Stalking Ginevra (Morally Black Book 4)

Less than thirty minutes after leaving Ginevra, I’m racing through the Atlantic on a jet ski. The ocean’s roar mingles with the engine humming beneath my feet, drowning out all thoughts of her confession.

Cesare’s little assassin accelerates past, stopping at a large cruiser. Waves crash against its hull like Poseidon is awakening, but my focus hones in on a gray-haired figure standing on its swimming platform, pointing an automatic weapon into its interior. I grind my teeth. It’s Matty Galliano, who was supposed to be dying or dead. Cesare must have revived him to serve as bait.

It turns out Cesare was innocent. The youngest Galliano brother murdered Cesare’s ex-girlfriends to drive a wedge in the family—all because of some belief that Cesare is his biological son. I always knew my brother was different, but I’m still reeling from the story he just told me over the phone.

I don’t want to dwell on how Matty Galliano became my brother’s biological father. The bastard also impregnated poor Rosalind, who gave birth to Cesare’s sister. She’s family, even if her blood is tainted by Galliano’s.

Regardless of Cesare’s parentage, he’s still my sibling. By extension, so is the girl he’s rescuing… even if she’s the daughter of Galliano and that little assassin.

She speeds ahead, just as Cesare fills his biological father with bullets. As the old bastard falls into the water with a well-deserved smack, I throttle down and steer away from the vessel. Cesare and Rosalind can handle the extraction.

This is his fight to finish, not mine.

Keeping my eyes on my brother and his assassin as they secure the cruiser, I tap my earpiece, calling Reaper on the yacht. “Keep an eye on Cesare. Make sure no one sneaks on them from behind.”

“Copy that,” he replies.

I reach into my life jacket, extract a pair of binoculars and place them over my eyes. Moments before we jumped on the jet skis, Tommy Galliano tried to attack from a helicopter. Rosalind took down the aircraft with one of our missile launchers, but there’s no telling if the old snake escaped before the explosion.

My gaze scans the burning wreckage. The mess of twisted metal bobs up and down on the waves, threatening to sink. One of my men is en route to confirm that the bastard is finished, but I won’t hold my breath.

The jet ski hums beneath my feet, but my mind is already ticking forward. I won’t rest until we’ve confirmed his carcass. Loose ends have a habit of re-forming over time to wrap around a man’s neck like a noose. Even if the elder Galliano is clinging onto life, he still needs to be neutralized. Permanently.

My phone buzzes against my thigh. I tap my earpiece again, maintaining my focus on Cesare and the boat.

“Talk to me,” I mutter.

“We’ve found Roman,” Gil says on the other side of the line.

“Where?”

“BDSM Hotel, just like you said.”

My chest tightens. Cesare was right. Capello’s daughter locked up my older brother and left him to rot.

“Is he okay?”

“Dehydrated but alive.”

Relief surges through my system, and I squeeze my eyes shut. “Where is he now?”

“Home.”

“Good,” I say through clenched teeth. “Make sure he doesn’t leave.”

I end the call and exhale, but there’s no time to bask in the relief. My gaze shifts back to Cesare and Rosalind on the cruiser. They’re in a group hug with the little girl. That part of the plan is going smoothly, but I can’t see the wreckage as the yacht is in the way.

Throttling down the jet ski, I let the roar of the engine fade as the Bella Lucia looms ahead. Dad’s yacht cuts a powerful silhouette in the dark, its lights illuminating the Atlantic. I steer around its side toward the rear platform and guide the jet ski alongside its boarding ramp.

A crew member is already waiting, throwing a rope to secure the ski as I step onto the deck. The firm surface beneath my feet is a welcome shift from the waves.

Nodding my thanks, I turn to the steward, who greets me without a word.

“Prepare for Cesare,” I say. “He might be hurt. There’s a woman and a young girl with him. See to their needs.”

She spins on her heel and hurries off to make the arrangements.

Taking a shortcut to the deck, I pull out my phone and call the house, still curious about Roman’s condition. He already got Capello’s daughter to sign over Dad’s assets. For reasons I still can’t fathom, he married her at the casino, then left her in the honeymoon suite to blow up those assassins. There’s a chunk missing from his story, and I’m determined to uncover all the facts.

“Montesano residence, what do you want?” Sofia answers, her voice tighter than usual.

“It’s Benito. Where’s Roman?”

“Dr. Brunelli had to sedate him. He’s on an IV.”

My stomach churns. Sedation? That’s not like Roman, who survived nearly five years on Death Row. Something’s wrong.

“What happened?”

Sofia hesitates before responding. “He was there for days without food or water. He’s disoriented, weak, and needs his rest.”

I grit my teeth. “What did Brunelli say?”

“He’s sleeping on Roman’s sofa, just in case.”

My breath hitches. Sofia ends the call, not elaborating on whether my brother’s condition is completely physical or mental.

The yacht’s engines thrum beneath my feet as I wait on deck, my eyes fixed on the approaching skiff. Cesare emerges from the lightweight boat cradling the dark-haired girl in his arms as if she’s made of glass. She’s thin, and can’t be more than fourteen, but my brother gazes down at her with wonder like she’s a newborn.

Rosalind emerges right behind him, scanning the deck like she’s ready for another fight. My gaze flicks between the two women. The girl could be a younger version of Rosalind with the same sharp features, but something in the curve of the girl’s jaw, and the set of her eyes is all Cesare.

I shake my head, wishing my brother had kept Galliano alive long enough to explain his actions. As well as what happened to Mom.

Reaper strides over, his features grave. “Drones are over the wreckage. No bodies found.”

My jaw clenches. “Shit.”

“Yes,” he replies with a sigh. “I’ve got my men patching into surveillance feeds from around the marina. We don’t have any footage of the helicopter’s explosion.”

“I was looking right at it and didn’t see a parachute.”

“He could have worn black,” Reaper mutters. “Or just jumped.”

“Or he was broadcasting from somewhere else.”

“Anything is possible,” Reaper growls.

It takes a split second to remember the extent of Reaper’s burning hatred for Galliano. That old bastard kept his sister hostage for five years. “Keep searching. When Cesare gets a minute, he might give us a few places to look.”

Reaper walks back toward the bridge.

There are too many moving parts: Roman’s condition, Cesare’s newfound paternity, Galliano potentially alive. Not to mention a casino riddled with scammers.

I pull out my tablet and flip through the surveillance feeds. The camera monitoring the honeymoon suite displays an empty room. No Ginevra in bed, no trace of her in the bathroom. A muscle ticks in my jaw, and I switch to the camera at her old house.

She’s in the dressing room, yanking clothes off hangers, shoving dresses and shoes into a suitcase with frantic urgency. My breath stills as the image tightens around my heart, each click of the hangers echoing like a countdown.

Cold realization kicks me in the gut. Ginevra is leaving me.

Again.

A slow, burning fury coils through my insides, filling my veins with liquid outrage. I shove down the surge, molding it into something more controlled.

Turning on my heel, I head straight for the yacht’s armory, my pulse pounding in my ears. Inside, I search for bulletproof armor in my size. I pull it on, one piece at a time until I’m no longer recognizable as the man who loved that little traitor.

Tonight isn’t just about stopping Ginevra from leaving. It’s about making sure she never escapes me again.

By the time the last strap clicks into place, the man who loved her has burned to ash. I roll my shoulders, testing the weight of the gear. It’s familiar. Comforting.

Brisket is the part of me she thought she could escape. The part I discarded when she agreed to be my wife.

And there’s no time for hesitation. I’ve already lost too much. I’m not about to lose her again.

She’s about to face Bob Brisket.

And Bob Brisket doesn’t lose.