Page 106 of Blood Debt
It’s the tiny hand she holds.
“Bianca,” I breathe. My voice cracks as my daughter’s hazel-green eyes widen, and she wrenches free, running toward me with all the speed of her little legs.
“Mama!”
I fall to my knees just in time, arms wrapping around her, clutching her so tight she squeals. Her warmth, her smell, it shatters me. My chest caves as tears burn down my face.
Marcello leans back, smiling like a man who has already won.
“Surprise,” he drawls, his pale eyes gleaming. “I always keep my promises…though never quite how anyone expects.”
Bianca’s little arms wind around my neck with desperate strength, her warm breath trembling against my skin. My voice shakes as I pull back just enough to cup her face.
“Bianca…how did you get here, tesoro? Who brought you?”
She blinks, her hazel-green eyes brimming with confusion. “I—I don’t know, Mama. I went to sleep…and then I woke up here.”
Her words slice into me, and panic flares hot. My hands skim down her small arms, her shoulders, her chest—searching frantically for bruises, for any sign of harm. “Were you hurt? Did anyone touch you?” My voice breaks, trembling as my fingers shake over her. “Tell me, Bianca, are you hurt?”
Before she can answer, a low, mocking voice cuts through the room.
“Oh, please.” Alessandra’s heels click closer, her sharp bob gleaming like polished glass. She tilts her chin, eyes glittering with cruel amusement. “We’re not monsters. She’s fed, warm, and happy. Look at her.” She spreads her manicured fingers in mock innocence.
My head snaps up, rage boiling in my veins, but I force myself to rise slowly, pulling Bianca to her feet beside me. My fingers lock around her tiny hand like a shackle, as though letting go would mean losing her forever. I turn to Marcello, my pulse pounding so hard it drowns out thought.
“What is this?” My voice comes out raw, unsteady, but louder than I expect. “What the hell is the meaning of this?”
Marcello leans back in his chair, lips curved in that serpentine smile that never reaches his pale, translucent eyes. He doesn’t answer immediately—he savors it, the silence, the dread stretching tight in my chest. And then he spreads his gloved hands, taunting.
“I have one more surprise.” His tone is almost playful, but I feel the venom underneath.
From the shadows of the room, a figure steps forward.
My breath stops.
“Tony….”
His salt-and-pepper hair catches the light as he adjusts his worn leather jacket, a smirk tugging at his lips. He doesn’t look at Marcello. He looks straight at me.
“Serafina,” he says, my real name falling from his mouth like a sentence. His voice is warm, familiar, but twisted now with something smug. “Surprise.”
The world tilts. My stomach heaves. I stare at him, unable to form words, my heart ripping apart inside my chest.
Marcello’s smile sharpens, enjoying every fracture in my soul.
My arms tighten protectively around Bianca until she lets out a small whimper. I loosen my grip just enough, but my eyes never leave Marcello. He lounges like a king in his chair, pale blue eyes glinting with poisonous satisfaction.
“I must be good at surprises,” he says smoothly, as though this is all a performance for his amusement.
My throat burns. I look past him to Tony, to the man who was supposed to be my anchor in this storm. “What is going on?” I rasp. “Tony—how could you?”
Tony smirks, but it’s Marcello who answers. He leans forward, resting his gloved hands on the table as though savoring every word.
“Seven years,” he begins, voice low and deliberate. “That’s how long I’ve waited to set this into motion. Do you want to know when it started? Rome.”
My chest seizes. Rome?
Marcello’s smirk widens, his pale eyes gleaming as though he can taste my dread. “I was in the city on business,shadowing one of Cristofano’s men. And then, by chance—or maybe fate—I saw him. The Judge himself, in the open, walking beside a woman. You.”
