Page 46 of Blood Debt
Matteo gives a tight nod and turns, but I stop him with a low voice.
“Matteo.”
He pauses, hand on the door.
“If she does find something, don't touch her.”
He looks over his shoulder. His brow lifts.
“Not yet,” I add.
He leaves without another word.
The door shuts behind him with a soft click.
I stay in my chair. Still.
My thoughts spiral slowly, steadily, like smoke rising from a single ember.
I can see her in my mind again—standing in my room, clutching the tray with both hands, her fingers trembling as she bowed. Her face pink with shame. Her mouth pressed tight. Her breathing shallow.
She didn’t recognize me.
Or maybe she did, and she’s playing something deeper.
I don’t know which is worse.
I shift my chair, staring at the Blue Moon calendar still pinned above the liquor cart. The silver ink glints faintly in the light.
It’s less than two months away.
I rub my thumb along the edge of my glass, and I lean back, eyes on the ceiling, heart beating once.
She’s already under my skin.
Chapter 11 – Serafina
Bellarosa Estate
I move through the lower hallway with my hands folded lightly in front of me, head inclined just enough to avoid eye contact but not enough to seem evasive. Posture is everything in this house.
“Fresh linens in the Don’s quarters,” I murmur, my voice low, composed. “No folds showing. Tuck corners with full tension. Dust the windowpanes, not just the sills.”
Two younger maids nod. One looks barely nineteen, her apron hanging crooked. She adjusts it quickly under my glance.
I step closer to the nearest guard posted by the west corridor. His stance shifts slightly as I approach—not out of fear, but out of instinct. Men like these don’t look twice at women who don’t speak out of turn.
Still, I keep my eyes on the floor near his boots.
“Sir, you’ll be escorting the Don from his study to the garden later. Check the north wing entry points before he leaves the stairs.”
He gives a short nod. “Understood.”
My hands remain still.
I turn back toward the hall.
It’s been three weeks already, and I already know every turn of this estate. Every locked door. Every armed man. Every eye that lingers too long, and every woman who’s learned to walk a little quieter than the one before her.
