Page 112 of Blood Debt

“No!” The word rips from my throat. I reach for her, my fingers brushing only air. “Please, baby, please come back in. It’s too dangerous.”

Isla’s weak voice joins mine, a trembling whisper. “Bianca…sweetheart…please, listen to your Mama. Come back. Don’t go.”

But Bianca only shakes her head, her chin wobbling with fear and determination far too big for her tiny body. “I’ll be fast.”

She turns, running into the shadows.

“Bianca!” I choke her name, my voice shattering. I throw myself at the bars again, squeezing, wriggling, dragging skin raw against the rust. The iron bites into my shoulders, my hips, until I’m stuck halfway, sobbing, powerless.

“God—no!” I slam back into the cage, curling around Isla, rocking her trembling body as if that will keep us both from breaking. My tears soak into her hair as panic churns through me.

My baby is gone. Out there. Alone.

My chest heaves, sobs tearing out of me as I clutch Isla’s trembling body. My thoughts betray me—Cristofano. If he’s angry…if he’s looking for me…. I press my forehead to the cold bars, squeezing my eyes shut. No. If he were looking, it would only be to pay me back for the betrayal. Not to save me. Not to save us.

Bianca’s face flashes in my mind, and I choke back another sob. Focus. Think of her. Just Bianca.

Isla groans against my chest, the sound ripping me apart. “I’ve got you,” I whisper fiercely, rocking her. My fingers smooth her damp hair, my lips brushing her temple like a mother’s blessing. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Then—footsteps. A sound from the shadows.

My head snaps up, panic rising like bile. A switch clicks, flooding the room with light so bright I flinch.

And there she is.

Alessandra. Limping. Blood stains the side of her elegant dress, a crude bandage pressed against her ribs. A gun gleams in her shaking hand, her sapphire eyes duller now, desperate but blazing with something feral.

The door creaks open, metal against metal, and for a second, I think I’m hallucinating. But she steps forward, steady despite the limp, her finger tight on the trigger.

Her gaze meets mine—icy, burning. Then she says, her voice raw and clipped:

“Get out. Get out—now.”

I stare at her, stunned, my pulse roaring in my ears. My arm tightens instinctively around Bianca’s empty spot, my other hand locked around Isla’s wrist. My lips part, but no words come.

I wedge my arm under Isla’s weight, hauling her up as gently as I can. Her face is pale, sheen of sweat on her brow, and every step makes her groan. My throat burns as I whisper encouragement, even though my own body is trembling.

Behind us, Alessandra’s voice lashes out like a whip.

“And where’s your brat?”

My heart jolts. I keep my mouth shut, clutching Isla tighter, praying Bianca has found some kind of safety.

Alessandra sneers. “Silent, huh? Fine. I’ll find her myself and feed her to the dogs.”

“Don’t you dare—” I start, but she cuts me off with a harsh, “Move!”

The barrel of her gun jabs the air, her sapphire eyes gleaming with fury. My stomach knots, but I grit my teeth and push Isla forward. “She’s in labor,” I whisper hoarsely.

Alessandra rolls her eyes, shifting her weight with a hiss as her hand presses against her bleeding side. “Couldn’t care less,” she snaps. “I said move!”

Her voice echoes against the stone walls, sharp and grating. I bite back a sob, adjusting Isla, whispering, Just hold on, just a little longer, as we shuffle forward.

We turn a corner, and three guards appear. My breath catches in my throat, but Alessandra raises her gun, her voice slicing through the corridor like command itself.

“Stand down!”

The guards hesitate, eyes darting between us and her, but her glare hardens, a queen in rags. Slowly, reluctantly, they lower their weapons.