Stalking Ginevra (Morally Black Book 4)

I’ve faced down enemies, survived betrayals, navigated the treacherous waters of family loyalty. But nothing feels as convoluted as this spate of murders.

Allegra Reggio’s death shouldn’t matter to me, but it reeks of Cesare.

The photo Gil sent sears into my memory—her lifeless body lying in the back seat, covered in blood and puncture wounds. And that goddamn knife left in her was unmistakable. I’ve seen Cesare brandish it countless times.

I close my eyes, trying to force my mind into clarity, but the images keep returning. My gut churns to think of how she suffered, but more disturbing is the gnawing suspicion that my brother is responsible.

Cesare claims the Galliano family murdered his ex, which makes no sense. They stole our meth lab, and Tommy Galliano stole our mother, but why would they kill Allegra? Why now? And how the hell would they have gotten their hands on Cesare’s knife?

My fists clench at my sides, frustration and doubt swirling together into a potent mix of anger. Cesare’s story doesn’t add up, not with the way he’s been spiraling out of control. He’s always been reckless, but this is different. It feels deliberate, like he’s testing the limits of our loyalty, seeing how far he can push before something snaps.

I can’t turn a blind eye.

Not this time.

Allegra is the second of Cesare’s ex-girlfriends to die since the night Galliano met with Roman, but I can’t see why he would frame my youngest brother.

Every clue points to Cesare being the killer. He had the motive, the opportunity, and no alibi. But why the hell would he murder innocent women when he can play with three female assassins in the basement?

The questions gnaw at my conscience, the uncertainty biting deep. But it’s not just Cesare weighing on my mind tonight.

Ginevra kneels before me in her skimpy costume, cosplaying a catgirl maid, ready to submit to Brisket, rather than to me.

Seeing her like this, her defiance replaced with a willingness to play along with Brisket’s twisted games, ignites a fury in my chest that burns bright.

She’s supposed to resist, to fight, to be so desperate and broken that she has no choice but to run to me for help. Instead, she’s kneeling, ready to submit, and it feels like everything I’ve been working toward is falling down the toilet.

I want her needing Benito—not Brisket—to be her savior. Instead, she’s turning to my disrespectful alter ego for help.

With a snarl, I grab her by the throat. Anger surges through my veins, overpowering the frustration that’s been building all day. I lift her off her knees, walk her backward, and shove her down onto the bed.

She lands with a creak. I follow her down, pressing my weight against her body, pinning her to the mattress.

Eyes widening, she wriggles beneath me but doesn’t fight back. Her flushed, parted lips, and the lust shining in her eyes only fuels my anger.

She’s supposed to resist. To fight. To run to her brave Benito and beg for protection.

Frustration from Cesare’s murders and from my failure to herd this stubborn woman blends into impotent rage.

“You think I want you groveling like this?” I hiss.

Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t answer. I tighten my fingers around her throat, making her eyes flicker with panic.

Good. Let her feel a fraction of my exasperation.

“Why the sudden change?” I growl. “Why are you so eager to submit?”

Her lips part, but she makes no sound. I loosen my grip just enough for her to breathe.

“I want you,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

A fresh wave of fury crashes through my chest, knocking my heart from its resting place. She wants Brisket, not me? I can’t tell if she’s fucking around or truly broken.

I run the knife over her throat, letting the cold metal leave a trail of goosebumps on her unmarked skin. The little temptress shivers but doesn’t resist.

“You like cruelty, don’t you?” I hiss, bringing the blade up to her face. “The degradation?”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she nods.

No matter how much I hate this woman, I couldn’t mark her skin.

I need to push her further, to see if this desire to submit is real or an attempt at manipulation. I reach for the bottle of lube on the bedside table, and flip its lid with a click.

Her eyes snap open, her features flickering with panic. Through panting breaths, she asks, “What are you doing?”

Ignoring her, I squeeze a large quantity of lube onto my gloved fingers. “My little kitten has too much fur.”

When she tries to squirm away, I pin her with my forearm and smear the liquid over her pubic hair. She trembles beneath my touch, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

“Please…” she whispers, but I cut her off with a low growl.

“Please what, little Ginny? Use your words.”

She shivers, her body tensing under my hold. I bring the knife to her pussy and glide the blade at the base of her pubic hair, watching it fall away to reveal smooth skin. I shave away the last shreds of her dignity, wondering if this is what will break her spirit. Shuddering, she forces her body still.

Silence stretches out, broken by the rasp of her breathing and the scrape of my makeshift razor. Her fear, her humiliation, and her reluctant surrender stir my darker instincts.

This is almost what I wanted—to see her stripped bare, exposed.

But at Benito’s mercy and in my fucking casino.

I continue shaving that sweet pussy until all that’s left is a tiny strip. Then I place the flat of the blade over her clit and growl, “What do you want from me?”

She breathes hard, her body freezing. Her legs tremble the harder I press the metal to her swollen bud.

“Talk unless you want to bleed,” I order, my patience wearing thin.

She whispers, “I need you to kill a man for me.”

My jaw drops. Cold betrayal twists in my gut, but I force it down, keeping my grip on the knife. The Ginevra I loved was gentle and sweet until she plunged a dagger into my heart.

“Who do you want me to kill?” I ask, keeping my voice even.

She hesitates, her breath quickening. “Not until you agree.”

I flash a bitter smile. She dares to bargain with me now? Drawing back, I kick her legs open, holding them in place with my knees. I flip the knife, pressing the hilt at her soaking entrance.

Her body tenses once more, and she gasps. “Torture me all you want, but I won’t talk.”

I push the hilt into her pussy, watching the way she writhes beneath my control, the mixture of pleasure and shame contorting her face. Ginevra is a dirty girl, but I’m prepared to go lower.

“You want me to murder Mr. Montesano?”

“No,” she says through clenched teeth.

My chest loosens at not being the target of her animosity. I move the hilt in and out, the slick sound of it filling the room as she bucks against my grip, her body betraying her resolve. Her breath hitches, her moans growing louder, more desperate.

“Then tell me who.”noveldrama

Her eyes flutter closed, her body arching off the bed as she tries to resist the inevitable. But she’s lost in the sensation, in this twisted pleasure.

“Say the name,” I roar. “Who do you want dead?”

Sweat drips down my forehead, soaking into the collar of my armor. My breathing labors, and my chest tightens with the effort of holding back. I need Ginevra so badly it hurts, but I need her submission even more.

“Say it.”

Her body jerks as she reaches the breaking point, and with a final burst of desperation, she screams, “You, you fucking asshole. Bob Brisket!”