All Chapters of The Debt of the Virgin Widow: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

"Move your ass, Bianca. The glass in your hands is the least of your problems."The voice wasn't Dante's. It was higher, sharper, dripping with a casual malice that made the blood in Bianca’s veins turn to slush.Bianca hauled herself through the jagged frame of the transport van’s rear doors. Her palms shredded against the remains of the safety glass. Red smears streaked the white-hot metal of the wreckage. Her lungs burned with the intake of acrid smoke and the biting scent of pine needles. She collapsed onto the gravel, her knees buckling under the weight of her own body. The dampening cuffs lay in the dirt behind her, snapped like brittle plastic by the force of the crash.She looked up. No Dante. No towering beast.Sofia Vane stood five feet away, silhouetted by the orange glow of the burning escort SUV. She looked like she was out for a midnight stroll, except for the suppressed submachine gun hanging from a tactical sling over her shoulder and the blood spattered across her des

"Check the perimeter. Now. Don't just stand there gawking at the dust, Sofia."Dante didn’t look up. He knelt on the cold concrete of the basement floor, his fingers dancing over the casing of a claymore mine. The safehouse above them groaned under a gust of wind, the wood framing creaking like an old man’s bones. No guards stood watch at the door. No hum of a generator broke the silence. Just the drip of water hitting a rusted drain and the metallic click of Dante's tools."The perimeter is clear, Dante. Or as clear as it gets with federal heat and the Judge's hounds sniffing every tree in the county." Sofia leaned against the doorframe, her submachine gun slung low. She swiped a hand through the grime on her face. "You look like hell. When was the last time you closed your eyes? You're a goddamn ghost.""Sleep is for people who aren't being hunted by their own father." Dante tightened a wire. His knuckles were raw, skin stripped back to the red meat from days of serrated labor. He l

"Don't move. Don't even breathe."Dante’s voice was a jagged rasp. He didn't lower the Glock. The barrel stayed level with the door, but his eyes were glued to the red ruin of the High Judge's throat. Blood continued to drip, a rhythmic, thick patter against the hardwood floor."Dante, the blood... it’s still steaming." Bianca gripped her hunting knife so hard the hilt bit into her palm. She stepped around the edge of the massive bed, her boots sticking slightly to the crimson-soaked rug. "He wasn't killed an hour ago. He was killed minutes ago.""I see it." Dante’s jaw muscles bunched. He reached out with his free hand, his fingers hovering over the Judge's open eyes. He didn't close them. He snatched the vellum note instead. "The Queen has spoken? What the f**k is this? My mother is a pile of ash in a crematorium.""Maybe the ash didn't take." Bianca scanned the shadows of the master suite. The heavy velvet curtains swayed in the draft, but the room was empty. No hidden assassins. N

"What the hell is that taste?"Bianca spat into the rusted sink, the saliva thick and tasting of old pennies. Copper and salt. She wiped her mouth with the back of a hand that wouldn't stop twitching. The air in the sub-basement changed. It didn't just smell like damp stone and gun oil anymore. It smelled like her. A cloying, heavy scent of rising hormones and sharp, metallic sweat that seemed to coat the inside of her nostrils. Every breath was a sensory assault."Bianca? You okay?" Dante sat on the edge of the cot, his fingers clumsily threading laces through his combat boots. He stopped, head cocked."I'm fine. Just... nauseous. The blast must have rattled my guts more than I thought." She gripped the edge of the porcelain basin. It groaned under her weight. Her fingernails, still sharp, etched thin white lines into the old finish."The air is thick. You smell like..." Dante trailed off, his jaw tightening as he stood. He crossed the small space in two strides, his hand landing hea

"Get the hell in there. Now."Dante shoved the heavy steel door. It didn't glide; it ground against the floor with the sound of a mountain moving. The air inside the bunker hit like a slap—sterile, recirculated, and smelling of ozone. This was the Gilded Cage, the dead center of the Vane Estate. Lead-lined walls. Air-gapped servers. Six inches of reinforced titanium separating the interior from the firestorm Arthur was currently raining down on the library above."Dante, wait! You can't stay out there!" Bianca stumbled, her boots catching on the threshold. She gripped the frame, her knuckles turning white against the cold metal. "The tactical teams... they're in the hallway. I can hear the clicking of their boots on the marble.""I know what's in the hallway." Dante didn't look back. He was already checking the slide on his Glock, his movements clinical and jagged. "This room is blast-proof. EMP-shielded. Even if the whole house goes, this pocket stays. It’s the only place your scent