Page 76 of Blood Debt

“She just asked for two days off,” he says, tossing a thin folder onto my desk. “Claims she’s visiting her aunt.” His tone makes the word aunt sound like a punchline. “We both know she’s got no family in Melbourne. So…where’s she really going?”

I take one last drag, then crush the cigarette into the tray. The ember dies with a faint hiss.

I remember the nights we have spent—her soft hands, the heat of her mouth. I remember our first night in my office. The quiet click of something sliding into my laptop when she thought I wasn’t paying attention. I let her believe she got away with it. Every file she downloaded? A carefully built fiction. Fake ledgers. Fake ports. A maze she’ll never find the exit from.

“She’s making a move,” Matteo presses. “If she’s a cop, we should put her down before she—”

“No.” My voice cuts. “Not yet.”

Matteo straightens, his jaw tight. “Then I’ll follow her myself. No one else. If she’s lying, I’ll know.”

“You’re one of my best,” I say, stepping away from the window. “So follow her. Quietly. No mistakes.”

He nods once and turns for the door, tension radiating off him. When the latch clicks shut, I look back out at the courtyard. She’s gone now, swallowed by the halls.

Two days. When she comes back, I’ll tell her. I’ll tell her I know her real name, her real life. And then I’ll ask her the only question that matters—

Marry me, and we start over.

The faint tick of the grandfather clock fills the room, and there’s a knock. It's too soft to be Matteo. He doesn’t knock like that; when he wants to come in, he does.

“Come in,” I call without looking up.

The door swings wide, and Alessandra’s perfume hits me first—rich jasmine laced with citrus. She’s on me in seconds, arms winding around my neck, lips brushing mine before I can put a thought between us. Her bob gleams like glass under the light, her sapphire eyes bright with triumph.

“I came to plan our wedding,” she purrs, voice dripping with assumption.

I grip her shoulders and set her down, keeping my tone flat. “I’m not marrying you.”

She doesn’t even blink. “You’ll forget that bitch in a minute. You and I—we’re forever.”

“Stop, Alessandra. Go.”

Instead of leaving, she leans in closer, her breath curling at my ear. “An ordinary woman like her…can she bear being with a man like you?”

My body goes still.

She lets the words sink, her tone dipping lower. “Commoners don’t understand us. Only we understand each other.”

For a moment, I’m back in last night’s quiet with Serafina—her voice steady but cutting when she asked. If you had a daughter, would you look her in the eye and tell her who you are?

The thought wedges deep. My own childhood was a constant proving ground—one wrong move and I’d feel the edge of it. After my mother died, the rules got harsher. My father shielded me from the worst, but he couldn’t change my life. For a child? My child? Would I want this life for them? Alessandra’s fingers stroke along my jaw, manicured nails grazing my skin. I curl my hand around her waist, lift her as if she weighs nothing, and turn toward the door. She gasps and starts to wriggle, muttering my name in protest, but I’m already pushing the door open—

And I see her.

Serafina. Standing in the hallway, eyes flicking to where Alessandra’s arms are looped around me.

I set Alessandra down immediately, but she tilts her head and slips her arm back through mine like this is some intimate, unbreakable moment. My jaw tightens. I feel Serafina’s gaze linger for a while before she lowers her eyes.

Alessandra still hangs on my arm like she owns the damn limb when movement in the hall catches my attention.

“Elia,” I say, my voice level but heavy enough to make her pause mid-step.

Her eyes lift to mine exactly like she’s trained herself to play it. “Yes, Signore.”

“What do you want?”

Her lashes lower, and she wrings her hands lightly, a picture of hesitation. “I was wondering…what you’d like for lunch.”