Stalking Ginevra (Morally Black Book 4)

I reel on my feet, breathless from Benito’s kiss. It’s been years since any lips last touched mine, and now I’m tingling for more.

No one kisses like Benito. Hell, no one’s ever kissed me at all apart from him. I might have slept with Samson once and fooled around with Bob Brisket, but at least one part of me has always been faithful to Benito.

I hoped that kiss would bring something back, that it would reignite our old connection. But he avoids my gaze. His arm returns to the small of my back as if what we just shared meant nothing.

He walks me through the heart of the casino, passing workers in red uniforms mingling with gamblers in evening wear. They’re a welcome distraction from the mess of my swirling emotions.

Regardless of the cold front, Benito holds me close, his grip possessive. His touch is both comforting and suffocating. How can one man offer me safety at the cost of my freedom? With the men casting him approving glances, it feels like he’s parading me around as a trophy.

I glance at Benito from the corner of my eye. His jaw is set with those cold eyes scanning the casino floor. I can’t shake the image of the boy who once loved me so desperately.

That kiss replays in my mind—soft at first, then fierce. My lips still burn from our connection, but the coldness in Benito’s eyes snuffs out any lingering warmth. A knot tightens in my chest. Is this how it’s going to be now? Him pulling the strings, keeping me close but never letting me in?

This hot and cold act is leaving me aching.

As we pass the poker tables, a small group of gamblers shoots us looks—some envious, others curious. I’m not blind to the way women eye Benito. With his athletic physique, he’s even more commanding. I barely recognize him now that he owns the casino and its attached hotels.

Passing a pair of security guards built like trolls, we ascend a crystal staircase. It leads to a private dining room with a wall of glass overlooking the casino floor. The waiter guides us to a table lit with candles. It’s all too intimate, too much like the past.

Benito pulls out my chair like a gentleman, and I sink into my seat. Memories flood in from dinners at our student apartment, in restaurants, at the Montesano mansion, where we were the only people in the world. Now, there’s a distance between us I can’t bridge.

He takes his seat, his face a mask of control, but I know Benito better than that. He’s wrestling with something. I can see it in the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tighten around the napkin.

Pressure builds up around my chest. I should break the silence. If I don’t speak now, we’ll keep circling each other like this forever.

“How long are we going to stay angry at each other?” My voice is soft, but the question cuts deep from the flicker of emotion that crosses his handsome features.

When he clenches his jaw, I press on. “We were friends once, weren’t we?”

His eyes darken, and his mouth pulls into a tight line. Shit. That was the wrong thing to say. He’s always hated that word, preferring to call ourselves soulmates, even when we were ten.

“Is that what I ever was to you? A friend?”

The accusation lands like a slap, making me flinch. “Every good relationship is built on a foundation of friendship.”

When his nostrils flare, I push back my chair and stand. My instincts want to tell him the truth, but getting him to listen is harder than climbing a mountain. Benito sits up, his eyes narrowing. I walk around the table, place my hands on his shoulders and demand his attention.

His muscles bunch beneath my fingers, and he keeps his eyes straight ahead. Even without him looking at me, I press on, needing him to listen. The words I’ve rehearsed a thousand times catch in my throat. What if he looks up, and all I see is disbelief?

“My dad forced me to end our engagement,” I say, my voice hoarse. “I didn’t want to leave you. I never did.”

Silence.

My throat tightens. “Benito. We’ve been together since we were eight. Who walks away from a lifetime of happiness?”

Finally, he looks up, his dark eyes piercing mine, searching for the truth. “Explain.”

His voice is low, dangerous, sharp as a blade.

The truth spills from my lips. I tell him how Dad slapped and kicked me when I refused to break it off, and how he threatened to do the same to Mom. Benito’s lips part, and I already know what he’s going to ask. I speak first, before he can hurl the accusation. “You want to know why I didn’t come to you for help?”

He nods.

“That would mean leaving Mom. I couldn’t let her take the brunt of his rage. All it would take was him plying her with drink, ignoring her when she was passed out, and letting her choke on her vomit. Someone needed to make sure she didn’t self-destruct.”

His gaze hardens, and for a moment, I think I’ve lost him.

“That week, Mom was at a twenty-eight day detox retreat in Switzerland. The staff wouldn’t put me through to her. I was frantic. Not thinking straight. They were all putting pressure on me⁠—“

“Who?” he asks.

“Dad. Frederic Capello. Samson. Even Gregor.”

His lips twist at the mention of the Capello twins.

“It was five years of hell,” I say. “And I regretted every minute, but that engagement was the only thing keeping my mom alive.”

When he glances away, my heart flips like a crepe. “Benito, I’m sorry. I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done to help us, but please, stop keeping me a prisoner. I’m not going anywhere.”

Something shifts in his eyes—a flicker of understanding, of the old Benito, the one who would have done anything to make me happy.

He sighs. “Go back to your seat, Ginevra.”

Gulping, I retreat to the other side of the table, just as the waiter arrives with a domed tray that smells so familiar that I melt. He lifts the lid, revealing chateaubriand.

Happy memories rise to the surface like steam, making my chest swell with warmth. I glance across the table at Benito, wondering if there’s meaning behind his choice of dish. “This is just like my 21st birthday. Do you remember?”

His eyes soften, and for an instant, he looks like the eager young man who bent down on one knee and asked me to make him the happiest man on earth. I resist the urge to glance at my ring finger.

Before he can answer, the phone on the table buzzes .

He glances at the screen, his face hardening. “I have to take this.”

My chest deflates at the sudden distance, but I nod.

I strain to hear his conversation with Cesare. There’s something about the Galliano brothers and a sister. When Cesare mentions Roman being held hostage at a BDSM hotel, my heart sinks. Whatever’s happening on the other side of the line is more urgent than the moment I’m trying to salvage.

Benito ends the call, his jaw clenched. He doesn’t need to speak for me to know something’s wrong. When he turns to me, his face is unreadable. “Something has come up. Can I trust you to finish your meal and return to the suite?”

“Go,” I say, waving him away. “Take care of your brothers.”

He hesitates for a second, his eyes lingering on my face as if he’s trying to catch me in a lie. I hold my breath, trying to convey my intentions to be an obedient little wife. When his phone rings again, he turns and walks away, leaving me alone at the table.

I’ll finish my steak, drink my wine, and return to my luxury cage.

But first, I’m going home to pick up some clothes.