Stalking Ginevra: Chapter 15
Hours later, I walk through the grounds after watching the sun rise from my old treehouse. The morning sun filters through the juniper trees, warming my skin. The Bluetooths in my ears buzz with a barrage of calls. Roman has confined us to the grounds until we eliminate the threat of the assassins. According to Cesare, their client ordered a triple hit.
Last night was a public relations catastrophe. Everyone who mattered in the state of New Alderney was at the party, from the governor to the police chief.
The Mortis House boys I sent to watch over Nick Terranova are managing most of the fallout, while I focus on smoothing over last night’s disaster with the press and the highest echelons of New Alderney.
Whoever commissioned that public attack on Roman made the Montesano family look weak. I know what the underworld used to call Cesare and me—the princes in the tower.
Roman ordered us not to retaliate against Capello or even Galliano, who lured our mother into marriage. I couldn’t even take back Ginevra. He told us to play small, focus on fighting his unjust imprisonment, and help Leroi plan the elimination of the entire Capello bloodline.
For five years, we lay low, plotted, waited for the right time to rise from the ashes of our ruin, only for some bastard to piss on our kindling.
“Yes, Governor Johnson,” I say, barely listening to his rant. “We’ve handed all the evidence to the authorities. Police Chief Reed assures me he will investigate the matter personally.”
He won’t.
Every official holding any measure of power within the state of New Alderney is neck-deep in corruption. If we’re not paying them off, then they’re accepting kickbacks from the Orazi family. Or the Capellos. Now that they’re dead, I expect the officials will switch loyalties to the Galliano brothers.
“I’m sorry to hear your wife sprained her ankle in the rush to exit,” I reply to whatever he just said. “Please send her my fondest regards.”
Governor Johnson rejected Roman’s multiple pleas for clemency because he was so indebted to Capello that his breath stank of the dead man’s balls.
But today, Johnson’s out of excuses, and I hang up on him without a shred of regret, switching to the call waiting from the mayor. It’s the usual whiny bullshit, only this time, he’s complaining about the escort we detained. She’ll continue staying with us until we determine she isn’t an assassin.
I tune out his diatribe. Men like him are susceptible to the allure of a pretty young thing, so blinded by her tight skirt and fake smiles that he won’t notice her red flags. Just like Leroi with Rosalind. And Cesare with Rosalind. Neither of them realized she was dangerous until it was too late.
This is why I would rather be alone than under a woman’s thumb. All they ever do is take what they want and leave a man in ruins.
The hour I spent degrading my darling Ginevra was exactly what I needed to face this shitstorm. Everything’s now under control. Mostly. Roman has confined Capello’s daughter to the master suite, and Cesare is interrogating the assassins who failed to escape.
I’ve sent Reaper and his team after the blonde who fled down the chute, but I’m not hopeful. She’s a trained professional, who will likely lead us into a wild goose chase.noveldrama
Leroi is safe in his hiding spot. I made the mistake of walking across the grounds to check on his recovery. Even after calling ahead to tell Seraphine that the house and grounds were no longer on lockdown and to open the shutters, she still tried to shoot me in the face.
Maybe my cousin was high on painkillers, but he didn’t even register her behavior as unhinged. He just gazed at her like she was a broken masterpiece, a Picasso in human form, failing to even notice he’s taken in a deranged little hellcat. I told them there’s a new hit on the three of us and advised him to leave the house and convalesce in the mansion. Leroi glanced at Seraphine and refused.
My phone buzzes. It’s a message from someone at the door, telling me Losanna Di Marco and Valentino Bossanova are ready to leave. Cutting off the mayor mid-sentence, I burst out of the trees, passing the pool house, and sprint across the lawn.
Sunlight beats down on my back, powering my stride as I round the side of the house. The muffled sounds of conversation from the front grow louder with each step, and I falter, catching sight of Losanna at the front steps, bickering with my men.
Her eye is bruised from being trampled in last night’s stampede. My lips tighten. She’s either disorientated or still drunk. Her green dress, now more like a rag than a gown, hangs off her like a crumpled leaf, the fabric clinging to her pale skin, reminding me of all her wasted trips to rehab.
Handing my phone to a nearby gardener, I order him to shoot footage. The moment he starts to record, I slow my steps, making sure to clear my throat. At the sound of my approach, the men restraining her draw back, giving Losanna a clear line of sight.
Straightening, Losanna smooths her hair off her face. “Benito, you’re looking well.”
I can’t say the same for her. Losing a husband and a future son-in-law appears to have taken a toll on her sobriety. I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t order a liquid breakfast.
“Good morning, Mrs. Di Marco,” I say. “I trust you’re feeling better after last night.”
“After being trampled?” she replies, swaying on her stockinged feet.
Bossanova stands beside her with his jacket slung over his shoulder, and her shoes dangling from his fingers. He looks equally as wrecked, but not from the booze. One eye is swollen shut, his lip split, and bruises mottle his once-handsome face, the kind that’ll take weeks to fade. I would almost regret ruining his looks if he wasn’t such a murderous asshole.
“Apologies for that,” I say to Ginevra’s mother. “It looks like allies of Capello and your late husband are determined to destroy what’s left of the Montesano family.”
My barb cuts through her drunken haze, and she flinches. All traces of belligerence bleed into bitter regret, and she looks like she’s trying to shrink into herself.
She stumbles, nearly dropping her clutch as she grasps at what’s left of her dignity, her body swaying like a sapling in a strong breeze. “If I’d known Joe was plotting against your family, I would have warned you.”
I wave off the apology. “Karma got to them in the end.”
And by karma, I mean Leroi and his gun.
She sighs. “May we leave? Your men refuse to call us a cab, and the signal up here is terrible.”
I hide a smirk. After Cesare’s little assassin sent megabytes of intel using our WIFI, the IT nerds at Mortis House have pulled the plug on anything more than basic connectivity. When you live in a mafia fortress at the top of the hill, it pays to have loyal employees with a range of skills wider than thuggery.
One of our enforcers pulls up outside the house in a bullet-proof car. It’s what we’re reduced to using until we’ve handled the assassins.
Sweeping an arm toward its back seat, I offer her a tight smile. “Tony will drive you home.”
I stand back, letting Bossanova half-lift, half-shove her into the backseat. Her legs flail, her dignity dropping somewhere on the gravel. The car rounds the courtyard and disappears. I stay still until they’re out of sight, my mind already turning to the next steps in my plan.
“Mr. Benito,” says the voice of an elderly man. “Do you still want me to keep filming?”
I take the phone from the gardener and replay the footage, capturing my interaction with Losanna. When Ginevra sees it, she’ll understand the message: her stalker holds a trusted place within the Montesano family, and the only man powerful enough to protect her is me.
This is exactly what I need to herd Ginevra into my arms.
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