Page 88 of Blood Debt
Let them wonder.
Last night wasn’t just sex—it was a bargain sealed in the most primal way. The best sex of my life, if I’m being honest, though I’ll never give Marcello the satisfaction of saying it aloud. He had taken his time and then none at all, relentless until my body was pliant and my thoughts clouded. But all of that was secondary. This wasn’t about pleasure. It was about the exchange. The reward.
Cristofano Bellarosa.
I see it now as clearly as I see the rising sun—he will be mine. I’ll nurse him back to health once Marcello breaks him, give him my inheritance, and together we’ll vanish from this place, far from the politics, far from the noise. He’ll forget about his wife, that pathetic maid, and that ridiculous daughter—if the child even exists. I’ll give him sons. True heirs, worthy of his name. Sons who will carry my face and his power.
A slow, self-satisfied smirk curls my lips as I step out into the crisp morning air. I can feel Marcello’s eyes on me from somewhere above—perhaps the balcony, perhaps the shadows—but I don’t look back. I open the car door, slide inside, and rest my hand briefly on the wheel before starting the engine. For a moment, I imagine the endgame—Cristofano on his knees, broken, looking up at me and finally seeing me. Loving me.
Soon.
Chapter 21 – Serafina
Melbourne – Hollingwood Lodge
Bianca’s little face fills the laptop screen, her paint-stained fingers holding up a lopsided watercolor of a house and a stick-figure family.
“See, Mama? That’s you, me, and Nonna.”
Her voice is so bright, so proud, it hurts.
“That’s beautiful, tesoro.” I smile, even though my throat is tightening. “You’re getting better every week.”
She grins, teeth gapped, and launches into an animated explanation of how she mixed the colors. But my eyes drift to the small clock on the motel wall. My chest squeezes.
“Bianca, sweetheart…Mama has to go soon.”
Her smile falters. “Already?”
I nod, forcing it to look casual. “Yes, baby. But I’ll call again.”
The days since I met Marcello had been spent here, in this anonymous roadside motel booked under my cover name—Elia Rossetti. Away from Bellarosa eyes, I had stolen hours with my daughter and my mother over endless video calls, trading little updates and stolen laughter. One night, I fell asleep with the screen still glowing, Bianca’s quiet breathing lulling me like a lullaby.
Now it’s time to go back.
Bianca’s lower lip trembles. “When will you come back for real?”
Her small voice splinters something inside me. “In a few weeks.” I keep my tone steady, promising more than I should. “I swear, Bianca. I’ll be there.”
My mother’s voice cuts in as she lifts Bianca into her arms, her own expression a mix of steel and sorrow. “Keep your promise. She misses you.”
“I miss you too,” I whisper.
Bianca presses her cheek to the screen, as if she could crawl through and into my arms. “Promise?”
I swallow hard. “Promise.”
The call ends. I let my hands rest on the closed laptop, willing myself not to cry.
I pack slowly, folding each item as though precision could keep me from thinking about the drive back to the mansion…and to Cristofano Bellarosa.
For one unguarded second, I picture him on the floor with Bianca, laughing, their matching dark hair falling into their eyes. Her cheeks flushed from play, his rare smile softening the hard lines of his face.
The image warms me—then chills me.
I stop mid-fold, pushing the thought away. That can’t happen. It won’t happen. He’s the monster I came here to destroy.
For a fleeting moment, I think about never going back.
