stress.”
There.
“So I delayed any irreversible decision until ownership could be verified.”
Emma covered her mouth.
Luca said:
“Thank you.”
Quiet.
Not money.
Not influence.
Just thank you.
Then:
“I’m coming.”
“That’s fine. Bring identification.”
Good.
“And I need to say this clearly, Mr. Moretti. Bruno is old. His arthritis is significant. He has muscle loss. We need to discuss his quality of life honestly.”
Luca’s face changed.
Pain.
Not anger.
“I understand.”
Good.
“We are not automatically promising discharge tonight.”
“I understand.”
Then Dr. Monroe added:
“He’s resting on a blanket.”
Emma looked toward the blue blanket on Luca’s desk.
No.
Different blanket.
Fine.
Still.
Luca ended call.
Then Emma said:
“Take his blue one.”
He looked at her.
She picked it up.
Held it out.
Luca took it carefully.
For a second his fingers touched hers.
No spark.
No romance.
Just a shared fear for an old dog.
Then he left.
At 10:31 p.m., Luca Moretti drove east with Daniel beside him and a blue blanket folded on his lap.
At 10:34, Vanessa came downstairs.
She entered the study expecting Luca.
She found Emma instead.
Emma stood.
Bad idea.
Pain tore across her shoulder.
Vanessa stopped in the doorway.
Her face was pale beneath perfect makeup.
“Where is Luca?”
Emma said nothing.
Vanessa’s eyes went to the empty desk.
Then:
“Where’s the paper?”
Emma’s stomach dropped.
There.
Not:
How are you?
Not:
What happened?
The paper.
Emma looked at her.
“What paper?”
Vanessa’s jaw tightened.
“Don’t.”
Mrs. Carter appeared behind her.
“Miss Bellini.”
Vanessa turned.
“Where is Luca?”
Mrs. Carter answered carefully.
“He left.”
“For where?”
No answer.
Vanessa’s face changed.
Then she looked at Emma again.
“You showed him.”
There.
Emma felt fear rise.
Old reflex.
Job.
Rent.
Mother.
Bills.
Then something else.
Police report?
Not yet.
But evidence.
Witnesses.
A doctor.
Luca knew.
Vanessa’s power had changed.
Emma said:
“I told him what happened.”
Vanessa stepped toward her.
Mrs. Carter moved between them.
That surprised everyone.
Vanessa stared.
“Move.”
Mrs. Carter did not.
“Emma is injured.”
“She works for this household.”
“Not for you.”
There.
Silence.
Vanessa’s face went cold.
“You think Luca is going to destroy a wedding over a dog?”
Mrs. Carter said:
“No one said that.”
Emma watched Vanessa.
There was panic under the anger.
Why?
Because Bruno was alive?
Or because Luca had seen the paperwork?
Then Vanessa said:
“You don’t understand what that animal has become.”
Emma stared.
“An animal?”
“He urinates in the study. He can barely stand. He barks at night because he’s confused.”
There.
Some truth.
Old dog.
Hard care.
Vanessa continued.
“Luca won’t make the decision because it was his mother’s dog.”
That possibility was harder because it could contain some truth.
Emma’s anger shifted.
Not gone.
More complicated.
“If you thought Bruno was suffering, you could have asked the vet.”
“I did.”
Emma froze.
“What?”
Vanessa laughed bitterly.
“Dr. Patterson refuses to say what everyone can see.”
Emma knew only that Dr. Patterson had advised against boarding and had continued treating Bruno’s arthritis. Whatever the veterinarian believed about euthanasia, Vanessa still had not been authorized to decide it herself.
“He sleeps twenty hours a day.”
“That doesn’t mean you forge Luca’s name.”
There.
Vanessa’s face hardened.
“I was trying to end something cruel.”
Emma stared.
Then:
“By telling a shelter he attacked me?”
Silence.
There.
That was the lie she could not dress as mercy.
Vanessa looked away.
Emma continued.
“You used my injury.”
“You were hurt at the kennel.”
“Because you pulled me.”
There.
Mrs. Carter inhaled sharply.
She had not heard that part.
Vanessa said:
“I grabbed your dress because you were interfering.”
Emma’s chest tightened.
“Bruno never touched me.”
“No.”
There.
Admission.
Mrs. Carter took out her phone.
Vanessa saw.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling Mr. Moretti’s attorney.”
Good.
Not police yet?
Maybe household counsel.
Vanessa laughed.
“Do that.”
Then:
“And tell him I want my own lawyer.”
There.
Good.
No instant confession.
Process.
She turned to leave.
Emma said:
“Vanessa.”
She stopped.
“Why did you remove the photo of Luca’s mother?”
Vanessa’s shoulders stiffened.
There.
The framed photograph from Bruno’s kennel.
Gone.
Vanessa did not turn.
Then she said:
“Because I’m tired of competing with a dead woman.”
There.
That was the first honest thing she said all night.
Then she walked away.
Emma stood very still.
Mrs. Carter looked at her.
“That explains Bruno?”
“No.”
Emma knew that.
Grief jealousy can explain resentment.
It does not explain forgery.
Or threats.
Or lying about a dog attack.
Then Emma’s phone rang.
Unknown Indiana number.
She answered immediately.
“Hello?”
Dr. Monroe.
Not Luca.
“Ms. Collins?”
“Yes?”
“Mr. Moretti gave permission to update you.”
There.
Consent.
Good.
“He has arrived.”
Emma closed her eyes.
“And Bruno?”
A pause.
“He recognized him.”
Emma cried.
Quietly.
Dr. Monroe continued.
“We’re keeping Bruno overnight for fluids, pain control, and evaluation.”
“Is he coming home?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Good.
No promise.
“His quality of life needs a real discussion.”
Emma swallowed.
“Okay.”
Then Dr. Monroe said:
“I also examined the paperwork.”
Emma’s body tightened.
“There is a signature authorizing euthanasia.”
“I know.”
“It appears different from the signature on the microchip registration and the veterinary consent forms Dr. Patterson sent.”
There.
Evidence.
“We are preserving the original and notifying the shelter’s compliance officer.”
Good.
“Mr. Moretti’s attorney asked us not to send anything directly to his household except through documented channels.”
Good.
No coverup.
Then:
“One more thing.”
Emma waited.
“The surrender form listed you as the person Bruno attacked.”
There.
“I know.”
“If you are willing, the shelter may need a statement.”
Emma looked at her bandaged shoulder.
Fear again.
Then:
“Yes.”
Good.
Not for Luca.
For the record.
At 1:08 a.m., Luca came home without Bruno.
That scared Emma until she saw the blue blanket was gone too.
He entered the kitchen where Emma was drinking tea because sleep had become impossible.
He looked exhausted.
“How is he?”
“Stable.”
There.
Then:
“He has a severe arthritis flare, dehydration, and stress from transport.”
Emma nodded.
“Is he suffering?”
Luca looked down.
“Yes.”
There.
Honest.
Then:
“But Dr. Monroe says pain control may help enough for him to have comfortable time.”
Good.
“How much?”
“She won’t guess tonight.”
Exactly.
Then Luca sat across from Emma.
No billionaire posture.
Just man.
He said:
“I almost failed him.”
Emma shook her head.
“Vanessa—”
“No.”
There.
“I’m not talking about tonight.”
He looked toward the dark study.
“I knew his hips were worse.”
There.
“I kept telling myself he still ate, still followed me, still liked the fireplace.”
Good.
“Maybe I was delaying because he was my mother’s.”
Emma thought.
Then:
“Maybe.”
There.
Not reassurance.
“Dr. Monroe will tell you.”
Luca looked at her.
Good.
Then:
“Vanessa said she was tired of competing with your mother.”
His face changed.
Emma regretted saying it immediately.
But truth.
Luca nodded slowly.
“That is not new.”
There.
Interesting.
“She has said things?”
“Not like that.”
He looked away.
“She wanted the wedding photos moved from the study.”
“Your mother’s photos?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I said no.”
There.
Then Emma asked:
“Did she move other things?”
Luca stopped.
He did not know.
That frightened him.
Not because every object was priceless.
Because Vanessa had operated inside his house as if proximity were authority.
Emma knew that feeling.
Luca looked at her bandage.
Then said:
“You’re not coming back to work until we know what happened.”
Emma’s stomach dropped.
He saw.
“With pay.”
That helped.
Still.
She asked:
“Do I have a choice?”
Luca stopped.
Wrong.
He corrected.
“Yes.”
Good.
“Do you want to work tomorrow?”
Emma thought about lifting trays with a torn shoulder.
“No.”
There.
“Then you’re off tomorrow with pay. After that, HR will talk to you about medical restrictions.”
Better.
Then:
“And Vanessa will not supervise staff.”
Good.
“She never should have.”
There.
Important.
“She wasn’t an employee.”
Emma stared.
“What?”
“No formal household authority.”
There.
Yet everyone had obeyed her.
Because she was the fiancée.
Power without paperwork.
That was the bigger problem.
Luca looked toward the ceiling.
Vanessa upstairs.
Then back at Emma.
“I need to speak to her.”
Emma stood.
“Okay.”
He looked at her.
“I’m not asking you to stay.”
Good.
Emma left.
No one followed.
At 1:26 a.m., Luca went upstairs.
At 1:29, Vanessa told him she had done it for Bruno.
At 1:34, Luca asked why mercy required Emma’s name.
May you like
At 1:36, Vanessa stopped answering.
And by 2:10, the wedding scheduled for Saturday no longer existed.
