Page 72 of Blood Debt
“Don’t—”
But he’s already leaning in. His lips are an inch from mine when a cough slices the air behind us.
I turn my head—slowly, dread sinking into my stomach.
Alessandra stands a few feet away in a silk robe and heels, her hair done, her makeup flawless. Like she never went to sleep. Like she’s been waiting.
“Well,” she says, voice crisp and loud in the early morning air, “isn’t this adorable?”
I lower my head. Shame coils in my spine.
Alessandra tilts her head at me. “Do you have no dignity?” she asks coldly. “Throwing yourself at him like this? He’s a Don. And you’re….”
She lets the sentence hang.
He lifts my hand, still in his, and looks directly at her.
“Alessandra,” he says, tone flat, “maybe don’t interrupt a horny couple when they’re saying goodbye.”
Her mouth parts in disbelief.
“I swear,” she says, eyes narrowing at me, “you’ll regret this.”
Then she turns and stalks away, heels cracking hard against the floor.
The moment she disappears, I yank my hand from Cristofano’s.
I step back.
“This—” I say, my voice shaking, “this was a mistake.”
He watches me. Brows pulling low.
“We had sex,” I continue. “Fine. It happened. You had your fun. So did I. Now we move on.”
He doesn't reply right away.
Then, almost like he's watching me through a fog, he takes a step forward.
His eyes narrow.
He stares at me. Then he frowns.
“Answer me one thing,” he says quietly.
I freeze.
“What?”
He tilts his head. Brows furrowed.
His voice drops. “Why do you look familiar?”
My heart stops. His eyes narrow, studying my face like he’s trying to reach through it.
I draw a breath. Swallow hard.
Then I lift my chin and say, “Stop playing.”
