Page 121 of Blood Debt
The world tilts. My knees buckle, but I can’t fall—Bianca’s in my arms. My breath comes ragged, like I’m drowning on dry air. Isla.
The doctor’s voice is still going, but I can’t hear anything past didn’t make it. My best friend, the girl who swore she’d always come for me, the one I promised to protect. Gone.
“And the man,” the doctor continues softly, “his surgery was successful. He’s still unconscious, but stable.”
Cristofano. Alive. Relief and devastation collide inside me until I don’t know which way is up. I stagger, the room spinning, and sink to the floor, Bianca still pressed against me.
Matteo is suddenly there, dropping to his knees. His arms wrap around me, pulling me in as I bury my face in his chest. His shirt smells of smoke, sweat, and blood, and I cling to it like it’s the only thing anchoring me to this earth.
The sobs come silent at first, then harder, my whole body shaking. I don’t want to wake Bianca. My teeth sink into my lip until I taste copper, but nothing stops the flood.
Matteo’s hand rests heavily on the back of my head, grounding me. His jaw is tight, his own eyes wet, though he fights to keep them clear. “I know,” he murmurs roughly. “I know.”
But he doesn’t. He can’t. Isla’s laughter, her voice promising we’ll always come for each other, the warmth of her hand that day we got our badges—all of it crashes through me like glass.
I sob harder, silently, into Matteo’s bloodied shirt. My arms curl around Bianca protectively, as if I can shield her from the ugliness of the world, from the grief that’s hollowing me out piece by piece.
Isla is gone. Cristofano is hanging on by a thread. And I—
I am breaking.
Matteo’s hand tightens briefly on my shoulder, steadying me as I cling to Bianca. My sobs are quieter now, but my chest still heaves like I’ve been running. His voice breaks through the haze, low but gentle.
“Do you…want to see the baby?” he asks.
For a moment, I don’t understand. Then it hits me—Isla’s child. My throat closes. I nod, too choked to speak.
He helps me to my feet, careful not to disturb Bianca, who stirs faintly in my arms. We walk down the corridor, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead, each step heavy with the weight of what I’ve just lost. Matteo pushes open a door, and the soft beeping of monitors greets me.
Inside, a nurse stands beside a bassinet. She steps back as we approach. My knees almost buckle when I look down. A newborn baby girl, pink and impossibly tiny, wrapped in a pale blanket. Her chest rises and falls with fragile breaths, her fist curled up near her cheek.
The sob I’ve been holding back breaks free. Tears spill down my face as I reach out with trembling fingers, brushing one impossibly soft cheek. “Oh, baby,” I whisper, voice breaking. “Your mama…she loved you so much.”
Bianca stirs against me, blinking awake. She lifts her head just enough to peek at the baby, confusion and sadness mingling in her wide eyes.
I press my cheek against Bianca’s hair, clutching both her and the edge of the bassinet like I’ll drown without the anchor. My voice comes out cracked, raw. “It’s okay, little one. You’re not alone. I’ll take care of you. I’ll be your new mother. I promise.”
The words hang heavy in the sterile room, a vow pulled straight from my breaking heart. I feel Isla’s absence pressing down on me, but when I look at the baby—her daughter—I know I can’t falter.
****
The blinds barely hold back the dawn, thin slats of light slicing across the sterile white walls. The air smells of antiseptic, sharp and cold, yet beneath it I catch faint traces of him—his cologne lingering on the sheets, the scent of smoke and steel that clings to Cristofano no matter where he goes. My hand curls tighter around his, fingers interlaced with his limp ones, and I press my forehead to his arm. His skin is warm, but it’s not enough. I need more.
“Please….” My voice cracks into the silence. “Please wake up.”
Bianca shifts on the couch by the window, murmuring something in her sleep, a tiny hand peeking from beneath the blanket. She looks so peaceful. I wish I could keep her in that dream, shield her from all of this. But here I am, begging a man who doesn’t move, whose chest rises only because machines keep it steady.
Tears sting as I whisper, “I can’t lose you, too. I miss you. I love you. And damn you, Cristofano Bellarosa, you can’t make me a widow. Not now. Not after Isla. Not after everything.”
The sob rips out of me before I can swallow it back. My shoulders shake, my tears soaking into his gown. I clutch his hand tighter, as if force could tether him here.
Then—something. A twitch, the faintest flutter beneath my grip. I freeze, hardly daring to breathe. Slowly, so painfully slowly, his eyelids twitch, then open.
A sound escapes me—half gasp, half sob. His steel-gray eyes are unfocused at first, glazed, but then they find me. And it’s like being seen for the first time in forever.
“Cristofano…” I whisper his name like a prayer.
He groans, trying to sit up, and panic jolts me into action. “No, wait—don’t push yourself.” I slide an arm around his shoulders, guiding him upright with trembling hands. His body is heavy against mine, and yet I feel weightless with relief.
