Stalking Ginevra (Morally Black Book 4)

After the events of the past few days, I’m ready to smash some heads.

The truck rumbles over the uneven road, and the bulletproof armor I’m wearing presses into my chest. This morning, I feel more like Bob Brisket than Benito Montesano, but nothing about this outfit is erotic. There’s no dark excitement at the prospect of sneaking up on Ginevra, no thrill at the image of her on her knees. All that’s left is me brooding in the back of an armored truck on my way to visit Salvatore Bellavista.

Across from me, Reaper sits hunched over his tablet. His gaze flicks between me and the data on his screen. I could ask him what the hell he’s looking at, but I’m in no mood for a conversation. That insightful bastard is always two steps ahead, reading my mind before I’ve had time to catch up with my thoughts.

But last night keeps playing on repeat. Ginevra, sitting across from the Demartini men, her gray eyes sharp as blades. She looked like a flame-haired Athena with the delicate green silk clinging to her curves. They were hanging onto her every word, and so was I.

When she spoke, she wasn’t the woman I’d degraded. All I saw was the girl I fell in love with all those years ago. The one who made cookies with Sofia in the kitchen, and who charmed the staff, even at the age of eight. Back then, I watched her from the shadows, feeling like I would die if I didn’t make her mine.

That same need clung to my chest like smoke last night, taking me by surprise.

Ginevra controlled the dinner table with the kind of command and grace that stirred up old obsessions. In the cold light of day, I can’t believe I kept my best friend under lock and key. Or bred her like a prized bitch. Or degraded her like an object to fulfill my sickest fantasies.

My throat tightens just thinking about how badly I wronged my beautiful, sweet Ginevra.

The truck rattles over another bump in the road, and Reaper glances up from his tablet. He narrows his eyes, studying my features, but has the good grace not to speak. Asshole is too observant for his own good.

“We’re nearly there,” he says, his voice deceptively light.

“Yeah,” I grunt, trying to shake off the lingering memory of Ginevra from last night.

After dinner, I took her back to the pool house, pinned her to the bed, and pounded into her sweet cunt until she cried for mercy. It was like making up for lost time. I compensated for years of holding back, waiting for her to be my wife. Every moment was glorious, but the sweetest was afterward, when she settled into my arms.

“You alright?” Reaper asks.

I glance out of the truck’s narrow window, where the Bellavista compound looms on the horizon. “Dinner with Demartini last night was disconcerting.”

“It was a resounding success.” Reaper sets aside his tablet. “I saw the footage. Ginevra impressed the Demartini family, made a powerful ally, and uncovered a way to get back every stolen cent. I don’t see why⁠—”

His mid-sentence pause has me turning back from the window to meet his widened eyes. When he smirks, I want to leap off my seat and wring his neck. “You’re falling for her again.”

“I’m not.” My features harden into what I hope is an impenetrable mask.

Reaper shrugs. “Nothing wrong with that. She’s beautiful, intelligent, and about to make you even richer.”

I clench my jaw, not wanting to admit to an unsettling surge of guilt. Or how I haven’t purged myself of the simp who catered to Ginevra’s every whim. She’s awoken that sappy asshole from half a decade of sleep, and he’s ready to ruin our comfortable truce. With a few grandiose actions and ill-chosen words, he’ll upset the balance of power. Before I know it, her dainty little foot will return to the back of my neck.

“Focus on Bellavista,” I mutter, wanting this conversation to end.

The vehicle slows to a stop, and all thoughts of my wife recede to the background. Reaper and I put on our visors, ready for another confrontation with Bellavista. No matter which way I see the situation, this Victor character and him are deeply connected.

When we step out, the Bellavista compound is swarming with a mix of Mortis House boys and Montesano men. The first rays of sunlight stream in from behind the mansion, casting long shadows across the grass.

Dawn raids on families as large as Salvatore’s requires an extra-large personnel. Roman is still in a semi-alcoholic stupor from losing his wife. Cesare and his little assassin are slaughtering their way through the state of New Jersey, so I’m taking charge.

I walk across the lawn with Reaper at my side toward a group of people in their nightclothes kneeling on the grass. My men went through the compound, forcing Bellavista’s family and staff out of bed before sunlight. They’re terrified, shivering, their wide eyes darting between us and my soldiers.

Salvatore kneels in the front with his head bowed, clad in a pair of striped pajamas. On his left are a pair of young women wrapped in towels, who I’m sure are his little maids. On his right is his son, Antonio, who he shot during that breakfast. He clutches his torso, clearly in pain.

I stop in front of the cowering old man. “Victor Bellavista attacked my casino and left a note warning me to stay away from your family. What’s that about?”

Jowls tightening, Salvatore raises his head. Anger flares in his pale blue eyes, but he holds my gaze. “I already told you. I don’t have a relative named Victor.”

“Dig deeper,” I snarl. “You also never mentioned supplying Victor with the chips.”

Salvatore whirls on Antonio, his face red with fury. Bandages cover the younger man’s chest, showing through the opening in his nightshirt.

“Speak up, boy,” the old man snaps. “Explain to them why you gave counterfeit chips to a man as dangerous as Victor.”

“I didn’t.” Antonio gasps, his breath shallow. “The person I dealt with was a woman.”

My jaw tenses. We’ve been going round and round in circles with this family. The security built into each chip’s production means a low-level employee couldn’t steal a box without detection. Only someone with Salvatore or Antonio’s access to the factory could produce this many counterfeits.

“Who?” I snap.

Antonio doubles over and clutches his chest. “I never got her real name. She was careful. Always spoke on the phone. Always paid in cash.”

I crouch down in front of him and grab his chin. “Your whole family’s lives depends on what you tell me next.”

Tears well up in his eyes, and he squeezes them shut, letting them roll freely down his round face. “I swear, I don’t know anything else! I already told Dad and your man at the hospital, but nobody will listen. It was a woman. She sounded older, or maybe she was disguising her voice.”

He reels forward, collapsing onto the grass, and convulses. Salvatore rushes to his side, screaming his son’s name, cradling him like a broken doll.

I step back, my lips tightening with disapproval. Why would Antonio go so far to protect this woman? My gaze darts to Salvatore’s young bedmates, finding no sign of an age appropriate wife. What if she’s his birth mother? It would make a sick sort of sense.

Behind me, Reaper steps closer. “What now?”

I glance around at the compound at the terrified faces. “We question everyone here. Check their bank accounts for unusual transactions. At least another one has to be connected to the woman who supplied the chips to Victor.”

He nods. “And if we come up with nothing?”noveldrama

“I’ll wait for Ginevra to unravel Bellavista’s offshore assets. Once they’re identified, Salvatore will give me control. If that doesn’t cover the compound interest from the amount we lost, I’ll go after BV Holdings.”

Reaper nods.

The old man’s wails penetrate my helmet, making my ears ring. I force back a shudder. “Call an ambulance for Antonio. And while he’s recovering, have one of our men go through his phone records. If there’s any trace of his woman, I want her brought to me in handcuffs.”