Chapter 5 - THE RECONSTRUCTION OF HAWTHORNE RIDGETwo weeks later, the spring thaw finally broke over northern Illinois, turning the snow-covered meadows of Hawthorne Ridge into fields of vibrant green grass and blooming crocuses.
The western gatehouse had been rebuilt, stronger and more modern than before, but the real changes had taken place inside the walls.
In the sunlit courtyard where Clara had once slipped on a patch of ice, a large, custom-built wooden bathing station had been installed—complete with non-slip rubber flooring, an adjustable warm-water spray hose, and a soft, heated drying platform.
At the moment, however, the bathing station was empty.
Instead, Bruno lay stretched out directly across the Persian rug in Matteo Moretti’s private study, snoring softly, his bandaged shoulder fully healed and his heavy head resting comfortably across Clara’s canvas sneakers.
Standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, Matteo watched them over the rim of a steaming cup of coffee. He wore a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, looking less like a feared syndicate boss and more like a man who had finally learned how to breathe.
“Dr. Hale says his arthritis is responding well to the new supplements,” Matteo said, walking over and kneeling down beside Clara on the rug.
Clara smiled, gently scratching Bruno behind his velvety ears. The dog gave a contented grunt, shifting his weight. “I told you. He just needed better care and less screaming.”
Matteo reached out, his warm fingers brushing a stray lock of hair behind Clara’s ear. His touch was no longer hesitant; it carried the quiet, confident ownership of a man who had found his anchor.
“You realize,” Matteo murmured, his dark eyes sparkling with a rare, genuine amusement, “that the entire syndicate now thinks you are a dangerous black-ops operative who subdued the fiercest dog in Chicago with a bucket of soapy water.”
Clara laughed, leaning her shoulder against his. “And what do you think I am?”
Matteo leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her lips that tasted of coffee and quiet mornings.
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“I think,” Matteo whispered against her mouth, “you are the only person in this entire city who managed to train the boss without him even realizing it.”
Bruno let out a loud, theatrical sigh, as if he had heard it all before, and closed his eyes against the warm spring sun pouring through the glass.
