Chapter 2 - The Vet's Prescription and a Midnight Shadow
The pharmaceutical bottle sat on the small kitchen counter like a ticking bomb. Carprofen, 100mg. Administer with food.
Sophia stared at it while the kettle hissed softly on the hotplate. Outside, the Chicago wind whistled against the windowpanes, carrying the freezing chill of late winter. Bruno had not moved from Emma’s doorway. He lay like a massive, dark blockade, his breathing deep and even, guarding the entrance to the bedroom where Emma was finally fast asleep.
A soft tap sounded at the back service door.
Sophia froze. It was past eleven o'clock. No one from the main house visited the staff quarters at this hour unless something catastrophic had happened.
She opened the door a crack, her chain lock still securely in place.
Marco Bellini stood in the dim light of the landing, holding a thermal container wrapped in a heavy linen cloth. His expression was unreadable, professional, and entirely devoid of his usual frontline hostility.
"Open the latch, Mrs. Carter," Marco said quietly. "The boss sent soup. And beef marrow for the dog."
Sophia hesitated, then clicked the chain open and pulled the door back. "Mr. Moretti sent food? For us?"
"The boss doesn't like loose ends," Marco said, stepping inside just far enough to place the heavy container on the counter before casting a wary glance down at Bruno. The Cane Corso didn't lift his head, but his ears twitched sharply. "And he especially doesn't like his veterinarian's instructions being ignored. Did you administer the evening dose?"
"I... I was about to," Sophia lied, looking at the pill bottle. The truth was, she had no idea how to pill a sixteen-year-old, sixteen-stone war dog who could snap a man's forearm like a dry twig if provoked.
Marco sighed, reading her expression instantly. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a small packet of sliced deli roast beef, and tossed it onto the counter. "Wrap the tablet in the center of the meat. Don't touch his teeth. Just drop it near his back molars. He’s old, not stupid; he knows it's medicine, but he won't bite the hand that feeds him tonight. Not after what the girl did this morning."
Sophia carefully prepared the piece of meat, her hands shaking slightly as she walked over to the massive dog. Bruno opened one yellow eye as she approached. She held her breath, kneeling beside his enormous head, and offered the rolled slice of beef.
Bruno sniffed once, gave a low, rumbling huff, and gently took the meat from her fingers, swallowing it whole without a single sound of protest.
Marco watched from the doorway, shaking his head in quiet disbelief. "Sixteen years," he muttered under his breath. "I’ve seen three different handlers lose fingers trying to give that dog a deworming pill. And you hand him a prescription wrapped in cold cuts like he's a lapdog."
"It wasn't me," Sophia whispered, looking back toward Emma's bedroom. "It was Emma. She... she just looked at him like he was living creature instead of a weapon."
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"That's the problem, Mrs. Carter," Marco replied grimly, turning toward the door. "In our world, weapons are all people understand. Attachment is a liability. And right now, the most dangerous man in the Midwest has a massive, highly visible liability sleeping on your rug."
With that, Marco slipped out into the cold night, leaving Sophia alone with the ticking clock and a profound, bone-deep unease.
