Page 102 of Blood Debt

I dive through just as the steel door slams shut behind me with a heavy thunk.

The relief is short-lived.

Matteo stands there, framed in the dim light of the hall, a gun already raised and aimed at my chest. His eyes flick from the box in my arms to my face, and his mouth is a hard, thin line.There’s no shake in his arm, no flicker of hesitation in his eyes—just unwavering intent.

“Hand over the box, Elia,” he says, voice low and sharp enough to cut.

I taste blood where I bite the inside of my cheek, but my smile doesn’t falter. It’s brittle. “No.”

In the same breath, I pivot toward the study window. My shoulder hits the frame, glass exploding around me in a shower of glittering shards. Night air punches against my face, cold and smelling faintly of rain. My fingers find the iron railing below, catching just in time. Metal scrapes my palms raw, but I use the momentum to swing down.

The ground rushes up faster than I want. I land hard, my ankle twisting sharply under me. Pain flares white-hot, threatening to buckle me, but I grit my teeth and run.

Shouts tear through the night. Matteo’s voice barking orders. The heavy pound of boots follows, closing in. Then—the crack of gunfire. Bullets whiz past, close enough that I feel the hot bite of stone fragments hitting my calves.

My heart slams in my ribs as I sprint toward the gates. My hand flies to the slim watch on my wrist—the one Marcello gave me. My thumb hovers for only a fraction of a second before pressing the hidden button.

“I need out. Now,” I breathe into the mic, my words clipped between gasps.

The gates loom ahead when it happens.

“Stop.”

The voice freezes me mid-stride. He steps out from the shadows like he’s been waiting for this exact moment. Moonlight slices across Cristofano’s face, turning his eyes into molten silver. There’s no one else in my line of sight now. Not Matteo. Not the guards. Just him.

“How long have you known who I am?” My voice shakes—not from fear, but from the sheer, coiled fury clawing at my throat.

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Before you even came to Melbourne.”

The air leaves my lungs. “Then why didn’t you kill me?”

He steps closer, slow and deliberate, as if the answer should be obvious. “You’re my first love. The mother of my child.”

My pulse falters. He knows about Bianca. “You can’t take her,” I fire back instantly, panic threading through every syllable.

“This can be solved,” he says, almost softly. “I love you.”

It’s like being hit in the chest. And I hate him for it.

“You killed my friend,” I spit. “I saw her ring in your cage.”

His brows knit together. The confusion looks real, but I can’t trust it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re mistaken. I can explain—”

The gates explode inward with a metallic shriek. Marcello’s men flood in—dark clothing, masked faces, guns ready. Their boots drum against the stone, the air around them charged with violent intent.

“Marcello’s orders,” one of them barks. “We’ll take her from here.”

Matteo emerges from the side, gun already up. His eyes say it before his mouth does—he’s going to end this right now.

“Stop,” Cristofano thunders. “Put it down.”

Matteo ignores him. His finger tightens on the trigger—

The gunshot is deafening in the open night.

Matteo’s eyes go wide. He stumbles, clutching his side, before crashing to the ground.

A single gunshot rips through the night. Matteo’s eyes go wide, his hand flies to his side, and he crumples. Cristofano stands there, gun still smoking, chest heaving. And then—his eyes find mine. He shot Matteo? Why?