Chapter 4 - Whispers in the Nursery
The heavy iron gates of the Moretti estate opened quietly as our convoy returned just before dawn. The adrenaline of the dock raid had faded, leaving behind a cold, lingering exhaustion. But as I walked through the grand foyer, I didn't head toward my study or the whiskey decanter on my desk.
I walked toward the east wing.
The domestic quarters had been completely renovated overnight under my direct orders. What had once been a cramped room for Sienna and Elsie was now a warm, sunlit suite with plush rugs, custom wooden furniture, and security cameras connected directly to my personal feed.
As I opened the door softly, the scent of lavender and fresh linen drifted out.
Sienna was sitting in an armchair by the window, folding small clothes, but she instantly stood up when she saw me, her posture tense with lingering habit.
"Don Alessio," she whispered, looking at the bandage on my knuckle. "Is... is it over?"
"For tonight, yes," I said, stepping into the room. "You don't need to stand when I enter, Sienna. You are not a servant here anymore."
She swallowed hard, her eyes filled with a mixture of awe and fear. "It still doesn't feel real. I spent years keeping my head down, terrified that one wrong step would put Elsie on the street. And now..."
She gestured to the room, to the soft toys stacked neatly in the corner, to the fireplace warming the hearth.
"You saved my dog. Your daughter saved this house," I said simply. "The Moretti family repays its debts tenfold."
A soft sound came from the bed. Elsie sat up, rubbing her sleepy eyes, her messy curls bouncing around her face. Clutched tightly in her arm was her worn teddy bear; in her other hand, she was still holding the gold Moretti crest I had given her the day before.
She blinked at me, then looked down at Nero, who had padded softly past me to rest his massive jaw on the edge of her mattress.
"Mister Alessio," Elsie piped up, her voice small and sweet in the quiet room. "Nero’s neck doesn't hurt anymore?"
"No, Elsie," I replied, walking over and kneeling by her bedside, just as I had in the snow. "The bad wire is gone. Thanks to you."
Elsie reached out her tiny hand and patted Nero’s large snout. The dog closed his eyes, letting out a soft, satisfied sigh that sounded almost like a purr.
"Nero said he likes the warm room," Elsie declared solemnly, nodding her head as if translating a secret conversation.
Sienna let out a faint, quiet laugh—the first genuine smile I had seen on her face since she entered my service. "Elsie, dogs don't talk."
"He does," Elsie insisted, looking at me with dead seriousness. "He tells me things with his eyes."
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I looked at the child, then at the beast who had refused my commands for the first time in ten years just to protect her.
"She’s right, Sienna," I said quietly, meeting the mother's eyes. "He does."
