Page 82 of Blood Debt
“I’m not,” I snap.
He shrugs. “Marriage means nothing once the Bellarosas are gone. It’s like marrying a man on his deathbed—when he dies, you’re legally free.”
A hollow ache twists in my chest, one I push down before it roots itself. This is right. I take him down; he doesn’t hurt anyone else.
“The Blue Moon is a few weeks,” I say quietly.
Marcello nods. He slips a slim, gold watch from his wrist and hands it to me. The metal is warm from his skin. “This is how we communicate. The moment you have the chip, press the button on the side. My men will collect you.”
I close my fingers around it. The car slows to a stop.
My hand’s on the door handle when his gloved fingers clamp around my wrist. His voice is silk over steel. “This is important to me. If you mess up…I’ll kill you.”
I shove him off, step into the night air, and shut the door hard enough to make the Maserati’s frame shudder.
Chapter 19 – Cristofano
Melbourne – Dockside
The tang of saltwater is sharp enough to cut through the haze of my cigarette. I lean against the hood of the Maserati, watching the cranes groan and sway as Ken’s crew unloads the latest shipment. Steel containers drop to the dock with dull, echoing thuds. Men shout to one another over the clang of chains.
Beside me, Matteo clears his throat. “Product’s clean. Distribution starts tonight.”
I nod once, eyes still on the dockworkers. “Handle it.”
I flick the cigarette into the water, watch the embers hiss out, and push off the car. Matteo falls into step, both of us moving toward the vehicle. He slides in on the passenger side while I take the wheel, the leather still holding the bite of the sun.
Halfway through buckling in, Matteo produces a manila file and sets it on my lap. “Thought you’d want to see this.”
I arch a brow. “What is it?”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “You told me to check about a Bianca.”
I stiffen. I almost forgot I asked him to dig into the name Serafina blurted out at the carnival.
“It turns out, Bianca is her daughter.”
The words land like a slap. My fingers are still on the file’s edge before I flip it open. A school portrait stares back at me:a girl in uniform, hair dark and wavy, eyes the exact green-gold I’ve seen in the mirror of another face. My chest goes tight.
Matteo leans back, lands another blow. “Also, your maid, she met with Marcello Vitale.” Matteo watches me too closely. “My tracker said she was good. Almost lost her, but he got her thanks to the GPS.”
I remember sliding that tiny tracking bead into her travel bag—barely the size of a lentil—while she went to get me water.
The name rips my attention from the photo. A slow heat builds in my gut. “Vitale,” I repeat, my voice sharp. “She’s a cop. What the hell is she doing with him?”
“This isn’t the time for petty jealousy,” Matteo says, his tone clipped. “They’re most likely after the Black Book. She’s a traitor—came here under the guise of an investigation, but her goal was to steal. She has a child, Don. Probably has a boyfriend. End this obsession and let me take her out.”
This wasn’t Vitale's first attempt at the Black Book, but I admit this was the most daring.
I stare at the picture again, at the girl’s eyes. The memory hits me unbidden—her voice asking, What if you had a daughter?
“I had a one-night stand with her,” I say slowly, my voice lower than before. “Seven years ago. Rome.”
Matteo’s head snaps toward me. He snatches the file, his eyes darting between the photo and my face. “Shit.”
We’re both quiet for a long moment, staring at the photo like it might give us more answers if we look hard enough. Matteo’s jaw works before he finally asks, “So…what do we do?”
I close the file slowly, the paper edges whispering under my fingers. “Vitale’s probably after the Black Book—like you said. But Serafina….” I let the weight of her real name sit between us. “I don’t know her goal yet.”
