Stalking Ginevra (Morally Black Book 4)

Striding through the casino, I pull out my phone and call Reaper, adrenaline spiking with the thrill of victory. Lights flash off polished floors, catching on the high-rollers drifting from table to table, but none of it registers. My mind is already on the chapel, and on the moment I finally claim what’s mine.

When he picks up on the second ring, I say, “Get your ass to the casino. You’re going to be my best man.”

There’s a beat of silence, then he splutters, “What? You’re kidding.”

“You heard me.” I let out a low chuckle, imagining his shock.

I hang up before he can respond and tuck the phone into my pocket. Each step toward the chapel heightens my anticipation. It’s finally happening, just as I intended.

My plans have come together, all the pieces falling into place. Before the hour is up, Ginevra will be mine.

She looked so beautiful, offering me the raw desperation she only reserved for Brisket. This is the Ginevra I’ve craved. Primal. Submissive. Needing only me. She’s no longer the austere goddess who dismissed my offerings, but exactly where I want her. Groveling to me on her pretty little knees.

The casino fades into a blur. I push open the doors to the chapel, ready to seal the deal. But the room is empty—no Reverend Johnson, no witnesses, just rows of empty pews.

My nostrils flare. That old bastard was supposed to be on standby.

An assistant rushes in, tripping over his own feet. His borrowed Elvis wig slips over his brow, breaking away from the painted-on sideburns.

“Where the hell is Reverend Johnson?” I snarl.

He flinches. “He’s in the private dining room performing a ceremony for Mr. Montesano.”

“Cesare?” I snap, my eyes flashing.

The assistant’s face pales. “Mr. Roman, sir.”

I rear back. Roman is getting married, tonight of all nights? What happened to his plan to kill Capello’s daughter after fleecing her inheritance?

Shaking off that thought, I dial the hotel manager, who picks up before the first ring finishes.

“Strawberries and chocolate in the honeymoon suite,” I say.

Silence stretches, the kind that makes my jaw tighten. The kind that makes the pulse between my ears pound.

“What?” I snap.

“The suite’s occupied, sir. Mr. Roman Montesano has it,” the manager replies.

I grind my teeth. “I reserved that suite the day I took control of the casino.”

He clears his throat. “Sorry, sir. I thought you reserved it for Mr. Roman.”

Heat surges through my veins, burning away any patience. Roman just poached my wedding. I ought to wring his neck.

Just as I’m griping over my big brother, the phone in my pocket buzzes. I yank it out, barely glancing at the screen before answering.

“What?” I snap.

There’s another uncomfortable silence before a voice says. “Sir, it’s Vitale. Miss Di Marco refuses to wear the dress.”

My lips curl into a sneer. What happened to the submissive little Ginny who wept on her knees for help? Or the desperate little kitten who humped my leg? If she’s expecting goddess treatment, she’s about to get a shock.

“Tell her this isn’t a fashion show,” I snarl. “If she doesn’t like the dress, she can march across the casino naked.”

Vitale stammers his acknowledgment before hanging up. I shove the phone back into my pocket, my mood darkening. She wanted my protection. In exchange, she’ll give me her submission.

Clenching my fists, I will myself to stay focused. This perfect night is morphing into a series of irritations. I turn to the chapel assistant, who flinches.

“I’ll be in my office. Call me the second Reverend Johnson shows his face.”

“Yes, sir.” He backs away like I’m about to explode.

I stalk out of the chapel and down a hallway lined with wedding photos. The casino’s noise bleeds back in as I push through the doors, but it barely registers. All I can muster are thoughts of damage control.

Ginevra needs to understand that becoming Mrs. Montesano won’t revert our relationship to where it began. I’m no longer that obsessive boy who needed her more than oxygen. She’s insignificant—no more a possession than the anime figurines I keep on my shelf.

Just as I round a corner, I collide into a large figure. I step back, ready to release a barrage, until I discover it’s Reaper. He’s already dressed in a tuxedo and arrived quicker than I expected.

I cock my head, my brows rising. “You got here fast.”

Smirking, he shrugs. “The girl I’m stalking was already in the casino with her little friends.”

“That student?” I ask.

He dismisses the question with a wave of his hand. “You know what it’s like to be fixated on a single woman.”

A bitter laugh escapes my lungs. “Unfortunately, I do.”

The irony isn’t lost on me—both of us are obsessed, willing to burn the world down for women who don’t deserve our loyalty. It’s not surprising we get along so well.

He glances over my shoulder. “So, where’s the blushing bride?”

I blow out a long breath. “The officiant is playing musical chairs with my wedding plans, Roman’s hijacked my honeymoon suite, and now Ginevra’s throwing a fit over a dress. If that isn’t enough to ruin a man’s night, I don’t know what is.”

Reaper’s smirk fades. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

“That’s an understatement.” I mutter and steer us both back toward the casino’s main floor. The air fills with the sound of chatter, clinking chips, and bursts of laughter, but the noise fades into nothing, drowned by the fury simmering in my gut.

Lights flash across the tables, surrounded by bustling crowds. I don’t have the mental bandwidth to consider how many of these patrons are using counterfeit chips. Now that they’re deactivated, my security people will round up whoever tries to exchange them for cash.

We push through the crowd, shoulder to shoulder, cutting a path through the gamblers and waitstaff who step aside. Tension tightens as we approach a security door leading to a private section of the casino.

Where the hell will I put Ginevra tonight?

Back in her cell? A sleepless night might establish her place and teach her not to fuss over a dress.

Reverend Johnson stumbles through the doorway, out of breath, covered in sweat, and dressed in an ill-fitting hotel uniform.

“Where’s the Elvis costume?” I snap.

He tries to straighten, but the old man sways on his feet. “Apologies for the delay, sir. I just checked Mr. Roman Montesano into the hotel.”

My jaw tightens. “Do I even want to know?”

Reverend Johnson hesitates, then shakes his head. “It’s best not to ask.”

Reaper claps him hard on the shoulder and lets out a dark chuckle. “Let’s get this wedding started.”