Stalking Ginevra (Morally Black Book 4)

Hours after that video shoot, I’m still in that fucking basement, yanking against the cuffs, and trying to keep the chains from clanking. The metal grinds against my raw skin, making me wince. Pain shoots up my arms to my shoulders, but it’s nothing compared to the agony of being held captive.

My wrists swell, raw from the steel biting into my flesh. Gritting my teeth, I push through the ache radiating through my bones and twist my hands, testing the cuffs for weaknesses. But there’s none.

Shit. The metal is unforgiving, as solid as the frustration of being tethered to this basement like a dog on a leash.

A soft groan floats through my concentration. I glance down to find Carla stirring, her eyelids fluttering open.

“Hey,” I say through the gag. “Are you okay?”

She touches the blood caked on her temple and winces, then her gaze skims the moldy walls before finally landing on me. Breath catching, she pushes herself to sit up.

Her movements are slow and pained, making me grimace at the memory of Valentino kicking her while she was half-conscious. And for what? If she hadn’t brought me here, he’d still be festering in front of a TV set, stewing in his failure.

I swallow hard, my throat tightening. Is Carla playing me or trapped in a cycle of abuse? My heart drums in my chest, heavy with sorrow. She brought me here. She had to know something. This situation is so messed up, I don’t know what to think.

Victor didn’t bother to restrain Carla like me, but could she be shackled by invisible bonds? Some men feed into a woman’s deepest need and turn it into his weapon of control. Or maybe I’m projecting and giving her too much of the benefit of the doubt.

Carla’s eyes meet mine, so full of fear and confusion that it stings. I can’t believe this is the woman who fought that creepy oaf who dragged me into his room.

“Can you untie me?” I mumble around my gag.

Her gaze flicks down my naked body before realization hits. Eyes widening, she scoots closer, her cheeks coloring. “Oh, God.” She stumbles to her feet, fumbling with the buckle behind my head with trembling fingers. “I didn’t—I shouldn’t have⁠—”

Her voice cracks, and the gag drops to the floor with a soft thud. I draw in a deep breath, finally able to fill my lungs with air.

“Thanks,” I rasp.

Carla’s face flushes a deep shade of red, her eyes darting everywhere but at me. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles, her words tumbling over each other in a rush. “I didn’t know he’d do this. I thought⁠—”

“Stop.” I can’t let her drown in apologies. Not when there’s a chance she can help us escape. “You didn’t do this on purpose, but I need you to look at me.”

She flinches but turns in my direction, unable to meet my eyes. Maybe all those conversations we had about her old man were wishful thinking.

I wait for her to peer at me through her lashes before saying, “This isn’t right. You know that?”

Carla’s eyes flick to the floor, her shoulders curling inward as if she’s bracing herself for a scolding. Picking at the blood drying on her sleeve, she raises her shoulders to her ears.

“Dad was just cranky. He’s usually really nice.”

Frustration wells in my chest. The more I see of her, the more I realize she’s deluded, not devious. I bite back my response, forcing myself to breathe through the frustration. She only knows him as Victor, not Valentino Bossanova, the serial wife murderer.

Pushing too hard will make her retreat. If I dropped the truth about her father, she’d either call me a liar and become defensive, or try to rationalize his behavior. Hell, she might even switch sides and allow him to groom her into becoming his accomplice.

“When did it get like this?” I ask, my voice soft.

Carla chews on the inside of her cheek. “He was the perfect dad for the first year, then I don’t know. When I disappoint him, he loses control. But he has so much on his mind.”

More excuses tumble out, each one bouncing off my patience like bullets on a kevlar vest. He beat the shit out of her, trussed me up like a carcass in a meat locker, and stripped me naked, yet she’s still defending his actions.

Her blind loyalty to him is like a knife to the gut, but I rein in my emotions. I can’t afford to say the wrong thing and upset this tenuous balance.

“Yeah,” I murmur at the first pause. “But it doesn’t have to be like this. No one deserves to be treated this way.”

Her eyes flicker, and I sense a crack in her armor of loyalty. She glances at the bruises on my wrists with a frown.

“I thought Dad wanted to save you,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “He told me Mr. Montesano was an abusive husband who would eventually cut you into pieces.”

A lump forms in my throat. She must have come home every day, reporting back our interactions. A manipulative asshole like Valentino Bossanova would know exactly what to say to make her think I was an abused wife.

I huff a laugh.

What do you call a man who sends a murderer after a woman’s mother, breaks into her home in disguise to demand sexual favors, and then manufactures loan sharks who threaten to sell her into a life of sexual slavery?

An abuser.

I, Ginevra Di Marco, am also a victim of abuse.

My gaze drops to Carla’s and I meet her watery brown eyes with compassion.

“We’re not so different,” I murmur. “My dad attacked me when I refused to break my engagement with my childhood sweetheart.”

Her eyes widen, her bruised features finally reflecting a flicker of outrage. “Why?”

“Because he was part of a conspiracy to murder his father, steal their family assets, and he needed to betroth me to the son of his accomplice.”

“Did you forgive him?”

I shake my head. “My new fiancé was a monster.”

“What did he do?”

“It wasn’t so different from what I saw your dad do to you.” I pause, studying her reaction, the way her lips press into a thin line. From the way she bows her head and slumps her shoulders, my words are sinking through the mental gymnastics.

“I don’t want to traumatize you with all the details, but I wanted to escape. Both my dad and fiancé saw me as nothing but a tool, and all I wanted was peace.”

Tears trickle down her cheeks, slipping onto the folds of her room service shirt. “Did either of them ever change?”

“Their actions lead to them being murdered in brutal ways. The same could have happened to me, but I wasn’t standing by them when they were killed.”

Her breath hitches. “Sometimes, I think of leaving, but I’m all he has.”

“Even if he uses you as his punching bag?” I ask. “You’re more than just a tool.”

She sniffles.

“Where was he while you were abused in foster care?”

She stares at the dirty floor, her fingers clenching around the fabric of her pants. “He didn’t know about me.”

“Did he marry your mother?”

“Yes, why?”

“And he was still married when she died?”

She nods.

“Then how did he not know his wife had a daughter if they were still together when she passed?”

A sharp breath whistles through her front teeth. “I never thought about it that way.”

Triumph flares in my chest, but I school my features into an even mask. Some men have a way of shifting reality to suit their purposes. I force myself not to think of how Benito orchestrated a situation where I was in so much peril that I had to throw myself at his feet. Instead, I focus on Carla.

“Your dad is in a lot of trouble. Benito went to great lengths to secure me as his wife. If he catches up with us, he’ll kill him slowly.” I shudder at the memory of Brisket—no, Benito—handing me a twitching heart.

Carla makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat.

“But you can save him,” I say. “And save yourself.”

“How?”

“Remove these cuffs. Help me escape once more.”

Her gaze flicks to the door, and I force my teeth not to grind. Breaking out of abuse isn’t easy.

“I just wanted him to be proud,” she murmurs. “I thought maybe if I helped him, he’d see me as a good daughter.”

“But you’re not just a good daughter. You’re a good friend,” I say, making sure every word lands. “I see a woman who fought with a man four times her size to save a stranger⁠—”

“Malfi.”

“What?”

“That was Malfi, the casino’s security chief. Mr. Montesano stationed him in the room opposite to scare you into staying in the honeymoon suite.”

The words land like a punch to the gut. I gulp, trying to digest this new facet to Benito’s machinations. Now isn’t the time to focus on his twisted games. I need to learn from that manipulative bastard and slither my way out of captivity.

“Anyway,” I say through clenched teeth. “You still deserve better than to get caught up when Benito breaks in with a small army.”

She looks at me, her eyes shimmering. For a heartbeat, it seems she might cry, but then she turns her gaze back to the door. “I should warn Dad.”

“He already knows,” I say with a sigh. “He took my mom to the Montesano mansion, where there was a brutal shootout. He’s seen the army of men working for the family, yet he still decided to hold me hostage.”

Pain flickers across her features. “How can I save him?”

“Release me. I’ll return to Benito, take the blame, and apologize for walking out.”

“But he’ll lock you up again,” she whispers.

It takes every ounce of self control to yell at her to look at my naked body, look around this grimy basement and compare it to a honeymoon suite with room service and silk kimonos.

“And I’ll escape him eventually,” I reply. “The most important thing is saving your father from himself.”

Brows furrowing, she contemplates my proposal. I hold my breath, my gaze fixed on bruised features flickering with indecision. Finally, she looks me in the eyes.

“If I let you go, what will you tell Mr. Montesano?”

As I part my lips to speak, the door slams open, making my heart stutter. Valentino strides in, his movements jerky, probably from exerting himself while injured. Instead of the black leather from earlier, he’s clad in a fresh set of silk pajamas.

His gaze locks onto Carla, who tenses. “Breakfast,” he barks. “Now.”

Carla shrinks, her head dipping. “Yes, Dad.”

“Carla,” I whisper, my chest flaring with panic.

Ignoring me, she scuttles to the exit, not casting me a glance. My heart sinks as she disappears around her father, letting the door close behind her with a soft thud.

Valentino turns to me, his expression smug. “Your husband triggered one of my explosive traps.”

Fear punches me in the chest, but I hold my features in a mask. “My wrists hurt. I’m getting nerve damage.”

“Which stings more? Your flesh or missing out on a share of the hundred mil?” he asks with a chuckle. “And I heard you trying to corrupt Carla. Next time you interfere with another of my relationships, I’ll tear the skin off your back.”

He disappears through the door, leaving his words hanging in the air like a bitter fog.

Valentino Bossanova, Victor Bellavista, or whatever he calls himself can get fucked. I’ll find a way to break those chains—Carla’s and mine.