Chapter 4 - The Serpent in the House
By the following afternoon, the atmosphere inside the Thorne estate had shifted into a state of high tension.
Cora had moved Nero into her personal quarters attached to the rear of the main stables—a clean, warm suite with heated stone floors and a private yard. She had personally dressed his surgical wound, fed him a warm meal from a ceramic dish, and stayed beside him until he fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.
At 3:00 PM, a knock sounded at her door.
Mrs. Gable, the stern head housekeeper who had hired Cora two years ago, walked in carrying a silver tray with fresh tea and soup. Her sharp face looked unusually pale, her hands trembling slightly as she set the tray down on the table.
"You should eat, child," Mrs. Gable said softly, avoiding Cora’s eyes. "You haven't had a proper meal since they dragged you away yesterday."
"Thank you, Mrs. Gable," Cora said, sitting at the table. She looked closely at the older woman. "Are you alright? You look like you haven't slept."
"None of us have slept, Cora," Mrs. Gable murmured, smoothing her spotless white apron. "The Don is conducting a full internal audit. He’s hired private investigators to re-examine every security camera, every financial statement, and every staff file from the last six months."
Cora took a sip of tea. "Good. The truth will come out."
"The truth is a dangerous thing in this house, child," Mrs. Gable whispered, leaning closer, her voice laced with genuine panic. "You think this is about a dog? It isn't about Nero! It’s about who controls the Thorne empire! Mr. Julian’s younger half-brother, Marcus, arrived from Miami two hours ago."
Cora froze.
Marcus Thorne was a man she had only seen three times in two years, but his presence always brought an icy chill through the estate. Unlike Julian, who ruled with a cold, calculated sense of honor, Marcus was impulsive, ruthless, and heavily involved in high-stakes gambling debts across the coast.
"Why is Marcus here?" Cora asked.
"He claims he came to support Julian after the Moretti attack," Mrs. Gable said grimly. "But I saw him talking to Detective Miller near the security office ten minutes ago. They were deleting security footage from the morning of the poisoning."
Cora’s heart hammered against her ribs. "Deleting footage?"
Before Mrs. Gable could answer, the door to the cottage swung open without a knock.
Marcus Thorne walked in. He was thirty-five, dressed in a flashy designer suit, with slicked-back hair and a smile that didn't reach his dark, restless eyes. Behind him walked two heavy-set guards who didn't belong to Julian’s regular security detail.
Nero, sleeping on the rug, opened his eyes instantly. He didn't stand up immediately, but his left ear pulled back tight, his body tense as marble.
"So this is the famous dog-whisperer," Marcus drawled, stepping into the room with his hands in his pockets. He looked around the simple suite with open disgust. "A poor girl who somehow turned my brother’s million-dollar attack hound into a lapdog."
"Mr. Marcus," Cora said, standing up politely but firmly. "Nero is resting. Please keep your voice down."
Marcus let out a cruel chuckle. "You don't tell me what to do in my family’s house, girl. In fact, I came here to tell you that your little play-act is over. Detective Miller just found a second stash of strychnine inside your old locker in the main house."
Cora went pale. "That’s impossible! I haven't been near the main house since yesterday morning!"
"Evidence is evidence, sweetheart," Marcus sneered, pulling a pair of silver handcuffs from his coat pocket. "Julian might be soft on you because of some sentimental nonsense, but I’m taking you back to the precinct myself."
He took a step toward Cora.
A low, subterranean sound filled the room.
Nero stood up.
The 140-pound Cane Corso walked slowly, deliberately, until he was standing directly in front of Cora. He didn't bark. He looked at Marcus Thorne, his black lips pulling back to reveal razor-sharp teeth, his amber eyes burning with an hatred so intense it made Marcus’s guards instinctively reach for their sidearms.
Nero didn't just growl at Marcus—he looked at Marcus’s right hand. Specifically, at a unique, ancient silver signet ring Marcus wore on his middle finger.
Nero’s breath hitched, a high-pitched, traumatized whine escaping his throat before turning into a vicious, lunging snarl.
Cora looked from Nero’s violent reaction to Marcus’s silver ring. In that instant, a piece of the puzzle clicked together in her mind.
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Nero had a deep, jagged scar on the left side of his snout—a scar that had been caused by a blunt, square metal object striking his face during his first week at the estate.
Marcus Thorne was the man who had struck Nero months ago. And Marcus Thorne was the man Nero remembered.
