Page 48 of Blood Debt

His gaze lingers on me for half a breath longer. Then he turns and continues climbing the stairs without another word, his steps heavy against the marble.

She follows with a bounce in her stride, the silk of her nightwear rippling at her thighs. Before she disappears around the corner, she looks back over her shoulder.

Her eyes meet mine.

She smiles.

“Your boss has a nasty temper, doesn’t he?” she says lightly, as if we’re gossiping across a cafe table.

I bow again, staying low. “I wouldn’t know, Signora. I serve as instructed.”

She watches me for a moment. Then she tips her chin, still half-turned on the stairs.

“Follow me.”

She walks ahead, hips swaying slightly in those delicate silk shorts, her bare feet silent on the thick carpeted hallway.

I follow one step behind, hands folded, gaze respectfully down.

Every curve of her body is effortless. Her posture is ballet-perfect. Her skin glows with sleep and satin. There’s not a strand of hair out of place. Her mouth is soft and full, like it never has to press tight around restraint.

She’s beautiful. She’s polished. She walks like this house is hers.

We reach the east wing, and I recognize the door before she touches it.

The library.

One of the only rooms without internal surveillance. In these few weeks, I have mastered all the rooms and camera angles.

She steps inside.

I pause at the threshold—but only for a breath—and follow. The heavy oak door closes behind me.

I hear the lock slide into place.

This room is scented with aged wood, leather-bound books, and cigar ash sunk deep into the Persian rug. She walks a few paces in. Then stops.

Her eyes are already waiting for mine.

She smiles. “Do you want to sleep with him?”

My chest tightens.

I blink once. “Signora?”

Her head tilts.

“I said—do you want to fuck Cristofano?”

I let the silence stretch a moment—let my mouth hang half-open like the question stunned me.

Then I drop to my knees. As if my legs just gave out beneath me.

My hands press together like I’m praying. My head bows low.

“Signora, I would never—I would never dream of something so vile, so—so against God and this house and loyalty—”

She walks slowly toward me.