Chapter 2
Camille did not answer in the ballroom.
Not really.
She said:
“My father handled it.”
Then:
“I was twelve.”
Then:
“I don’t know everything.”
Three answers.
None enough.
Luca did not shout.
He turned to Marco.
“Get Bruno back.”
“Already moving.”
“Police with the clinic?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Then Luca looked at me.
“You’re going to a hospital.”
“I can stay.”
“No.”
“I know what I saw.”
“And you can tell it after a doctor checks your back.”
Camille whispered:
“She is exaggerating.”
Luca turned.
“Do not.”
One word.
Camille stopped.
The medic cut away enough of my torn uniform to clean the wounds properly.
The cuts were superficial.
Numerous.
The bruising on my face looked worse under bright light.
Luca watched for three seconds.
Then walked away from the treatment area.
I understood.
Anger needed somewhere to go.
He chose distance.
That mattered.
At the hospital, the doctors found no fractures.
No internal injury.
Just bruising.
Lacerations.
Muscle strain.
Painful.
Not permanent.
I was discharged before dawn.
By then Bruno was back at the estate.
When the car pulled up, he was waiting inside the foyer behind Marco.
Large black shepherd mix.
Gray around his muzzle.
White patch on his chest.
The second he saw me, his entire body changed.
Ears forward.
Tail low but moving.
He whined.
I almost cried.
“Hey.”
Marco released him.
Bruno came slowly.
No jumping.
No barking.
He pressed his head against my uninjured side.
Luca stood nearby.
“He has been cleared by an independent vet.”
I looked at him.
“Sedation?”
“Wearing off.”
Bruno leaned harder into me.
I put one hand on his neck.
His collar was gone.
The clinic had removed it.
Luca held the old leather collar from the flower vase.
“Is this his?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Then why did the driver remove it?”
“Because Camille put it on him before the clinic came.”
Luca stared.
“What?”
I had forgotten that detail.
Or maybe buried it under pain.
“She changed his collar.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Marco answered.
“Microchip confusion.”
We both looked at him.
He had already investigated.
“The clinic’s intake scanner recorded Bruno’s chip.”
He held out a report.
“His chip number does not match the Moretti household veterinary file.”
Luca’s face hardened.
“Meaning?”
“The dog registered as Bruno Moretti is not the dog currently living here.”
I stared.
“What?”
Luca did too.
Marco continued.
“The current dog’s chip is registered to Bellini Animal Recovery Foundation.”
Camille’s family.
Luca went still.
“When?”
“Eight years ago.”
Bruno was around nine.
That meant the dog had been under Bellini records almost his entire life.
Luca looked at the animal beside me.
“I adopted him from a Moretti rescue partner.”
Marco nodded.
“The partner was funded by Bellini Animal Recovery.”
Of course.
Luca looked sick.
“Why would they place a dog with me?”
Nobody knew.
Then Marco held up another report.
“The old collar has a microchip tag sewn beneath the leather lining.”
My skin went cold.
The original Bruno.
The old dog.
The one that disappeared the night Lucia Moretti died.
His chip number.
Still readable.
Marco had already searched archived veterinary databases.
The chip was re-registered two days after Lucia’s death.
New owner:
VICTORIA BELLINI.
Camille’s mother.
Address:
Bellini Estate, Westchester.
Luca stared.
“Why?”
Marco continued.
“Three months later the dog was transferred again.”
“To who?”
“Dr. Adrian Bellini.”
Camille’s uncle.
The same man who tried to transfer current Bruno from the clinic tonight.
Pattern.
Luca looked toward the staircase.
“Where is Camille?”
“Library. With counsel.”
Good.
No private confrontation.
We went in together.
Bruno stayed with me.
Camille sat on one sofa.
Her lawyer beside her.
No engagement ring.
I noticed.
Luca did too.
She had removed it.
He did not react.
Marco placed the microchip reports on the table.
Camille closed her eyes.
“You knew,” Luca said.
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“That the old dog went to my mother.”
“Why?”
“She told me he was dangerous.”
Bruno beside me made a low sound.
Not a growl.
A sigh.
Camille looked at him.
Then away.
Luca asked:
“Did you believe her?”
“I was twelve.”
“And later?”
Silence.
“Camille.”
“I found out he wasn’t dangerous.”
“When?”
“Five years ago.”
The same year she met Luca publicly.
Luca’s jaw tightened.
“What else did you find out?”
She stared at her hands.
“That he had blood on his coat the night your mother died.”
The room became still.
“What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
“Human?”
“Yes.”
Luca’s face emptied.
“Whose?”
“Your mother’s.”
I stopped breathing.
Camille continued.
“My mother told me Bruno had been in the conservatory when Lucia collapsed.”
“Collapsed?”
Luca leaned forward.
“My mother fell down the conservatory stairs.”
“That is what you were told.”
“Yes.”
Camille shook her head.
“She was already injured before she fell.”
Silence.
Luca stared.
“How?”
Camille’s lawyer said quietly:
“You do not have to answer beyond your statement.”
Camille looked at him.
Then Luca.
“I want to.”
Good.
Choice.
She continued.
“My mother said Lucia had a head wound.”
“From what?”
“She didn’t know.”
“Who was there?”
“My mother.”
“Adrian?”
“Yes.”
“Your father?”
Camille looked down.
“Yes.”
Gabriel Bellini.
Again.
Luca’s hands tightened.
“And Bruno?”
“He was barking at all of them.”
“Then?”
“My father told the driver to take the dog.”
“Why?”
“Because the dog had bitten someone.”
Luca stared.
“Who?”
Camille shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Marco said:
“The microchip record may.”
Everyone looked at him.
Veterinary files sometimes preserve bite incidents.
Old municipal reports.
Rabies observation.
He had requested them.
They arrived forty minutes later.
BRUNO MORETTI.
Bite report.
Date:
Night of Lucia Moretti’s death.
Victim:
GABRIEL BELLINI.
The room went silent.
Luca read the name.
Then read it again.
Camille covered her mouth.
Marco added:
“Treatment location was Bellini Private Clinic.”
Luca looked at Camille.
“Your father was in the conservatory.”
“Yes.”
“He was bitten by the dog.”
“Yes.”
“And my mother was bleeding.”
“Yes.”
The logic was brutal.
Not complete.
But brutal.
Then I remembered something from the old veterinary file.
A handwritten note beneath the chip number.
I had only seen it for seconds.
But I remembered.
“Luca.”
He looked at me.
“Your mother wrote one more thing.”
“What?”
I closed my eyes.
Saw the blue ink.
“If Bruno bites him, keep the fur.”
Everyone stared.
“The fur?”
I nodded.
“She wrote: KEEP THE FUR. IT WILL PROVE CONTACT.”
Marco understood first.
“DNA.”
Luca looked at the old collar.
Dog fur could preserve touch DNA.
Blood.
Skin cells.
Maybe nothing after eleven years.
Maybe something.
The collar had been hidden with the file.
Camille had tried to get it out of the house.
Then disguised it as current Bruno’s collar before surrender.
Why?
Because the collar itself might be evidence.
Luca looked at her.
“You knew.”
She began crying.
“My uncle told me.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Adrian.”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“That if the collar still existed, it had to disappear.”
The room changed.
Camille had not invented the surrender plan alone.
She had been executing an old family cleanup.
Luca looked at Marco.
“Independent forensic lab.”
Marco nodded.
“No Moretti lab.”
“Good.”
Camille whispered:
“Luca.”
He looked at her.
“What?”
“If the DNA is still there…”
“What?”
Her face collapsed.
“It won’t only show my father.”
Silence.
“Who else?”
She looked at me.
Then Luca.
“Your father.”
The corrected veterinary intake showed Bruno’s heart rate had been elevated but his behavior remained manageable even under stress. He accepted handling, allowed a muzzle, and showed no unprovoked aggression. The independent veterinarian wrote: DOG’S RESPONSES CONSISTENT WITH FEAR AND DEFENSIVE PROTECTION, NOT GENERALIZED AGGRESSION. Luca kept a copy in Bruno’s home file.
Archived municipal bite reports were more useful than family stories because they had dates, signatures, and treatment records. Gabriel’s injury required six stitches. Antonio’s required two. Neither report named Lucia. Both identified the location only as “private greenhouse.” Someone had already begun reducing the event to paperwork without context.
Nora realized the old collar and current Bruno had been deliberately confused for years. One was evidence. One was a living dog. Camille had tried to make the second carry the consequences of the first. That distinction stayed with Nora later whenever institutions treated a name, breed, family, or record as destiny.
May you like
Before chapter 2 ended, Nora wrote the day’s events into a plain notebook instead of relying on memory alone. She separated what she saw, what someone told her, and what documents actually proved. The habit became important because every branch of the story contained people with good reasons to remember themselves kindly. Nora did not want kindness to replace accuracy. She wanted enough truth for everyone affected to make the next decision with open eyes.
Marco also obtained the rescue-partner adoption file for current Bruno. Victoria Bellini had personally approved the anonymous sponsorship covering his fees. She had written only one note: PLACE WITH L.M. IF POSSIBLE. Luca read it several times. Whatever else Victoria had done, she had deliberately sent Bruno I’s son home.
