Chapter 2 - Take Him Inside
The marble was cold through my suit pants. I could feel it soaking through at the knees, and I could feel Bruno's chest moving too fast against my arm, his wet fur sticking to my white shirt. Water kept dripping off him onto the checkerboard floor, spreading out around my shoes. Behind me, forks had stopped moving. Nobody was pretending to eat anymore.
Vanessa's voice cut across it again, higher this time. "Get that filthy animal out of here! Put him down and get out!"
I didn't look at her right away. I kept my face against Bruno's head. His muzzle had gone grayer than I remembered, and he smelled like concrete and old oil and wet dog. His ribs moved under my hand when I pressed there. He leaned into me like he didn't have the strength to hold himself up without me.
"Luca," Vanessa said. "Tell her."
Emma was still on her knees behind him, both hands under his belly to keep his back legs from buckling. Her apron was soaked dark at the front. Her cap had slipped a little to the side. She wasn't looking at Vanessa. She was looking at me, waiting.
"Mr. Moretti," she said quietly. "He was locked in the garage, sir. His water bowl was empty."
I heard someone at the long table set their wine glass down too hard. A man near the windows whispered something I couldn't catch, and his wife shushed him. The chandelier buzzed faintly above us.
I pulled back just enough to look at Bruno's eyes. They were cloudy at the edges, tired. His tongue came out once, dry. My throat closed up.
"Bruno," I said, and my voice didn't sound like mine. "Where did you find my dog?"
Emma swallowed. "Garage," she said again. "Back corner. Door was latched."
I finally turned my head toward Vanessa. She stood three tables away in that red dress, her wine glass still in her right hand. Her mouth was open, then closed. Color was high in her cheeks.
"You told me he died," I said.
It wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. Two women at the nearest table glanced at each other.
Vanessa laughed once, short. "I — I thought he was sick, Luca." She looked around at the guests, then back at me. "He was sick, and I didn't want you to — you had the dinner, the contracts — I handled it."
Handled it. The words sat there while Bruno breathed hard through his nose beside me.
I pushed myself up to one knee, then to my feet. My shirt clung wet to my chest. I kept one hand on top of Bruno's head, stroking slow from between his ears down to his neck. He swayed a little and Emma shifted with him, taking more of his weight.
"Stand up slow with him," I told her.
She nodded and got her shoulder under his chest, her other arm around his middle. Bruno tried to step forward and his back foot slid on the wet marble. I moved my hand to his collar, steadying him. The leather was thin and damp and cracked at the edge.
"Easy," I said to him. "I got you."
The room was full of murmurs now. Mr. Bellini stood half out of his chair at the head table like he wanted to say something and didn't know where to start. A server froze in the doorway with a tray of plates, unsure whether to come in or back out. The clink of a knife against china sounded too loud.
Vanessa stepped forward, her slit opening as she moved. "Luca, you're making a scene. Let the staff clean this up. We can talk after dessert."
I looked at Emma. Her hands were shaking, but her grip on Bruno was steady.
"Emma," I said. "Take Bruno inside. You're not fired."
She blinked fast. "Sir?"
"Inside," I said. "Kitchen hallway. Warm towels. Water — just a little at first. Stay with him till I get there."
A breath went out of her. "Yes, sir."
Vanessa's glass tipped. Wine sloshed near the rim. "Luca—"
I didn't answer her. I walked with Emma those first few steps, my hand never leaving Bruno. His nails clicked and slipped. Every few feet he stopped to breathe, and we stopped with him. I could hear the wet pads of his paws and Emma's soft voice, "Come on, buddy, come on," under the low talk from the tables.
At the service door, Emma glanced back. I nodded once. "Go."
May you like
She guided him through into the warmer light of the hallway. The door swung half-closed behind them, and the sound of the dining room — the whispers, the chairs shifting, dinner stalled cold on the plates — rushed back in.
I turned just enough to meet Vanessa's eyes across the tables. She stood alone now, still holding that glass, with everyone watching her. Then I followed my dog out.
