Chapter 26 – Serafina
Bellarosa Estate
My hair is pulled into a severe bun that tugs at my scalp, keeping every strand out of my way. The watch Marcello gave me rests against my wrist like a shackle and a weapon all at once. I’ve already sent Tony the coded backup message. There’s no point dodging the cameras now; I want them to see me.
The hall feels unnervingly quiet as I make my way toward the study, my footsteps swallowed by the thick rugs. I cross the study, fingers brushing the panel on the far wall until it clicks and slides open, revealing the narrow stairway to the vault.
The descent feels colder, the light changing from warm gold to harsh, sterile white. The room at the bottom is stark and humming with electricity, the air thrumming like it’s alive. The safe waits in the center, its steel surface gleaming. I’m six feet away when it happens.
A searing line of heat lashes across my thigh, sharp enough to make my knees buckle.
My breath hitches. My gaze darts down—and then I see them.
Thin beams of crimson light, invisible until I’ve breached their field, stretching across the floor and walls in an intricate, deadly lattice.
A laser guard. Military-grade. The sting on my leg tells me exactly what they’re capable of—high-frequency thermal beams hot enough to cut through fabric and flesh if I’m careless.
I drop to my stomach, the cold steel biting into my palms. My breathing slows as I track the patterns, the beams pulsing faintly.
My mind maps the gaps, the precise angles I’ll need to move through without brushing even a hair against the red lines.
My elbow brushes too close to one, and heat singes my skin—a warning that feels like a brand.
Inch by inch, I crawl forward, every muscle taut.
The safe looms closer, and my chest tightens.
My hand hovers over the biometric pad, hesitation clawing at me.
One touch and I can’t turn back. But Bianca’s face flashes in my mind.
Then Isla’s—smiling, before I imagine her in that cage upstairs.
My stomach knots, rage shoving me forward.
I press my thumb to the pad. A faint prick as it draws blood. A soft chime. The door slides open with clinical precision, revealing the black, high-tech box nestled inside. My pulse roars in my ears.
The moment I lift it free, the alarms erupt—shrill, unrelenting. The beams flare brighter, the hum of the vault intensifying into an almost deafening vibration.
Clutching the box to my chest, I lower myself back to the floor, sliding under the first line of light, twisting through the second, my knees scraping raw against the metal. My chest is tight, my breaths sharp as I inch toward the exit.
The opening is closing. I push harder, ignoring the sting of a beam that grazes my ankle. My legs burn as I scramble upright and sprint.
I dive through just as the steel door slams shut behind me with a heavy thunk.
The relief is short-lived.
Matteo stands there, framed in the dim light of the hall, a gun already raised and aimed at my chest. His eyes flick from the box in my arms to my face, and his mouth is a hard, thin line. There’s no shake in his arm, no flicker of hesitation in his eyes—just unwavering intent.
“Hand over the box, Elia,” he says, voice low and sharp enough to cut.
I taste blood where I bite the inside of my cheek, but my smile doesn’t falter. It’s brittle. “No.”
In the same breath, I pivot toward the study window.
My shoulder hits the frame, glass exploding around me in a shower of glittering shards.
Night air punches against my face, cold and smelling faintly of rain.
My fingers find the iron railing below, catching just in time.
Metal scrapes my palms raw, but I use the momentum to swing down.
The ground rushes up faster than I want. I land hard, my ankle twisting sharply under me. Pain flares white-hot, threatening to buckle me, but I grit my teeth and run.
Shouts tear through the night. Matteo’s voice barking orders. The heavy pound of boots follows, closing in. Then—the crack of gunfire. Bullets whiz past, close enough that I feel the hot bite of stone fragments hitting my calves.
My heart slams in my ribs as I sprint toward the gates. My hand flies to the slim watch on my wrist—the one Marcello gave me. My thumb hovers for only a fraction of a second before pressing the hidden button.
“I need out. Now,” I breathe into the mic, my words clipped between gasps.
The gates loom ahead when it happens.
“Stop.”
The voice freezes me mid-stride. He steps out from the shadows like he’s been waiting for this exact moment. Moonlight slices across Cristofano’s face, turning his eyes into molten silver. There’s no one else in my line of sight now. Not Matteo. Not the guards. Just him.
“How long have you known who I am?” My voice shakes—not from fear, but from the sheer, coiled fury clawing at my throat.
His gaze doesn’t waver. “Before you even came to Melbourne.”
The air leaves my lungs. “Then why didn’t you kill me?”
He steps closer, slow and deliberate, as if the answer should be obvious. “You’re my first love. The mother of my child.”
My pulse falters. He knows about Bianca. “You can’t take her,” I fire back instantly, panic threading through every syllable.
“This can be solved,” he says, almost softly. “I love you.”
It’s like being hit in the chest. And I hate him for it.
“You killed my friend,” I spit. “I saw her ring in your cage.”
His brows knit together. The confusion looks real, but I can’t trust it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re mistaken. I can explain—”
The gates explode inward with a metallic shriek. Marcello’s men flood in—dark clothing, masked faces, guns ready. Their boots drum against the stone, the air around them charged with violent intent.
“Marcello’s orders,” one of them barks. “We’ll take her from here.”
Matteo emerges from the side, gun already up. His eyes say it before his mouth does—he’s going to end this right now.
“Stop,” Cristofano thunders. “Put it down.”
Matteo ignores him. His finger tightens on the trigger—
The gunshot is deafening in the open night.
Matteo’s eyes go wide. He stumbles, clutching his side, before crashing to the ground.
A single gunshot rips through the night. Matteo’s eyes go wide, his hand flies to his side, and he crumples. Cristofano stands there, gun still smoking, chest heaving. And then—his eyes find mine. He shot Matteo? Why?
Everything else fades. The shouting. The pounding boots. The men closing in.
It’s just us.
His gaze is desperate, raw, and unguarded in a way I’ve never seen. My heart stutters. I can’t look away. He’s not moving, but I feel him begging me not to go.
I swallow hard, forcing steel into my spine even as something inside me cracks. If I hold this look any longer, I might break.
Marcello’s men seize my arms. I don’t fight.
I let them drag me toward the gate, but I turn one last time. His expression hasn’t changed—it’s pain, fury, and something too close to love all tangled together.
I memorize it, because I know it’s the last time I’ll see him like this.
Then the night swallows me whole.