Page 109 of Blood Debt
The door creaks, and Matteo steps in, his face pale but controlled. “Our men in Italy just reported in,” he says, voice clipped. “The grandmother came to file a missing report. Bianca’s gone.”
For a moment, the room stills, like the air itself holds its breath. My jaw clenches, my pulse a drumbeat in my ears. Marcello dared to touch my daughter.
“Send more men to the safe house,” I order, voice low and cold, the kind that makes lesser men flinch. “My father and the real Black Book stay protected at all costs. If Marcello learns what he stole is fake, he’ll come for the truth.”
Matteo’s eyes flicker with unease. “And you?”
“I’ll deal with Serafina.” Her name feels like glass in my mouth, sharp and cutting.
Matteo crosses his arms. “I’m not leaving your side. Not when you’re like this.”
Frustration claws at me. “Don’t be stupid, Matteo. My father is priority—”
The sharp shout of a guard outside cuts me off. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, you cannot come in—”
A dull thud, a groan of pain. The door slams open.
Alessandra.
Her heels strike the marble like gunshots, her sapphire eyes gleaming with something venomous. She doesn’t flinch at the sight of me armed and ready for war. Instead, her red lips curl into a smile that feels like poison.
“This isn’t the time,” I snap, the words a growl, my patience fraying with each passing second.
“Oh, but it is.” Her voice is smooth, mocking, designed to slice. She takes another step closer, perfume cloying in the air. “The bitch betrayed you already. And you’re too blind to see it.”
For a moment, silence.
The words hang between us like a blade. Matteo stiffens beside me, his hand twitching toward his sidearm, but my focus is locked on Alessandra.
My fists clench. My heart is a storm.
I stare at Alessandra, her smirk like a blade sheathed in lipstick. My pulse spikes, fury boiling over. In two strides, I close the distance, my hand snapping to her throat. Her body slams into the wall with a dull thud, my fingers tightening until her breath hitches.
“Where is she?” My voice is a growl, low and violent, steel-gray eyes boring into hers.
A single tear slips from the corner of her eye, trailing down porcelain skin, but her sapphire gaze gleams with stubborn fire. “I thought you were cured of this…delusion,” shechokes out, her nails scratching at my wrist. “I came to save you, Cristofano. Before Marcello ruins you completely.”
Marcello.
The name hits like a gunshot in my chest. Cold clarity slices through me—she’s bait. Marcello planted her here, dressed her up in loyalty, and sent her to corral me like a fool.
Her knees start to buckle, her face paling, and I release her suddenly. She stumbles, clutching her throat, dragging air into her lungs in ragged gulps.
“Take me to them,” I snarl. “Serafina. My daughter. Now.”
Her lips tremble, but then curl into a bitter smile. “I can give you children, Cristofano. Sons. Real heirs. You don’t need her.”
My hand fists in her arm, yanking her forward so hard she gasps. “You don’t decide what I need.”
Behind me, Matteo barks orders, his voice sharp as gunfire: “Assemble! All men, move now!” Boots thunder through the halls, men rushing to position.
I drag Alessandra with me, her heels scraping across the marble as she protests. At the garage, I throw her into the back of the black Maserati, her glare hot enough to burn.
“Take us to Marcello,” I order, my tone final, deadly.
She laughs bitterly, though fear flits across her face. “You’ll regret this.”
I slide in beside her, my gun resting casually but visibly against my thigh. My eyes never leave hers. “No, Alessandra,”I say, voice quiet, laced with lethal promise. “It’s you who will regret this.”
