Chapter 2 - THE MAN ON THE TERRACE
“Get the veterinarian.”
Alessandro Salvatore's voice carried across the paddock.
Nobody moved immediately.
Twelve guards stood frozen around the black stallion, staring at the pregnant housekeeper whose hand rested against Midnight's neck.
Alessandro descended the terrace steps.
At forty-two, he had built a reputation for making decisions other men were too frightened to consider. His businesses stretched from California vineyards to international shipping terminals. Some were legitimate. Others belonged to a past he was trying, with mixed success, to leave behind.
But he had never witnessed anything like this.
A woman who barely reached his shoulder had accomplished what twelve armed men could not.
She had done it without a weapon.
Without shouting.
Without demanding obedience.
“Elena Torres,” he said.
She turned.
The sudden movement made Midnight tense.
“Please don't come closer,” she said.
Owen looked horrified.
“Miss Torres, that's Mr. Salvatore.”
“I know who he is.”
Alessandro stopped.
Elena looked back at Midnight.
“He's barely tolerating me. If everyone rushes forward, he'll panic again.”
Alessandro studied the horse.
Then the woman.
“Everyone back away.”
Owen hesitated.
“Sir—”
“Now.”
The guards retreated.
Elena released a slow breath.
“Thank you.”
Alessandro watched her fingers move gently through Midnight's mane.
“Are you a horse trainer?”
“No.”
“Veterinarian?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know what to do?”
“My father taught me.”
Alessandro glanced at her swollen belly.
“And he taught you to walk into a paddock with a terrified stallion while eight months pregnant?”
Elena's face warmed.
“No. He would have been furious.”
“Then why did you?”
She looked at the bleeding marks beneath Midnight's torn ropes.
“Because nobody was listening to him.”
The answer unsettled Alessandro.
He had heard something similar once.
From his younger sister, Sofia.
Before she died.
***
Dr. Claire Morgan, the estate veterinarian, arrived fifteen minutes later.
She approached carefully, assessed the horse from a safe distance, and asked Elena to move behind the gate before examining him.
Elena complied.
The moment she stepped outside, her knees began trembling.
Adrenaline drained from her body.
She gripped the fence.
Alessandro noticed.
“Sit down.”
“I'm fine.”
“You're pale.”
“I'm pregnant, not made of glass.”
“Those aren't mutually exclusive.”
Elena looked at him.
For one dangerous second, she almost smiled.
Then a sharp ache crossed her lower back.
She caught her breath.
Alessandro stepped forward.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Elena.”
She looked up.
He had used her name.
Not maid.
Not girl.
Her name.
“My back hurts,” she admitted.
He turned to Owen.
“Have the estate physician contacted.”
“I don't need—”
Alessandro faced her.
“Would you like someone to check on you?”
The question surprised her.
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Yes.”
***
The veterinarian found two problems with Midnight.
Fresh rope abrasions.
And a deep puncture wound beneath his left shoulder, partly hidden by his black coat.
Someone had injured him before the guards entered the paddock.
Worse, the wound showed signs of chemical irritation.
Claire's expression darkened.
“This wasn't caused by ordinary handling.”
Alessandro looked at Owen.
“Who worked with Midnight this morning?”
“Stablemaster and two handlers.”
“Names.”
“Patrick Doyle, Marcus Webb, and Leo Finch.”
“Find them.”
Claire examined the torn rope.
“Whoever did this wanted him frightened.”
Alessandro looked toward the gate.
Elena was sitting beneath an oak tree, one hand on her belly.
He remembered the way Midnight had leaned toward her.
The animal had recognized something he hadn't.
Safety.
***
That evening, Alessandro summoned Elena to his office.
She entered wearing a faded blue maternity dress.
Her hands were clasped protectively beneath her belly.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Yes.”
He gestured toward a chair.
She sat cautiously.
Alessandro placed a photograph on his desk.
It showed Midnight's wound.
“Someone deliberately hurt him.”
Elena stared.
“I thought so.”
“Why didn't you say anything?”
“Because nobody was listening.”
Alessandro accepted the criticism.
Then opened her employment file.
“Elena Torres. Twenty-seven. Hired three weeks ago through Westbridge Domestic Staffing.”
“Yes.”
“No references.”
“No.”
“No emergency contact.”
Her shoulders tightened.
“Is that a problem?”
“Normally.”
She looked toward the door.
“If you're going to fire me, please tell me now.”
Alessandro closed the file.
“I'm not firing you.”
Elena blinked.
“Then why am I here?”
“Because someone injured my horse.”
He paused.
“And you may be the only person who noticed what everyone else missed.”
Elena swallowed.
“What do you want from me?”
“Tell me everything you saw.”
She considered him.
Then answered.
“The guards weren't trying to help Midnight. They were trying to win.”
Alessandro went still.
“And you think I ordered that?”
“I think they're accustomed to believing force is what you expect.”
Silence filled the room.
Alessandro had been called ruthless, dangerous, unforgiving.
Nobody had ever described the consequences of his reputation quite so clearly.
Before he could respond, Elena stood too quickly.
Pain crossed her face.
She reached for the desk.
Alessandro rose.
“Elena?”
She looked down.
A small dark stain had appeared on her dress.
Her expression changed.
“Oh, no.”
Alessandro's blood went cold.
“What is it?”
She whispered:
May you like
“I think something's wrong with my baby.”
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