Chapter 9 - Resta
Two weeks later, the morning mist was burning off the manicured lawns of the Moretti estate.
Elena Rossi stood by the open kitchen service door, a fresh basket of linens resting on her hip, watching the sunrise paint the horizon in shades of bruised gold and amber. Life in the mansion had settled into a new, quieter rhythm. The staff turnover had been swift—every employee tied to Vivian’s payroll had been quietly dismissed and replaced, while Elena had been promoted to head housekeeper with a salary that would allow her to put Mia through any school in the state when the time came.
Down the gravel driveway, a large utility van with municipal markings had parked near the western gate.
Elena watched as Nick Caruso walked out to meet the driver, who was unlloading a large, heavy crate from the back of the vehicle.
Adrian Moretti stepped out onto the rear stone terrace, dressed in a simple black sweater, holding a cup of black coffee. He didn't look like a man who had just dismantled a rival syndicate and seized half their northern freight lines in a single week. He looked tired, but for the first time in years, the tension around his eyes had eased.
He walked down the stone steps toward the gate.
Elena held her breath as the side of the crate was unlatched and pulled away.
A massive, gray-black snout emerged from the shadows inside the crate, followed by heavy shoulders and a familiar, lumbering gait.
It was Bruno.
He was thinner, his left paw bandaged from where some back-alley veterinarian had carelessly dropped him near the abandoned warehouse, but his amber eyes were bright and steady.
When Bruno spotted Adrian standing by the drive, the old mastiff let out a deep, rumbling huff that sounded almost like a sigh of relief. He didn't run—he was too old and too heavy for that—but he walked steadily across the gravel until he reached Adrian’s boots.
Adrian dropped to one knee right there on the dusty driveway, paying no attention to the dirt getting on his trousers. He buried his face in Bruno’s thick, graying neck, wrapping his arms around the massive dog’s chest and holding on with a quiet, fierce desperation that nobody in the criminal underworld would have ever believed he was capable of.
Bruno let out a low, vibrating growl of pure contentment, pressing his heavy head firmly against Adrian’s shoulder.
From the kitchen doorway, little Mia peeked out, wearing her yellow rain boots—this time, correctly on the right feet—clutching her stuffed rabbit with its torn ear.
She pointed a small finger toward the driveway and looked up at her mother.
“Look, Mommy,” Mia whispered, a wide, gap-toothed smile spreading across her face. “Bruno came home.”
Elena smiled, reaching down to take her daughter’s small, warm hand in her own.
On the terrace, Adrian stood back up, one hand resting securely on the heavy brass nameplate of the dog’s collar, right over the word he had carved into the leather so many years ago.
Resta.
May you like
Stay.
And for the first time in his life, the word felt like a promise that wouldn't be broken.
