PART 2.
Bruno lunged.
The guard barely had time to pull his hand free from his coat before 158 pounds of muscle slammed into him.
He crashed backward onto the frozen courtyard.
Emma screamed.
Sophia rushed forward, but I caught her around the waist.
“Stay back!”
“Emma!”
Bruno wasn’t attacking the child.
He had planted himself directly between Emma and the guard.
The man’s right hand struck the stone.
Something slipped from his fingers.
Metal clicked against the ground.
Every guard in the courtyard raised his weapon.
“DON’T SHOOT!”
I shouted.
Bruno stood over the fallen man, teeth exposed, growling so deeply that I felt the vibration in my chest.
Then I saw the object lying in the snow.
It wasn’t a gun.
It was a syringe.
And inside it was a cloudy amber liquid.
My blood went cold.
“Everybody freeze.”
No one moved.
Emma had fallen backward beside the bench.
Her teddy bear lay in the snow, but she appeared unharmed.
“Emma,” Sophia whispered desperately.
The little girl looked toward her mother.
“I’m okay, Mommy.”
Sophia nearly collapsed with relief.
I turned back to the guard.
His name was Vincent Hale.
He had worked security at my estate for almost four years.
He knew my routines.
He knew Bruno’s routines.
And most importantly, he knew Emma had recently become the only person Bruno allowed near him without hesitation.
Vincent stared at the syringe.
Then at me.
“Mr.
Moretti, I can explain.”
“You have five seconds.”
“It’s medication.”
“For whom?”
He hesitated.
That hesitation told me everything.
Bruno growled again.
Vincent flinched.
“For the dog.”
I stared at him.
“What medication?”
“The veterinarian gave it to me.”
“Which veterinarian?”
Silence.
I stepped closer.
Bruno remained between Emma and Vincent, but his eyes never left the man beneath him.
“Which veterinarian, Vincent?”
“I don’t remember his name.”
“You’ve worked for me four years and suddenly you’re carrying an unidentified syringe intended for my dog?”
“It was supposed to calm him.”
“Then why hide it inside your coat?”
Vincent said nothing.
I looked toward Marco, my head of security.
“Take him.”
Two guards moved forward.
Vincent’s expression changed.
Not fear.
Decision.
He suddenly twisted sideways.
His hand shot toward his ankle.
Bruno reacted first.
The dog snapped at Vincent’s sleeve, catching fabric rather than flesh, and jerked his arm away from his body.
A compact pistol slid from an ankle holster.
Marco kicked it across the courtyard.
Three guards pinned Vincent against the stone.
“Get off me!”
“Search him.”
They emptied his pockets.
Phone.
Keys.
Wallet.
Another syringe.
And a small folded photograph.
Marco handed it to me.
I opened it.
My heart stopped.
It was a photograph of Emma.
She was leaving a grocery store with Sophia.
Someone had taken the picture from across the street.
On the back, written in black ink, were four words:
THE DOG GOES FIRST.
Sophia saw my face.
“What is it?”
I folded the photograph.
“Take Emma inside.”
“What is it, Alessandro?”
Her voice sharpened.
That was the first time she had used my first name.
“Inside.
Now.”
She looked at Vincent.
Then at Bruno.
Then back at me.
“No.”
“Sophia—”
“That photograph is of my daughter, isn’t it?”
I said nothing.
Her face changed.
She knew.
“Show me.”
I hated the fear already forming in her eyes.
But hiding the truth would only make her more vulnerable.
I handed her the photograph.
Sophia stared at it.
For several seconds, she didn’t breathe.
Then her fingers began trembling.
“When was this taken?”
“I don’t know.”
“That coat…”
She looked at Emma.
“I bought that coat two weeks ago.”
The courtyard suddenly felt colder.
Someone had been watching them recently.
Maybe for days.
Maybe longer.
Sophia crouched and pulled Emma into her arms.
Emma looked confused.
“Mommy?”
“I’m right here.”
Bruno walked toward them.
Sophia instinctively stiffened.
But Bruno didn’t growl.
He simply sat beside Emma.
Guarding her.
Watching Vincent.
That was when something clicked in my mind.
Three days earlier, Bruno had attacked the professional handler.
At least, that was what everyone assumed.
But the handler had entered the courtyard carrying a wash basin.
Vincent had been there.
Vincent had helped prepare the water.
And Bruno had become aggressive almost immediately.
I looked toward Marco.
“Bring me the security footage from three days ago.”
Vincent stopped struggling.
That reaction was small.
But I saw it.
“Now,” I said.
—
Twenty minutes later, we were inside the security room.
Vincent sat handcuffed in another room under guard.
Sophia refused to leave Emma alone, so they remained upstairs with Bruno outside their door.
Normally, I would never have allowed the dog inside that wing.
Today, I wanted him there.
Marco pulled up the courtyard footage.
We watched the handler arrive.
Bruno was calm.
The handler approached.
Still calm.
Vincent entered carrying towels.
Nothing.
Then Vincent moved behind the wash basin.
His body blocked the camera for three seconds.
When he stepped away, Bruno immediately began sniffing the air.
His posture changed.
His ears flattened.
The handler reached for him.
Bruno attacked.
Marco paused the footage.
“He smelled something.”
“Yes.”
We enlarged the image.
It was grainy, but Vincent appeared to be holding something small in his left hand.
A bottle.
“What if he put something in the water?”
Marco asked.
I remembered Bruno’s trembling leg.
His disorientation.
His unusual aggression.
“He wasn’t trying to hurt the handler,” I said.
Marco looked at me.
“He was trying to get away from whatever Vincent had put near him.”
The realization made my stomach turn.
We had nearly punished Bruno for recognizing danger before any of us did.
“Send the syringes and anything recovered from the courtyard to the lab.”
Marco nodded.
“And Vincent?”
“Not yet.”
“You don’t want to question him?”
“I want him scared enough to wonder what we know.”
Marco almost smiled.
Then his expression changed.
“There’s something else.”
He switched screens.
A security log appeared.
“Vincent accessed the west service gate six times this month after midnight.”
“Why?”
“No scheduled deliveries.
No maintenance.”
“Cameras?”
“Disabled during every entry.”
That wasn’t coincidence.
Someone had been entering my estate.
Someone Vincent had allowed inside.
“Find out who.”
Marco started typing.
I turned toward the door.
Then he said my name.
“Alessandro.”
I stopped.
“You need to see this.”
He had opened an archived clip from six nights earlier.
The west gate.
12:43 a.m.
Vincent approached the gate and entered a code.
The gate opened.
A dark sedan rolled inside.
Its license plate was hidden.
A man stepped out.
His face was obscured by a hood.
Vincent shook his hand.
Then the stranger handed him an envelope.
The man turned slightly.
A security light illuminated the side of his face for less than a second.
Marco froze the frame.
My entire body went still.
“No.”
Marco looked at me.
“You recognize him?”
I did.
But that was impossible.
Because the man in the photograph had been declared dead seven years earlier.
My older brother.
Luca Moretti.
—
I stared at the frozen image.
Seven years ago, Luca’s car had gone through a guardrail outside Milan.
The vehicle burned before emergency crews arrived.
His dental records had supposedly confirmed his identity.
I attended his funeral.
I carried his coffin.
My mother never recovered from losing him.
And now I was staring at his face on my security monitor.
“This can’t be real.”
Marco enlarged the image.
Pixelation distorted the features, but the resemblance was unmistakable.
The scar near the eyebrow.
The shape of the jaw.
Even the way he stood.
Marco whispered, “Could someone be impersonating him?”
“Why?”
“To frighten you.”
“Then they would want me to see him.”
But whoever entered through the west gate had deliberately disabled cameras.
They didn’t want to be seen.
Which made the possibility even worse.
I turned away from the screen.
Memories I had buried years earlier returned without permission.
Luca teaching me to drive.
Luca giving me Bruno as a puppy.
Luca laughing when Bruno destroyed an expensive leather sofa.
Luca telling me, “A good dog remembers what people forget.”
Bruno.
I stopped.
“What?”
Marco looked up.
“Bruno knew Luca.”
Of course he did.
Luca had been there the day I brought Bruno home.
For Bruno’s first four years, Luca had been part of his life.
If that man entered the estate…
Bruno might recognize him.
“Where is Bruno?”
“Upstairs.”
I walked out.
—
Sophia sat on the floor of Emma’s bedroom when I arrived.
Emma was building a crooked castle from wooden blocks.
Bruno lay beside her.
His enormous head rested between his paws.
When I entered, he looked up.
“Alessandro?”
Sophia immediately knew something was wrong.
I closed the door.
“I need to ask you something.”
“Okay.”
“Has Emma mentioned seeing anyone around the estate recently?”
Sophia frowned.
“Anyone unusual?”
“Anyone.”
She thought.
Then Emma looked up.
“The sad man.”
Sophia and I both turned toward her.
“What sad man?”
I asked.
Emma placed another block onto her castle.
“The man who watches Bruno.”
Sophia went pale.
“Emma, what man?”
“The one outside.”
“Outside where?”
She pointed toward the window.
My pulse accelerated.
“When did you see him?”
Emma shrugged.
“Nighttime.”
“How many times?”
“Lots.”
Sophia stood.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Emma looked confused.
“He doesn’t come inside.”
I crouched beside her.
“What does he look like?”
She studied me.
Then said something that made every hair on my arms rise.
“He looks like you.”
Sophia stared at me.
“What does that mean?”
Before I could answer, Bruno suddenly lifted his head.
His ears moved toward the hallway.
Then he stood.
Slowly.
A growl formed.
Not the explosive warning he had given Vincent.
Something different.
Uncertain.
Almost questioning.
Bruno walked to the door.
He sniffed beneath it.
Then whimpered.
I had heard that sound before.
Years ago.
Whenever Luca returned from a long trip, Bruno would make exactly that sound.
My hand went to the door handle.
“Stay here.”
“Alessandro—”
“Lock the door after me.”
I stepped into the hallway.
Bruno followed.
The corridor was empty.
But the dog immediately turned toward the staircase.
He moved faster.
“Bruno.”
He ignored me.
Downstairs, guards were moving through the estate.
Marco came from the security wing.
“What happened?”
“Someone may be inside.”
His hand moved toward his weapon.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
Bruno did.
He moved through the foyer and toward the old library.
The door was open.
That door was never open.
Bruno stopped outside.
His entire body trembled.
Then he walked inside.
I followed.
The library appeared empty.
Fireplace cold.
Curtains closed.
Nothing disturbed.
Then Bruno approached the far wall.
He sniffed the wooden paneling.
Whined.
Scratched once.
I stared.
Behind that wall was an old passage constructed when my grandfather owned the estate.
Almost nobody knew about it.
Luca did.
I did.
Marco did.
Vincent apparently did too.
I pressed the hidden release.
The panel opened.
Cold air rushed through.
Bruno entered before I could stop him.
“Bruno!”
We followed.
The passage led beneath the western wing.
Dust covered the floor.
Except for one trail of footprints.
Fresh footprints.
Marco raised his gun.
We followed them.
At the end of the passage was an old storage room.
Bruno stopped outside.
Then his tail moved.
Once.
Twice.
Not aggression.
Recognition.
My heart hammered.
I opened the door.
Empty.
But someone had been there moments earlier.
A chair stood beside the wall.
Coffee still steamed inside a paper cup.
On the table sat photographs.
Dozens of them.
Me.
Sophia.
Emma.
Bruno.
The estate.
Every entrance.
Every guard rotation.
Someone had been studying us.
Then I saw a small black recorder.
I pressed PLAY.
Static filled the room.
Then a man's voice spoke.
A voice I had not heard in seven years.
My brother’s voice.
“Alessandro, if you're hearing this, Bruno found me before you did.”
My knees almost weakened.
Marco stared at me.
The recording continued.
“I know what you were told about my death.
Most of it was necessary.”
Necessary?
My grief?
My mother’s grief?
Seven years believing my brother had burned alive?
Necessary?
“I don't expect forgiveness,” Luca continued.
“But you need to understand something.
I didn't come back because I wanted my old life.”
A pause.
“I came back because someone is trying to destroy yours.”
Bruno whimpered.
The recording continued.
“Vincent is only one piece.
Don't trust the security records.
Don't trust the medical reports.
And whatever happens…”
Another pause.
Then Luca said:
“Protect the little girl.”
My blood froze.
Emma.
Why would Luca know about Emma?
“She's the reason they came back.”
The recording ended.
Silence.
Marco looked at me.
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
Then Bruno barked.
Once.
He had moved toward the corner.
Something was wedged beneath an old cabinet.
Marco pulled it free.
A folder.
Inside were documents.
Birth records.
Hospital files.
Photographs.
And a DNA report.
I scanned the first page.
Then the second.
My breathing stopped.
The name printed at the top was:
EMMA CARTER.
Beneath it was another name.
LUCA MORETTI.
I stared at the probability listed near the bottom.
99.98%.
“No…”
Marco read over my shoulder.
His face changed.
“Alessandro…”
According to the report, Luca Moretti was Emma Carter’s biological father.
Which meant Emma wasn't simply the daughter of a woman who happened to work in my home.
She was my niece.
And Sophia had never told me.
—
I found Sophia standing beside Emma’s bed.
She saw the folder in my hand.
Everything changed in her expression.
“You knew.”
It wasn't a question.
Sophia closed her eyes.
“Alessandro…”
“You knew Luca.”
“Yes.”
The word nearly knocked the air from my lungs.
“How?”
“Seven years ago.”
“You knew my brother seven years ago?”
“Yes.”
“Were you with him?”
Tears filled her eyes.
“For a little while.”
I looked toward Emma.
She was asleep now, one hand resting against Bruno’s neck.
“How old is Emma?”
Sophia understood immediately.
“Three.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“No.”
“Then the DNA report is wrong.”
Sophia shook her head.
“It isn't.”
My confusion deepened.
“You said you knew Luca seven years ago.”
“I saw him again four years later.”
The room became completely silent.
“You knew he was alive.”
“Yes.”
I stepped backward.
For the first time since meeting Sophia Carter, I didn't know who I was looking at.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because Luca made me promise.”
“My brother let his family believe he was dead.”
“He was protecting you.”
“From what?”
Sophia looked at Emma.
Then toward the window.
“From the people who tried to kill him.”
I lowered my voice.
“Who?”
“I don't know their names.
Luca never told me everything.”
“But he told you enough.”
“He told me your family had been betrayed from inside.”
“By Vincent?”
“No.”
Her answer came too quickly.
“Vincent wasn't important enough.”
A terrible thought entered my mind.
“Then who?”
Sophia began crying.
“I promised him.”
“Sophia, someone photographed your daughter.
Someone tried to drug Bruno.
A man inside my security team was carrying a weapon while standing ten feet from Emma.
Your promise stopped mattering the second her life became the price.”
She looked at me.
“You're right.”
Then she said:
“Your brother discovered someone had arranged his death.”
“Who?”
“Someone with access to everything your family controlled.
Accounts.
Properties.
Security.
Medical records.”
I waited.
Sophia's next words came barely above a whisper.
“Someone whose name you would never question.”
Before she could continue, Bruno exploded to his feet.
A violent bark shook the room.
The lights went out.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Sophia screamed.
I grabbed Emma from the bed.
Emergency lights flickered red along the hallway.
Gunfire erupted downstairs.
Once.
Twice.
Then silence.
“Stay behind me.”
Bruno rushed into the corridor.
Marco's voice came through my radio.
“Alessandro!
West wing breach!”
“How many?”
“Unknown!”
Then static.
Bruno raced downstairs.
I handed Emma to Sophia.
“Lock yourselves in the bathroom.”
“No!”
“Do it!”
Bruno disappeared around the staircase.
Then came a sound I never expected.
He barked once.
And stopped.
No growling.
No attack.
Nothing.
I reached the foyer.
The front doors stood open.
Snow blew across the marble floor.
A dark figure stood outside.
Unarmed.
Bruno sat directly in front of him.
His tail was moving.
My hand tightened around my pistol.
The man slowly pulled back his hood.
Time stopped.
Older.
Thinner.
A scar running from his temple toward his cheek.
But unmistakable.
“Hello, little brother.”
My weapon almost slipped from my hand.
“Luca.”
Bruno pressed against him.
My dead brother knelt and buried both hands in the dog's fur.
For one impossible second, eleven years seemed to disappear.
Then Luca looked up.
“We don't have much time.”
“You've had seven years.”
“I know.”
“You let us bury you.”
“I know.”
“You let our mother die believing you were dead.”
Pain crossed his face.
“I know.”
I wanted to hit him.
Embrace him.
Demand answers.
Instead, I asked the only question that mattered.
“Why is Emma in danger?”
Luca stood.
Before he could answer, Sophia appeared at the top of the stairs.
Emma was in her arms.
Luca looked up.
His face broke.
“Sophia.”
She covered her mouth.
Emma stared at him.
Then something remarkable happened.
The little girl smiled.
“You're the sad man.”
Luca's eyes filled with tears.
“Yes.”
Emma pointed at him.
“You watch Bruno.”
“Yes.”
Then she asked:
“Do you know me?”
Luca couldn't answer.
Sophia began crying.
I looked between them.
“You're her father.”
Luca nodded.
“Yes.”
“Then why stay away?”
His expression hardened.
“Because everyone I love becomes leverage.”
A vehicle engine roared outside.
Luca turned toward the courtyard.
“They found me.”
“Who?”
He looked at me.
“The person who ordered my death.”
“Give me a name.”
Luca hesitated.
Then a gunshot shattered the upstairs window.
Glass exploded across the staircase.
Sophia screamed and dropped behind the railing with Emma.
Bruno charged toward them.
Guards opened fire outside.
Luca grabbed my shoulder.
“Get them underground!”
“WHO IS IT?”
Another shot struck the front door.
Luca leaned close.
“The betrayal started before either of us were born.”
“What does that mean?”
He pulled a small silver key from around his neck and shoved it into my hand.
“Your father kept a second ledger.”
“My father is dead.”
Luca stared directly into my eyes.
“No, Alessandro.”
My blood went cold.
“What?”
Luca's face became almost expressionless.
“The man we buried wasn't our father.”
Before I could speak, an explosion thundered from the west wing.
The entire estate shook.
Bruno barked wildly.
Emma screamed upstairs.
Smoke poured into the corridor.
And Luca ran toward it.
“LUCA!”
He turned once.
“Get Emma out!”
Then disappeared into the smoke.
I stood frozen with the silver key in my palm.
My brother was alive.
Emma was his daughter.
Someone had spent years watching my family.
And now Luca had just told me that another grave in the Moretti cemetery might also be empty.
But the worst discovery was still waiting.
Because when I looked down at the silver key, I noticed three tiny numbers engraved along its edge.
317.
I knew exactly what they meant.
Locker 317.
Grand Central Terminal.
New York.
And beneath those numbers were two initials I had seen countless times as a child.
V.M.
Vittorio Moretti.
My father.
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
One message.
I opened it.
DON'T GO TO LOCKER 317.
YOUR BROTHER IS LYING TO YOU.
A second message arrived.
This one contained a photograph.
It had been taken less than thirty seconds earlier.
It showed me standing inside my own foyer.
Which meant whoever sent it was still close enough to see me.
Then a third message appeared.
ASK SOPHIA WHO SHE REALLY WORKS FOR.
I slowly lifted my eyes toward the staircase.
Sophia stood there holding Emma.
Bruno stood protectively beside them.
Sophia looked frightened.
But now I noticed something I had missed before.
Around her neck was a thin silver chain.
Hanging from it was a tiny key.
Almost identical to mine.
And when Sophia realized I had noticed it…
her hand immediately closed around it.
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Source: Stories of Destiny · Thao Thao
