Stalking Ginevra (Morally Black Book 4)

Less than an hour after receiving Bellavista’s emails, we traced the movements of Carla’s vehicle to a run-down district at the edge of Beaumont city.

I grip my binoculars, watching the derelict at the end of the road. The place is a weather-beaten mess, its Victorian structure snapped and splintered by time. Ginevra could be in there, beaten, unconscious, and needing my help, but we can’t make a move until we have confirmation.

A man like Victor Bellavista wouldn’t make extracting my wife so easy. Not when he’s holding her ransom for a hundred million.

Reaper stands beside me at the back of an armored truck, his eyes glued to the tablet, trying to make sense of the thermal readings flickering on the screen. We’ve stationed men at strategic points around the district. If Victor attempts to fight his way out, he won’t get far.

“What have you got?” I ask.

“Two signatures, maybe three,” Reaper replies. “Could be guards. Could be Victor himself. Could be nothing.”

I lower the binoculars, my nostrils flaring. My pulse throbs, loud and relentless. Every muscle in my neck is ready to snap under this relenting pressure. “There’s only one way to find out.”

If it were up to me, I would storm the building, cutting through Carla and Victor to reach my wife. But my blood is running too hot and I can’t afford to risk Ginevra’s life, so I open the truck’s door, letting out my prisoner.

Leo Carlini, my head of procurement’s son and fiancé of the woman behind the counterfeit casino chips, steps out in bulletproof armor. He fumbles with the helmet cam with trembling fingers.

I stare him down, breathing through the heat of my rage. This bastard and his family still owes me, and tonight, I’m cashing in.

“Get in there, walk around, and film every goddamn inch of that basement,” I snarl. “And if you see any men, shoot.”

He flinches. “Then you’ll forgive our debt?”

“Yours only,” I say through clenched teeth. “Screw this up, and you’ll spend the rest of your life in agony.”

Leo nods, a jerky movement that wobbles the oversized helmet camera.

Reaper shoves a pistol into Leo’s trembling hands, tightens the equipment’s straps, and claps him on the shoulder.

“Move,” I bark, making him flinch.

When Leo glances down at his pistol, I can already see the thoughts running through his head. Shooting Reaper and me would solve his problems. He’d be free to start a new life.

“Don’t even think about it.” I push him forward, making him stumble. “We wouldn’t equip you with a weapon that could penetrate our armor.”

His shoulders sag, confirming my point, and he ambles down the broken sidewalk to the house. Each slow footfall grates on my nerves, every step a reminder of how many people have fucked with my family.

Ginevra and I were happy before a cohort of backstabbing bastards decided they wanted Dad’s wealth for themselves. Not content with killing him and sending Roman to Death Row, they took our mother, sent my little brother into a drug-fueled despair, and ruined my Ginevra.

If anything happens to her, this entire city will burn.

By now, Leo has reached the house’s front steps and is halfway to its crumbling veranda. Reaper and I watch in tense silence, waiting for Leo to gain entry.

He pauses at the door, looking like a man with second thoughts.

“Get on with it,” I growl into the comms.

Startling, he yanks open the door, making its hinges shriek, and disappears inside. I turn to Reaper’s tablet, which displays a feed of the house’s interior through Leo’s camera.

Inside, it’s worse. Cracked plaster, sagging beams, and the ceiling looks like it could come down any second. Leo’s breaths rasp in my ear, amplified through the comms, each exhale stuttering with fear. His helmet cam swivels, displaying a dusty, dim hallway, with a light peeking through the gaps of a door on the far left.

“You see the basement stairs?” I ask.

“Yes,” Leo whispers.

“That’s where we think she’s being held,” Reaper says. “Get down there and scope it out.”

Gulping, he heads towards the door, twists the handle with a creak, and pushes it open, revealing a steep staircase illuminated by four bulbs.

Leo’s breath quickens through the comms as he descends the stairs, each creak echoing through the feed. My heart slams against its cage, every beat tightening the band of tension around my chest.

The first face Ginevra should see is mine, not Leo’s. I should be the one to pull her out of this hell, yet I’m standing here, watching a coward stumble to her rescue.

“Keep your gun up,” I snap.

The camera jerks as he adjusts his grip, but the gun returns to view. My fingers twitch with the urge to yank the damn thing out of his grasp and finish this myself, but I force my focus back on the screen.

At the bottom of the stairs is an expanse of stained concrete, leading to a door.

“Open it,” I order.

He reaches out gloved fingers, grabs the handle, and twists. The door groans open, and I lean into the screen.

Inside is a square room with bare walls, another heavy door, and a metal chair bolted to the ground. Attached to it are leather restraints with thick metal buckles. But there’s no sign of Ginevra.

My stomach still plummets. At some point during the evening, my Ginevra was in this shit hole.

“What the hell?” Reaper mutters.

“There’s no one here,” Leo whispers, his voice tight. “It’s empty.”

“If I have to come down and point out that door, it will be with a bullet through your head,” I growl.

With a whimper, he continues to the next door, his breath quickening. “I don’t like the sound of this place.”

“Explain,” Reaper says.

“I-I don’t know,” he replies. “Something just feels off. Like a bad vibe.”

“Get a grip and move,” I snap.

Leo reaches out to open the door, and the screen fills with a flash, followed by the deafening roar of an explosion.

A shockwave rips through the air, a violent roar that shatters everything. We’re thrown backward, crashing into the side of the truck with bone-cracking force. Pain explodes through my shoulder as I land beside Reaper, my ears ringing with a high-pitched whine that drowns out the world. The ground tilts, and gravel bites into my palms, sharp and unforgiving.

I suck in a breath, choking on the acrid stench of smoke and burning metal, every inhale a knife to my lungs. My head spins, disoriented, my heart hammering in a frantic stutter as I scramble to my knees, searching for something, anything to ground me through the chaos.

My world is unraveling, and all I can think about is Ginevra—trapped, alone, maybe dying while I lie helpless in the dirt.

“Benito,” Reaper’s voice cuts through the fog, but it sounds muffled, as if I’m underwater. “You okay?”

I force my head to nod, the movement stiff. “Fine. Helmet absorbed the blow.”

The lie sits heavy in my throat. I’m anything but fine. I blink, fighting to clear the mist clouding my vision, forcing my focus onto the raging inferno. Flames devour the walls, consuming the house that might have been Ginevra’s prison.

Each flicker of fire feels like a personal taunt, daring me to act, to feel. I should be doing something, but all I can do is stare, my insides burning. I’ve never felt so powerless, so damned by my own inability to act.

Reaper barks orders I can’t make out, and my vision tunnels on the wreckage, every ounce of my rage funneling into a single line of thought: Victor Bellavista lured me into a trap. The bastard just played me for a fool.

I force myself up, my legs unsteady but driven by pure adrenaline and rage. It drives me forward, even as every nerve thrums with terror. Heart pounding its way out of my chest, I stumble through the heat of the blaze searing my skin.

Squinting through the smoke, I ignore my burning eyes to search the wreckage as if I might spot some sign, some miracle that she’s not in there. The fire roars, a mocking beast devouring everything in its path.

Ginevra’s face flashes in my mind—every smile, every touch, every night I promised to protect her—and now, she’s paying for my failure.

Bellavista’s game is clear: I’m not just losing money. I’m losing my wife.

My phone buzzes again, yanking me back to this hell, and I’m filled with a new, desperate resolve. I will raze this city to the ground to save my wife.

I yank my phone from my pocket, my pulse a relentless hammer against my ribs, and find a message from an unknown number with a video thumbnail. Fear claws up my spine, making the finger hovering over it tremble before I click it.

The screen blazes to life, revealing a figure hiding his features behind a leather mask. “Benito Montesano, this is your final chance,” a metallic voice taunts, slicing through my composure. “Have the ransom ready, or I’ll do more than strip her naked.”

The video cuts to a dank basement, where Ginevra and Carla lie motionless on a concrete floor. My heart seizes, my vision narrows, and all I see is red.

A second later, the masked figure hoists Ginevra upright and tears at her clothes until she’s naked. My blood freezes. I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Every nightmare I’ve ever had about losing Ginevra plays in hideous technicolor, but this isn’t a dream.

Fury and helplessness crash in my chest, releasing a tidal wave of emotions threatening to burst. The leather-clad bastard runs his filthy hands over her bare skin, threatening to slice off body parts.

Terror grips my throat, hot and suffocating, urging me to act.

Reaper’s hand lands on my shoulder. “Benito.”

“Pull back the men,” I say, my voice breaking. “Find a way to reach this bastard. I’m ready to hear his demands.”