Page 20 of Blood Debt
He continues, unwavering. “The Blue Moon is coming. You will marry her. You will bind the bloodline.”
Chapter 5 – Serafina
Undisclosed Safe House, Lazio Countryside
The house is too big.
Every room echoes—even with the windows open and Bianca’s voice trailing like music down the marble hall.
She’s already claimed the upstairs bedroom with the window seat and the painted ceiling. “Like a castle,” she’d whispered when we arrived, palms pressed to the glass like she was trying to hold the sky. Now she’s skipping barefoot over the polished floors, curls bouncing, laughter chasing behind her.
It’s the safest place I’ve ever seen.
Perimeter security. Unmarked fencing. A dozen exit strategies. It feels more like a clean prison than a home, but at least I know no one can reach them here.
Tony stands near the door, scanning messages on a secure tablet, his expression unreadable. When Bianca bounds into the hallway and tugs on his sleeve, he glances up and manages a small smile.
“You want to go see the olive grove?” he asks her.
Her eyes widen. “There’s trees here, too?”
He nods solemnly, as if trees were a rare and honorable thing. “Let’s go find the biggest one.”
She gasps like he’s offered her gold and reaches for his hand.
“Don’t run too far,” I say, voice soft but clear. “Stay where I can see you.”
She throws a grin over her shoulder. “Okay, Mama!”
They disappear around the corner, her giggles receding down the corridor.
I release a slow breath.
The silence that follows isn’t peaceful. It’s heavy. Like everything I haven’t said is still vibrating in the air.
Mama stands near the tall windows in the kitchen, arms crossed, watching the wind ripple through the hills. Her scarf is draped loosely over her shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair twisted into a knot, posture straight in the way women carry themselves when they’re afraid but unwilling to show it.
I join her.
The countryside stretches wide—dry yellow fields, rows of olive trees, a garden bed already sprouting green.
“She’ll be safe here,” I say, quietly.
She doesn’t answer at first. Then, softly: “You’re leaving.”
I nod.
She exhales. “How long?”
“Two months,” I reply. “If everything goes as planned.”
Her eyes narrow. “And if it doesn’t?”
I look down at my hands. I don’t answer.
She turns toward me fully. Her face is calm, but her mouth is tight. “What do you need from me?”
“Homeschool her,” I say. “Keep her off systems. No enrollment. No movement tracking. Keep it analog.”
