Page 27 of Blood Debt

I inhale to speak, already forming something sharp, but Matteo appears in the hallway. His pace is brisk, and he nods once as he approaches, not breaking stride.

“L’uccello è arrivato.”

The bird is here.

I nod, the words sliding into place. The Italian cop sent to spy on me was here.

She tilts her head, still smiling. “That’s not very romantic.”

I glance at her. “Leave. Be gone before I’m back.”

She leans in slightly. “Non succederà.”

Not happening.

I clench my jaw and turn from her, walking toward my office with Matteo at my side.

Inside, the screens are already live.

A feed of the front entry plays silently. Matteo taps the keyboard once to cycle through angles.

“There,” he says.

One frame pauses.

A woman stands beside a black town car, holding a travel bag. The driver nods, gets back in, and pulls away.

She’s in uniform—modest, plain. White button-up blouse, beige slacks, dark flats. Her hair is tied in a loose twist at the base of her neck. Her posture is steady. She doesn’t fidget. Doesn’t scan the space. Just waits.

Something about her stillness pricks at me.

“Zoom,” I say.

Matteo does.

She lifts her face to look toward the door.

And my heart stops.

No.

No, no—no.

My fingers tighten against the armrest of the chair. I lean in, close. The camera picks up her eyes—green, gold-flecked. And the shape of her mouth. I know that mouth. I’ve memorized it in another life. The soft indent in her lower lip. The arch of her brows.

The scent of her sweat is a memory I can still feel on my tongue.

Rome. Seven years ago. The same face.

The night that ruined all the others.

The day we spent together after. The hours. The silence. The heat. And then waking up alone.

Matteo frowns, watching me.

“You good?”

I don’t answer.