Stalking Ginevra (Morally Black Book 4)

Ginevra should have come straight to me.

I lean forward in my seat, my eyes fixed on the screen. Her driveway fills the display, but I can barely see her through the crowd of sharks.

They have permission to speak to her, but with minimal touching. Because her body is mine. I control every inch of her skin, every breath she takes. But one question still burns through my mind.

How far will I have to go to force her to seek my help? The Brisket persona should have been repulsive enough to send her running into my arms, yet she’s returned home.

By now, my sharks will have communicated the extent of the threat hanging over her pretty head.

If she continues dismissing me as an option, I’ll be forced to stage an auction, hire frightened-looking girls and leering predators. An organ trafficker will win the girl before her, making Ginevra cry out for a savior.

I’ll arrange for the vilest looking man to bid on her body, shouting out obscenities that will make her heart lurch. Then at the last minute, I’ll step in, outbid the bastard, and make her collapse with relief.

What an ordeal.

All for a woman I should have shot in the head.

Her death might have freed me from this addiction—my cock’s relentless need for only one woman in the entire world. Ginevra Di Marco bewitched me from the moment we met. Now, no other individual in the world, real or imagined, will satisfy my needs. My body only wants her.

A knock on the door pulls me out of my thoughts. I don’t turn around. The casino floor can go to hell for all I care right now. Whoever’s out in the hallway knocks again and again until I roar at them to enter.

Albert Malfi lumbers inside, out of breath, knowing better than to interrupt.

My teeth grind, and I tear my gaze from the screen just long enough to shoot a glare at my security chief. “This had better be important.”

“There’s a guy trying to cash in counterfeit chips worth a hundred grand. Eighth one tonight.”

“Handle it,” I snap. “Search through their devices. Get names, addresses, specifics.”

He hesitates, his bulky form hovering in the corner like a bad smell. “We think it’s a syndicate.”

I exhale lungfuls of frustration through clenched teeth. “Of course, it is. Get out there and get those details. Don’t interrupt me unless you find their leader.”

The door clicks shut behind him. I turn back to the footage, my focus snapping to Ginevra. The pressure in my chest builds, hardening into a knot. What the fuck will happen next?

Onscreen, the men back off, their figures retreating toward the truck. Ginevra remains sitting on her ass, trembling and too paralyzed to act.

I give her a count of ten to move, but she doesn’t. I drum my fingers against the desk to the beat of my frustration. She should be up by now, getting in the car, driving straight to my casino.

I exhale through clenched teeth, my patience fraying with each second. She’s testing the limits of my patience. If this doesn’t push her into my arms, will I need to stage that fucking auction?

“Come on, Ginevra. Get up.”

She doesn’t budge. The truck’s tail lights flicker as they vanish into the night, leaving her alone in the driveway. It takes every effort not to rise off my seat, drive down to Victoria Gardens, and take control.

Her hesitation grates on my nerves, sharpening my anger to a razor point. If this isn’t enough to light a fire under her delectable ass, I’ll have to switch tactics.

My fingers twitch toward the phone. Bossanova could marry her mother tonight if I give the order. I could arrange the whole thing within hours—a quick, casino ceremony with a courier sending her a polaroid attached to a slice of wedding cake.

Then she’ll come running, begging for my protection. And I won’t even need to stage the auction.

At last, she stirs. My eyes narrow as she rises, moving like she’s dragging herself out of a nightmare. She walks to the car, and for a moment, I think she’s finally going to drive straight to me. But then she stops, opens the door, and grabs her purse.

Frustration surges, my fingers clenching around the table. She’s still stalling, still refusing to do what I expect. That car should be on its way here, not sitting idle in that driveway. She’s wasting time, and my patience is wearing thin.

A second knock, harder this time, drags my attention from the screen.

“What?” I yell.

The door opens, and the security chief stands in the doorway, his face set in a grim line. “We’ve caught another one trying to cash in counterfeit chips. It’s a woman who says she got them from Bellavista.”

I leap to my feet, unable to ignore the opportunity to meet the ringleader.

“Fine.” I snap and follow him out, my thoughts remaining with Ginevra.

She has the next three hours to reach the casino or I’ll take action.

As we step into the elevator, Malfi’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Bellavista must be more involved in the counterfeit chips than you thought.”

I bristle, barely suppressing a snarl. “Is this your way of telling me Bellavista is making me run around in circles?”

He flinches. “No, sir. I just⁠—“

“You let your predecessor flood the casino with counterfeit chips and didn’t gather a shred of intel?”

The elevator doors slide shut with a metallic thud, leaving Malfi shuffling on his feet. He stares at the floor, muttering something about needing to keep his job. He will, until one of my Mortis House boys grows into the role. I make a mental note to ask Reaper if any of them would be interested.

“Any leads on his crew?” I ask.

“Not yet. We haven’t yet interrogated the last woman we detained for trying to cash the chips.”

The doors open, letting in flashing lights, clinking chips, jumbled conversation and laughter. Normally, the casino is invigorating. Tonight, it barely registers.

We weave through the crowd toward the back offices, and it takes every effort to keep my thoughts away from Ginevra. Whatever she decides to do tonight, I’ll counter with a contingency plan. It’s only a matter of time before she becomes mine.

Malfi leads me into the interrogation room where a pale, jittery woman awaits. A black curtain of hair hides her features, but she’s dressed in a low-cut cocktail gown that showcases her assets.

Not bothering with pleasantries, I slam my fist on the table, making her startle.

Her head snaps up, and she stares at me through wide eyes smudged with mascara.

“Start talking.” I snarl.

She stammers, her words tumbling over each other in a desperate scramble. I catch snippets—promises of easy money, threats from unseen figures—but my thoughts keep drifting back to Ginevra. That wretched woman won’t even allow me to focus on the casino’s biggest financial drain.

“Names. Locations,” I snap, cutting through her babble.

She flinches, swallowing hard before spilling more details. As Malfi scribbles notes, it takes every effort to remain focussed.

I glare down at the woman, unimpressed. “Who sold you the chips?”

Her throat bobs. “He said he’d kill me⁠—“

“Which is better than what I’ll do to you if you don’t talk.” I flick my head to Malfi. “Did you scan her phone?”

“Of course.”

“Send out a team to drag in her family. I want parents, siblings, lovers, kids⁠—“

“Wait,” she shrieks. “It was Victor. Victor Bellavista.”

My brows rise. “Which one is he?”

“Salvatore’s brother? He said it would be okay, since the chief of security uses the same chips.”

I whirl around to glare at Malfi, who raises his palms. “She isn’t talking about me!”

“What else?” I ask the woman.

“That’s everything,” she rasps, her eyes shiny with unshed tears.

I nod to Malfi. “Turn her over to Lorenzo. He’ll verify her story.”

Malfi crosses the room to grip her arm, and I walk out into the hallway. Once the door closes, I allow myself a moment to breathe, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension.

Salvatore Bellavista’s younger brother?

Since the man he shot was his son, then either Salvatore is trying to protect Victor, or Victor is an impostor. That would make sense, considering Salvatore went to great measures to reimburse the casino’s losses. He wouldn’t allow the scammer to continue targeting my establishment, but then the only person capable of creating those chips has to be connected to BV Holdings.

Only further interrogation will uncover the truth.

I should be back in my office, watching the feed from Ginevra’s driveway. I should be drinking whiskey, enjoying the sight of my future wife battling through her options.

Instead, I have a conspiracy to uncover. That will mean talking to every asshole we capture tonight who even touches one of those counterfeit chips.