Page 83 of Blood Debt

Matteo’s voice hardens. “Think about it. She came here to bust a ring that doesn’t even exist. And by now, she should’ve figured out the files she stole were fake. That means she’s here on Vitale’s orders. I’m sure of it.”

Her face flashes in my mind—green-gold eyes softening against me, the way her breath caught when my hands closed around her waist. That wasn’t an act. Couldn’t have been.

“I’m going to marry her,” I say.

Matteo jerks back. “You’ve lost it. You’re giving her direct access to the Black Book.”

I look down at the school photo again, my thumb brushing over the girl’s face. “She’s the mother of my child.”

Matteo snorts. “Or maybe she got knocked up by some guy who just happens to look like you.” But the way his gaze lingers on the picture tells me he’s thinking the same thing I am—that it’s likely she’s mine.

“I’ll marry her,” I repeat, my voice final. “Then we’ll sort everything out.”

He leans in, eyes sharp. “If she touches the Black Book, it’s my duty to kill her on the spot.”

“She won’t,” I say, holding his stare. “We just need to talk.”

He shakes his head, muttering, “You’re delusional.”

I laugh under my breath, not from humor but from the sudden, dizzying reality settling in my chest. “I have a daughter.”

****

The drive back from the docks is long enough for the winter light to start sinking behind the city, the streets dipping in gold and shadow. Matteo sits beside me, one leg bouncing lightly, but he doesn’t say a word. I can feel him watching me from the corner of his eye, waiting for me to break the silence. I don’t. My mind is still on the photo of the little girl—Bianca—burned into my head like a brand.

By the time we roll through the wrought-iron gates of the estate, the lamps along the drive have been lit, their glow skimming over the perfectly trimmed hedges. I step out before Matteo can come around to open the door, taking the long walk up to the main house.

My father’s quarters are quiet except for the soft murmur of voices. I pause in the doorway to see him half-sitting in bed, white hair slicked back, one thin hand wrapped around the nurse’s wrist as she leans close, smiling at whatever story he’s telling.

The moment she notices me, the smile vanishes from her face. I don’t say a word, just let my stare sit on her until she mutters an excuse and slips out.

“Must you always scare Elena off?” my father asks, a trace of amusement under the rasp in his voice.

I move closer, pulling up the chair beside his bed. “If I didn’t, you’d charm them into forgetting they’re on my payroll.”

He chuckles, a dry sound, but I catch the weariness in his eyes. I take his hand—still calloused despite the years—and for a moment, we’re just father and son. No empire. No blood.

“I’m marrying the maid,” I say. “I am serious, Father.”

The air stills. His storm-gray gaze sharpens, reading my face. “You ran the Bellarosa affairs since you were nineteen. Not once have you failed me. If this is truly what you want…I can’t stop you.”

There’s no anger in his tone, but the pause that follows is weighted. “Now,” he mutters, “I’ll have to offer apologies to the Morelli family.”

My mouth twitches into a smile. “That’s manageable.” I lean down and brush my lips over his knuckles, but he pulls his hand away with a scoff, snapping for his nurse.

“Out. I need my peace.”

I stand, but the smile lingers as I leave his room. The door shuts behind me, and the quiet hallway stretches ahead. My steps feel lighter than they should.

Fate had handed me Serafina once before, in Rome. Now it’s brought her back. I’ll tear down the lies she came here with, strip away whatever orders sent her into my home. And then—she’ll bring my daughter home.

We’ll be a family.

I’m halfway down the marble corridor when raised voices cut through the usual hush of the estate.

“…I said you can’t go in,” Matteo’s voice is iron.

“You will get out of my way, Matteo.” Alessandra’s reply is a whip crack, heels clicking like gunshots against the floor.