Chapter 7 - The Cleansing Fire
By evening, the estate was quiet again.
The wounded mercenaries had been secured in the sub-basement holding cells, the Marauder transport had been towed out through the broken gates, and my private cleanup crew had restored the cobblestone courtyard to pristine order.
Inside the main dining room, the heavy mahogany table was lit by the soft glow of candlelight.
Emma sat in a high chair at the end of the table, happily spooning chicken noodle soup into her mouth while her cream teddy bear sat propped up beside her plate like a distinguished guest.
Sophia sat across from me, her hands wrapped around a mug of hot tea, her eyes cast down toward the wood grain.
“You’re free to go, Sophia,” I said quietly, breaking the silence. “Your brother’s medical bills have been paid in full through my private foundation. He was discharged from the hospital this afternoon and is currently on a private flight to a secure recovery clinic in Zurich.”
Sophia looked up, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Mr. Moretti... after everything I did... after letting them into your home...”
“You did it to protect your family,” I interrupted gently, taking a slow sip of my bourbon. “In my world, that’s the only crime I actually understand. But your debt is paid. If you want to stay, the carriage house is yours, and your salary will be tripled. If you want to leave and start over anywhere in the world, my transport team will take you to whichever airport you choose.”
Sophia stared at me for a long moment, the tension slowly draining from her shoulders. She looked over at Emma, who was currently trying to feed a noodle to her teddy bear.
“We stay,” Sophia whispered softly. “Nowhere else is this safe.”
Before I could answer, a heavy, familiar weight pressed against my right knee.
I looked down.
Bruno stood beside my chair. The massive Cane Corso was clean now, his black coat brushing against my trousers, his left hind leg resting comfortably without a tremor. He looked up at me with those deep, intelligent brown eyes, letting out a soft, contented puff of air through his black nostrils.
I reached down, my large, calloused hand scratching the thick fur behind his ears.
“Good boy,” I murmured.
Bruno let out a low rumble of approval, then turned his head toward Emma, resting his heavy chin affectionately on the edge of her high chair tray. Emma giggled, patting his wet nose with a sticky finger.
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“You know,” Sophia smiled, a genuine, radiant smile that chased away the last shadows of the day, “I don't think he ever needed a professional handler.”
“No,” I agreed, looking across the table at the dog who had saved my life, my empire, and my soul. “He just needed someone who wasn't afraid of his heart.”
