Page 107 of Blood Debt
A cold sweat breaks across my back.
He continues, his tone dripping with mock admiration. “I watched as he trailed you through those narrow Roman streets, watched you steal glances at each other like two reckless teenagers. You thought you were invisible, but I was there when you booked the hotel. I stood across the street and watched him follow you inside. Cristofano Bellarosa, the untouchable man, breaking his own code for the first time in his life.”
I feel my stomach drop, bile clawing up my throat.
Marcello’s laugh is soft, cruel. “From that night, I knew you were the key. He didn’t sleep with women, didn’t waste time with distractions—until you. That made you valuable. Precious. So I followed you. Quietly, always in the shadows. I saw when your belly began to swell, and I knew the impossible had happened—Cristofano had left his legacy in you. Do you have any idea how exhilarating that was? The Judge, undone by one woman?”
I hug Bianca tighter, my nails digging into my own palm to keep from shaking.
Marcello leans back, casual as though telling a bedtime story. “I watched you hide the pregnancy, bury the truth. I watched as you became an agent, an undercover cop. And then my plan crystallized. You weren’t just his weakness—you were the perfect weapon. All I had to do was guide you here, set the board, and let you believe you were making your own choices. Every step you took brought you closer to destroying him.”
His words slice deeper than any blade. I stare at him, my vision blurring, and I can’t stop the thought pounding in my skull: How could I have been so blind? So careless?
I glance down at Bianca, her small hazel-green eyes filled with fear and confusion. My heart aches so violently I can hardly breathe. Every risk, every lie, every mission—it wasn’t just mine. He had been watching all along. Stalking me. Using me.
Marcello leans back, flicking invisible dust from his cuff, pale blue eyes glittering. “Do you know where Tony and I first met?” His smile curves sharp. “A casino bar. Naples. He’d just lost—badly. I watched him get tossed out like trash onto the pavement. But what caught my eye wasn’t his sorry state—it was his badge, half-visible in his jacket.”
My breath stutters.
Marcello spreads his hands, smooth as silk. “I had my men lift him from the gutter. And then I made him an offer. Money. Freedom to gamble, to drown himself in cards and drink without ever fearing the debt collectors. All in exchange for one simple service—help me use you and your child to bring Cristofano to his knees.”
Beside him, Tony chuckles, stepping forward into the light. His salt-and-pepper hair looks grayer now, his eyes dark hollows. “You were too smart for anything obvious, Serafina,” he says, voice almost affectionate. “So I played the long game. I invented a case with Don Vitale’s help. Something dirty enough to catch your attention but false enough that you’d be walking straight into his world. And to sell it….” He lifts his shoulders in a careless shrug. “I sent Isla.”
My pulse lurches. My lips part, but my voice comes out broken. “You had her killed.”
Marcello’s laugh is low, cruel, echoing off the marble walls. He claps his hands once, sharp. “Ah, Serafina—ever impatient. No. I have another surprise.”
The doors groan open.
Two guards drag someone forward, bound head to toe, chains rattling against the floor. My heart claws at my throat, my knees threatening to buckle.
When the figure lifts her head, swollen face barely recognizable, I see her.
Isla.
Heavily pregnant. Beaten. Bruised. Her eyes—still burning with fire even beneath the swelling—find mine, and I almost collapse.
“No….” The word rips from my chest like an animal cry.
Bianca screams at the sight, covering her ears, her small body trembling. I drop to my knees and grab her, pressing her face into my chest, whispering frantically, “Don’t look, tesoro. Don’t look.” My own vision drowns in tears.
I try to surge forward, to reach Isla, but armed men block me, guns raised, forcing me back. My hands shake as I clutch Bianca tighter, my sobs muffled against her hair. “Isla….”
Marcello watches the devastation with serene delight, one hand resting lazily against his jaw. “You see? I don’t destroy carelessly. I destroy completely.”
“Serafina….”
The voice is ragged, broken, but I’d know it anywhere.
My head snaps toward the sound, my throat constricting. Isla lifts her battered face, lips trembling as her swollen eyes widen. “Is it really you? Are you…here?”
Her words shatter something inside me. I clutch Bianca tighter, my hands trembling against her hair. My chest is hollow and full all at once.
I turn, shaking, to Tony. My voice is a whisper, but it cuts like glass. “How could you? How could you be so heartless?”
Tony’s smirk is casual, almost paternal, as if he hasn’t ripped apart the last thread of my faith in him. “Because Serafina…I knew you. You were too careful. Too cautious. The only thing that could cloud you was emotion. Isla’s death—” he tilts his head toward her bruised figure, “—was perfect. It pushed you exactly where I needed you. Careless. Desperate. So willing to break rules that you didn’t even notice the case I dangled in front of you was a ghost.”
I shake my head violently. “No—”
