Page 119 of Blood Debt
I scramble up, chest heaving, and she’s already swinging the pistol down at me like a club. I duck, the metal grazing my cheek, hot and stinging. My fists clench—years of training screaming through my muscles.
She lunges again, screaming, “He belongs to me!”
I block her strike with my forearm and drive my elbow hard into her ribs. She grunts, but instead of backing down, she claws at my face. Nails rake my skin, and my vision sparks white with pain.
I don’t shout. I don’t curse. I let the silence sharpen me.
She raises the pistol again, aiming for my head. I step in close, shoving the barrel aside, twisting her wrist the way I was taught. Bone grinds under my grip, and she screams, staggering, her sapphire eyes wide with fury and disbelief.
“You—don’t—deserve—him!” Alessandra gasps between sobs of rage.
I drive my knee up into her bleeding side. The sound she makes is guttural, broken. Her body crumples forward.
I don’t hesitate. My fist collides with her temple—once, twice—until the fight drains out of her and the pistol clatters to the floor.
She collapses to her knees, swaying, her hand reaching weakly for me. I stand over her, chest heaving, silence roaring in my ears.
Finally, she crumples completely, unconscious on the cold stone floor.
I wipe the blood from my cheek with a shaking hand, steady my breath, and force myself not to look back at her. My daughter needs me. Isla needs me. Cristofano needs me.
And I will not let Alessandra take another piece of me.
Matteo has Marcello pressed into the stone floor, his knee grinding into the villain’s back, and the clang of steel boots tells me Cristofano’s men have finally taken the compound. For one brief second, I almost believe it’s over.
Then Cristofano is there—towering, battle-worn, but alive. His steel-gray eyes lock on me and soften in a way that breaks something inside my chest. Before I can speak, his arms wrap around me, crushing me to him. His heartbeat hammers against my cheek, steady and alive.
“I’m here,” he breathes into my hair. “Are you hurt?”
I shake my head against his chest, clutching fistfuls of his shirt as if letting go will undo him, undo us. I want to tell him everything—but Isla’s cry slices through the moment like glass shattering.
We turn together, sprinting toward her. She’s collapsed against the floor, one hand clawing at her swollen belly, the other smeared with blood.
“Look out!” Matteo roars.
The gunshot cracks.
I spin. Alessandra is standing, pale as death, blood soaking her side. Her hand shakes as she grips the pistol, but her lips twist in triumph.
Isla gasps—her body jerks—and then she slumps, eyes rolling back.
“No!” The scream rips from my throat as I fall to my knees beside her, catching her head before it hits stone. Blood gushes hot between my fingers. “Isla! Stay with me! Please, please—”
Another shot thunders.
Cristofano moves faster than thought. He throws himself over Bianca, his body taking the bullet, wrapping her so tightly against him she disappears beneath his broad frame.
Time slows.
His grunt of pain. The way his shoulders seize. The dull thud as they both hit the floor.
“Cristofano!”
I scramble, my lungs collapsing, my vision tunneling. Around me, chaos explodes. His soldiers storm in, their shouts mixing with gunfire. Alessandra laughs—high, wild—until it cuts off in a scream as a bullet drops her. She crumples, still smiling, blood on her lips.
I don’t see. I don’t hear. All I know is him.
Cristofano lies on the ground, Bianca still shielded beneath his arm. His gray eyes flicker, glassy, but they find mine as if I’m the only anchor left.
