99 Percent Mine: A Novel

The door closes with a soft click, but it might as well be a gunshot. I stare at the solid piece of wood, waiting for it to open again, waiting for Ginevra to return.

But she doesn’t.

Cold settles across the hospital room, the kind of chill that seeps past my chest cavity and into the chambers of my heart. I suck in a breath, but it’s sharp, thin, and may as well be a knife across my throat. My chest tightens, and I lean to the edge of the bed, wanting to bury my face in my hands, wanting to stop the cresting wave of grief, but the pressure mounts in my head, my chest, my heart.

Ginevra is gone.

I should stand up, rip the IV from my veins, and chase after my wife, but my body won’t move. My legs refuse to cooperate, weighed down by an unavoidable truth.

What I did was unforgivable. I broke Ginevra’s trust. Hurt and disrespected her in ways I can never take back. My sins against her can’t be fixed with flowers or apologies. This is the end.

Heat builds behind my eyes, threatening tears. I press my palms into my face, refusing to let them spill. Ginevra wouldn’t want a weak-willed man who cries when his world falls apart. But then, she just said our love was toxic.

The beeping monitors echo my faltering heartbeat, punctuating the silence with their merciless rhythm. They may as well flatline because without Ginevra, I may as well be dead.

She’s gone.

I can still hear her voice, the finality of her goodbye. Our love is a prison. The truth of it slices deeper than any bullet.

All this time, I thought I was breaking her to reform the pieces to fit my jagged edges. But Ginevra isn’t an object I can mold, or a doll I can manipulate. She’s my goddess, my reason for living, the air that I breathe.

I chained her down, suffocating her until she had to leave.

And now, I’m alone.

Pulling my hands away from my face, I stare down at the bandages wrapped around my neck. The bullet missed my artery, but it’s lodged in my heart. I survived the gunshot, but I don’t know if I’ll survive losing Ginevra.

A ragged breath shudders through my chest, and I let my head fall back against the pillow. I stare up at the ceiling, trying to focus on the sterile white tiles, and let my mind go blank. It’s as futile as trying to stop my own pulse.

Every thought running through my mind is in some way linked to Ginevra. Every inch of this room is filled with her absence. Every heartbeat is a reminder of what I’ve lost.

How do I get her back?

The door creaks open, and Roman steps inside with Cesare. At the sight of my little brother, an idea punches me in the gut. I try to ignore it, but it’s already taking form, becoming too irresistible to dismiss.

“How’d it go with Ginevra?” Roman asks, his voice cautious.

The words dry in my throat. Saying them out loud only makes the loss cut deeper.

Roman frowns. “She’s left you?”

My chest tightens. “She said our love was a prison.”

“But you took a bullet for her.” My little brother folds his arms, his eyes sharpening. “It’s a fucking miracle you’re not dead.”

“Cesare,” Roman says.

“No,” he snaps. “What kind of woman watches a man sacrifice his life to save her scrawny ass, only to leave him at his most vulnerable?”

“Stop,” I rasp.

Cesare glances from Roman to me. “What’s wrong with you both? Someone needs to talk sense into Ginevra. She should be on her knees, kissing your feet. She can’t walk out on you again!”

“It’s complicated.”

His eyes narrow. “How?”

I glance at Roman, who grimaces. He’s the only man in the world who could understand even a fraction of my fuck up. Emberly left him because she uncovered his lies. What I did to Ginevra was far worse than taking away a stolen inheritance.

Clearing my throat, I force down the knot in my chest. “How did you make Rosalind stay?”

Cesare’s eyebrow lifts. “What do you mean?”

I sit up straighter, meeting his gaze. “You’re a master with women. After everything you did to her, she still hasn’t left. How did you make the Stockholm syndrome stick?”

Cesare’s smirks. “Sure you want my advice?”

Desperation surges in my gut. I need those secrets more than ever. “Yes.”

He pushes off the wall, stepping closer to the bedside. “Abduct someone they love. That’s how I got Rosalind to come back the first time she ran.”

Heat ignites behind my eyes. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he says with a shrug. “The only thing Rosalind cared about was Miranda. Every time I stole her, it brought Rosalind closer.”

My jaw clenches. “I don’t want to be a psychopath.”

All traces of amusement vanish, leaving behind a scowl. “Strange how you’re asking this psychopath for advice.” he says, his voice lowering. “What the hell did you do that made her leave?”

I shift on the bed, trying not to flinch at the accusation.

Roman steps closer, his brow furrowed. “Don’t give Benito a hard time⁠—”

“No,” I rasp. “It’s okay. Just give me a minute.”

My brothers pull up seats and settle at the bedside, both wearing identical scowls. I lean back against the pillows, my gaze fixed on the ceiling, and I spill my guts.

I tell them about taking advantage of Ginevra when I found her tied up in a closet, about climbing into her house disguised as a sexual predator. I tell them about how I interfered with her job, got her fired, set up phony loan sharks, and the shit show with her mother and Valentino Bossanova.

The part about Julian is easy. That bastard deserved worse than evisceration. But my words falter at the wedding, and the days after when I kept her imprisoned and without clothes. Then tears of shame roll down my cheeks when I confess to the fake adultery and subsequent breeding.

When I finish, Cesare whistles. “Forget what I said about her earlier.”

Roman clears his throat. “I can’t exactly judge since I tampered with Emberly’s birth control.”

“There’s something I don’t understand,” Cesare says.

“What?” I rasp, still staring at the ceiling.

“Why didn’t you just show up at her doorstep with flowers?”

I jerk my head to the side, igniting an explosion of pain that makes me wince. Instead of the mockery I expect to find on his features, Cesare’s blue eyes are earnest.

Frustration claws at my chest, but I don’t have an answer. All the constructions I had in my head about Ginevra rejecting me for being weak crumble into dust in the light of the truth. Cesare is right, and that realization twists like a knife in my gut.

“It was a mistake.”

He shakes his head. “You want to know why Rosalind stayed?”

I nod.

“I’ve been called a psychopath my whole life. Never pretended to be anything different. You hid in the shadows, playing games, and she left you in the dark.”

His words slice through my heart, cutting so deeper that I have to squeeze my eyes shut.

“Cesare,” Roman hisses.

“He asked, so I’m answering,” says my little brother. “Get help. Both of you. Either become the men your wives fell in love with or leave them the fuck alone.”

His chair scrapes back, and his footsteps disappear through the door and down the hallway. Silence settles in the hospital room, broken by the monitors’ incessant beeping. I glance at Roman, who shifts on his seat, his arms crossed like he’s holding something back.

“Do you agree with him?” I ask, my voice choked with emotion.

Roman drops his gaze to the floor. “My wife tied me to a torture rack, smashed a meat tenderizer into my balls, carved LIAR into my chest, and left me for dead. Cesare carves his initials into Rosalind and wins an instant family. Maybe he’s onto something if he says we should get help.”

A weak laugh escapes my throat, but it feels like swallowing glass.

Roman sighs, crossing his arms tighter. “All I can do is watch Emberly from afar. Make sure she’s okay. Maybe that’s all you can do for Ginny.”

The weight of his words settles over my chest, crushing my lungs. I can’t give up on Ginevra. Not before I can prove that I’ve changed—that I’m worthy of her love.