Page 108 of Blood Debt
“Oh yes.” He takes a step closer, his voice dropping to a mocking whisper. “The FBI never took over Isla’s case. That raid? Just a few men I hired to play dress-up. Isla’s file didn’t exist. It was smoke, Serafina. Smoke and mirrors.”
The ground tilts beneath me. My knees nearly give.
I’ve been played. From the beginning.
My gaze flicks to Isla—her body wrecked, her child almost ready to be born—and my stomach twists so hard I taste bile.
The words slip out of me, hoarse, torn. “So Cristofano…didn’t hurt her?”
Marcello chuckles low, his pale eyes glinting with cruel delight. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees like a man telling a bedtime story. “Cristofano?” He spreads his hands. “He doesn’t even run a trafficking ring. Did you see the ring my men placed in the cage?”
The truth slams into me like ice water.
My eyes burn as I close them, Bianca’s tiny fingers clutching at me, and the weight of it all suffocates. I’ve been fighting a phantom. Accusing the wrong man.
“Mama, I’m scared.”
Bianca’s tiny voice trembles against my chest, muffled by the fabric of my jumpsuit. Her little arms cling to me like I’m her only anchor in the storm. My throat tightens as I press my cheek to her hair, inhaling the soft scent that has always meant home.
“You’ll be fine, my love,” I whisper, though my voice cracks. I blink rapidly, fighting the burn in my eyes. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
My gaze lifts, raw and desperate, to Marcello. His pale eyes gleam, enjoying every flicker of my fear. “You have the Black Book,” I choke out, my arms tightening around Bianca. “Let us go. Me. Isla. My daughter. You got what you wanted.”
Hope claws at me—foolish, fragile hope.
And then he laughs. His smile is serpentine, cruel, as he leans back in his chair and steeples his gloved fingers. Beside him, Alessandra chuckles.
“Let you go?” he repeats, savoring the words. “No, Serafina. That would be mercy.” He tilts his head, pale hair catching the light, and his voice hardens into ice. “I want Cristofano to have nothing. No family. No love. Nothing.”
My stomach turns to stone.
“You are the mother of his child,” he says softly, almost reverently. Then his gaze cuts to Bianca. “And so she must be destroyed, too.”
“No—!” My cry rips out before I can stop it, frantic and raw.
Marcello doesn’t flinch. He merely snaps his fingers.
Hands seize me from behind. They tear at my arms, prying Bianca from my grasp. I thrash wildly, screaming her name, clutching at her as she wails in terror.
“Mama! Mama!” Bianca’s sobs shred me apart. I hold on until my nails scrape skin, until my arms ache with the effort of not letting go.
But they are stronger.
Her little fingers slip through mine, and the sound of her cry pierces me deeper than any blade.
“No! Please—don’t!” My voice is hoarse, desperate. My entire body shakes as I lunge forward, but more men pin me down.
Through the blur of tears, I see her—my little girl—kicking and sobbing in their grip. My chest feels like it’s caving in.
And in the split second before the fight drains from me, before despair crushes me whole, I see Cristofano’s face in my mind. His steel-gray eyes, the way they softened only for me.
I cling to that image, to that impossible hope, as my world rips apart in front of me.
Chapter 29 – Cristofano
Bellarosa Estate
The weight of the Kevlar sits heavily across my shoulders, my fingers tightening the last strap as I check the holster at my thigh. If I stop moving, the image of Serafina’s face when she ran will claw me apart. My chest burns with the thought of Bianca, her small voice, her tiny hands—Marcello has her. I know it before Matteo even opens his mouth.
