Chapter 7 - The Line in the SandThe dust from the SUV settled slowly over the manicured gravel.
Moretti stood motionless for a long moment, watching the trees where the vehicle had disappeared. Then, slowly, he let out a long breath and turned back toward us.
"You didn't flinch," Moretti said, walking over until he was standing just a foot away from me.
"Neither did you," I replied, keeping my grip firm on Titan’s leash. "Though you almost ruined three weeks of impulse control training by letting your blood pressure spike."
Moretti let out a dry, genuine laugh—the first real one I’d heard from him. He reached down, his fingers brushing against mine as he took the leather leash back from my hand. Titan leaned his heavy head against Moretti’s thigh, accepting the touch with a soft huff.
"Sal is a symptom of a larger problem," Moretti said quietly, looking down at the dog. "People who think rules don't apply to them because they carry a gun."
"Sounds familiar," I said, raising an eyebrow.
Moretti looked up, his slate eyes catching the golden late-afternoon sun filtering through the pines. "I built this life, Elena. Every brick, every contract, every fence. But I forgot that a fortress isn't safe if the things inside it don't trust the person at the gate."
"He trusts you now," I said softly, looking at the way Titan pressed against his side. "Because you didn't panic. You showed him that you could handle the threat without losing your head."
Moretti stepped closer, closing the distance between us until I could smell the faint scent of cedar and expensive tobacco on his coat. "And what about you, Elena? Do you trust me?"
The question hung in the crisp autumn air, heavier than any dog leash or syndicate threat.
May you like
"I trust that you care about your dog," I said steadily, refusing to look away. "And I trust that if you ever let him loose near a public playground again, I'll personally call the federal marshals myself."
Moretti smiled—a slow, dangerous, completely captivating expression. "Fair enough."
