Stalking Ginevra (Morally Black Book 4)

When Benito’s phone won’t stop ringing, I break the kiss and tell him to answer in case it’s urgent. One of his men calls saying he’s traced the number of the woman who originally bought the counterfeit casino chips.

From what I overhear, Victor Bellavista’s accomplice used a complex call forwarding chain employing virtual numbers, Voice Over Internet Protocol services, and a network of proxy servers spanning multiple regions around the world.

I walk to his side and place an arm on his shoulder. “So, where is she?”

“Right under our nose,” he growls.

“Who is it?” I ask, my brows pinching.

“Our head of procurement’s son’s fiancée,” he says through clenched teeth. “She sat through our meeting like a little mouse, letting me threaten her future husband and mother in law. I allowed her to roam free, thinking she was an innocent caught up in their fraudulent bullshit.”

My shoulders sag. “Are they all working with Victor?”

Benito makes a see-sawing motion with his hand. “They’re working completely different scams. My men told me both mother and son were shocked at her involvement.”

“Are you leaving?” I ask.

His lips tighten. “I’ve delegated the questioning to my men.”

“But you need to be down there.”

Benito’s features twist in that conflicted way that reminds me of when we were ten, and I begged him to let me paint his nails. Torn between pleasing me and preserving his pride, he glared at the tiny bottles of polish like they were grenades. Now, his grimace holds that same reluctance, like he’s warring with himself over whether to stay.

“You need to go.” I place a hand on his shoulder. “Our honeymoon starts after you’ve handled Victor.”

Jaw tightening, he scowls and then nods. “Get dressed. I’ll drop you off on the way.”

Moments later, we’re back in our clothes and in Benito’s car. He drives in silent contemplation, so I leave him to his thoughts. My mind drifts back to that strange expression he made after I came all over his face. It was almost like regret, which I don’t understand, considering he’d enjoyed pleasing me so much.

Sometimes, Benito is a puzzle. A puzzle wrapped up in prickly layers concealed in shards of ice. I thought I’d melted through them to reach the man who adored me with all his heart.

Before I know it, he pulls into an underground parking lot. Armed guards nod us through a series of metal gates and scan Benito’s card with hand-held devices. Security cameras blink at us from every angle, looking like we’re about to enter the pentagon.

What the hell awaits us on the other side?

“This is all connected to the casino?” I ask as Benito parks beside a row of black SUVs.

“More or less.”

He cuts the engine, opens the door and exits, then walks around to help me out. We continue down a hallway, where Benito scans his card again to call an elevator.

When its doors open, I recognize its mirrored interior. “This is the penthouse overlooking the casino.”

He nods. “You’ll be safe here.”

“Why can’t I accompany you to the office?” I ask.

He presses a single button, which makes the door close. “The last woman connected to Victor came with explosives. The maintenance guy he was working with got shot in the head. I’m not taking any chances with you.”

My stomach lurches as the elevator rises, and I turn to Benito with a gulp. “I didn’t know Victor was that deadly.”

“People will stoop to heinous levels to get what they want.”

A chill runs down my spine at the thought of Victor setting up more bombs.

The doors slides open, revealing the spacious penthouse with its gleaming marble floors. Across the pale interior, through floor-to-ceiling windows, stands the casino’s front façade and its luminescent fountains.

“Order whatever you want from the house or the hotel,” he says. “Both will bring you food.”

I grab his arm. “Does Victor know you’re coming?”

“I hope not,” he growls.

“Hurry back.” I pull him close.

He kisses me with an intensity that makes my knees buckle. “Not even a slimy bastard like Victor can tear us apart.”

The door shuts behind him, leaving me alone in the apartment. I head straight for the kitchen, needing something to calm my nerves. The fridge is stocked with bottles of wine, water, and iced tea, but none of it is sweet enough to cut through the lingering tension. I rummage through the cupboards, finding a tin of cocoa powder and a carton of milk.

It looks like I’m having hot chocolate.

I take my time, making the drink the way Sofia taught me when I used to visit the Montesano mansion with Dad. Back then, the housekeeper was a strong, maternal presence, while Benito’s mother was distant.

Lucia Montesano spent all her time with her youngest son, Cesare, so it was a surprise to everyone when she left them all the moment Uncle Enzo died.

After pouring the steaming contents into a mug, I take a sip, letting the warmth spread across my tongue. The rich, creamy taste does little to soothe the uneasy flutter in my chest. What if Victor is already lurking in the casino, ready to ambush Benito?

I shouldn’t be so morbid. Benito is surrounded by guards. He can take care of himself.

A few drops of liquid spill on my blouse, so I take the mug into a bedroom in search of a change of clothes. The first one I find looks like a spare, but the second is filled with the earthy scent of Benito’s cologne. I step into a room decorated with ebony wood and heavy black drapes that reminds me of his bedroom at the Montesano mansion.

I slip off my blouse, letting it fall to the floor, and move toward the dresser. The drawer slides open, and I pull out a pajama top, then hold it to my nose. When all I smell is detergent, I place it back, needing something that carries his scent. Giggling at my own ridiculousness, I move to his laundry basket, and rummage through its contents for an old T-shirt.

My fingers brush against something hard, and I pull out a groin protector with thick straps. It’s identical to the type Bob Brisket used to wear. Brow furrowing, I step back, wondering why Benito would possess something so specific.

I scan the room, half-expecting Brisket to emerge from the shadows. But that’s ridiculous. This penthouse is secure. Benito’s guards wouldn’t allow an intruder to infiltrate the building.

“Then why is his codpiece in Benito’s laundry basket?” I mutter under my breath.

A shiver runs down my spine, telling me the answer might be more simple than Brisket sending me cryptic messages. Ignoring every instinct screaming at me to call Benito, I walk to his closet, slide open the door to reveal rows of suits, blazers, and behind them, an identical set of body armor to Brisket’s.

Stomach churning, I stagger back, my mind running in circles.

I crouch before his bedside table, searching through his books and finding everything I expect of Benito: The Art of War by Sun Tsu, The Prince by Machiavelli, Meditations by Marcus Aurelius, and On War by Carl von Clausewitz.

Beside those books is a volume of manga about catgirls. I pull open a drawer, finding a small box containing orange cat ears, fluffy orange paws, and an orange tail attached to a butt plug.

My breath hitches. This can’t be real.

I fall on my ass, sending a rush of pain up my tailbone. My head spins, pieces clicking into place with a clarity that makes my heart lurch.

Benito can’t be Bob Brisket.

The brutal games. The humiliation. The degradation. The carnage. Benito wouldn’t… He couldn’t… could he?

My gaze lands on a tablet charging on the dresser. I stumble to my feet and stagger across the room. With trembling fingers, I try password after password, until I enter my birthday, when it unlocks. I fire up the photos app, finding it filled with hundreds of video thumbnails.

The first one I tap is footage of me on my knees, gazing up as I suck off Bob Brisket.

A lump forms in my throat. This doesn’t prove anything. Benito could have found these if he raided Brisket’s home.

Exhaling a shuddering breath, I scroll through the list, stopping at videos of the strip club. It’s the one time Brisket might have taken off his visor, because he placed a blindfold over my eyes to eat my pussy.

I swipe past footage of my awkward strip tease to the part where he lays me on the stage and spreads my legs. When he removes the helmet, I pause the screen to catch a glimpse of Benito’s face.

Benito. The man I married. The man who made me earn his forgiveness. The man who turned out to be the psychopath I was desperate to escape.

Realization hits like a punch to the gut, my insides screaming with cold horror. The tablet slips from my fingers and drops to the floor with a clatter. Bile rises in my throat, and I want to gag.

Benito is Brisket.

Brisket is Benito.

“What the hell am I going to do?” I whisper.

Benito murdered Julian, staged my terror, orchestrated every twisted scene to drive me to my knees. To make me desperate. To bend me to his will. To force me back into his arms.

If I run, he won’t just find me. He’ll revert into the monster who carves out men’s hearts. If I leave, I need to be clever about it, and I can’t involve Mom.

Carla’s note floats to the top of my mind. She said she would help if I ever needed it, and even gave me a code word. Benito also said I could order room service. If I’m going to run, it has to be tonight, while he’s distracted with Victor Bellavista, and before he returns to find I’ve discovered the truth.

My gaze darts to two phones on the dresser. I scramble to my feet, pick up the one marked Casino, and dial room service.

“Mr. Montesano, how may I be of assistance?” Carla’s voice answers.

“It’s Ginevra,” I whisper. “I’m at the penthouse, and I need whatever’s on the dinner menu and a pack of ultra glide tampons.”

There’s a pause, then a faint rustle on the other end.

“I’m on my way,” she replies, her voice tight.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I inhale lungfuls of courage. Tonight might be my last chance. If Carla can’t get me out, there won’t be another.

Dread winds around my chest like a constrictor, tightening with every thought of what will happen if I fail. I don’t know if I can survive falling into the clutches of yet another psychopath.