Stalking Ginevra (Morally Black Book 4)

I barely make it back to the office before my lunch break ends, my head buzzing with my fruitless encounter at the precinct. Julian’s eyes bore into the side of my face as I slip into my cubicle, but I can’t muster up the energy to tell him to get lost.

Pulling out my phone, I call Benito’s number and hold it to my ear. The flat, disconnected tone makes my stomach twist into painful knots. It’s dead.

“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath and scroll down to another contact—the Montesano mansion.

Maybe someone there can get him on the line. The phone rings and rings, each tone stretching out my nerves until someone finally answers. A formal voice says he’s not home. Instead of leaving a message, I call their nightclub, letting it ring for over a minute. It’s a long shot, but I’m low on choices.

“Phoenix. Who’s this?” says a woman’s sharp voice.

“I need to speak to Benito Montesano. It’s urgent.”noveldrama

She snorts, and I can practically hear the eye roll. “Benito’s busy. What’s this about?”

“Tell him it’s Ginevra Di Marco, and it’s personal.”

There’s a beat of silence, and I can almost hear her considering whether to blow me off. Finally, she sighs, and the line goes silent.

I stare into my cubicle, wondering if she’s hung up. Julian hovers somewhere on my periphery, trying to catch my eye, but I pretend to be engrossed in a client call.

After what feels like an eternity, the receiver resounds with a click.

“Ginevra.”

After five years, I’m still reeling at this cold, distant version of a man whose love for me was all-consuming. But desperation has me pushing past the hurt.

“Benito, I…I need your help.”

He pauses, leaving a silence so heavy it’s almost suffocating. I can already picture him standing in the back office of the club, reviewing its accounts with his new woman.

‘What kind of help?’ His tone is void of warmth, stripped of any trace of the man I once adored. Now, he’s nothing but a stranger.

“Someone’s stalking me. He’s dangerous. I tried going to the police, but they were useless. I don’t know where else to turn.”

When he doesn’t reply, I press on, hoping to break through Benito’s barrier.

“I really need your help. He’s threatening my mom. Please, Benito. I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t serious.”

The line goes quiet, and I hold my breath, waiting for his response. Just as I think he’s going to hang up, he asks, “Where are you?”

“At work.”

“I’ll send someone to pick you up.”

He hangs up before I can respond, leaving me staring at my phone. Relief hits so fast, I collapse into my laptop. Maybe if we’re face to face, I can finally explain that I was forced to break our engagement.

The moment the car pulls up outside a high-rise on the other side of town, I know something’s wrong. This isn’t the Phoenix. The driver stays silent, nodding toward the entrance.

I hesitate, waiting for instructions. When none come, I step out. The glass doors slide open, revealing a lobby of polished floors, towering ceilings, and abstract paintings.

The elevator ride is suffocating, tension thickening with each floor. Strange that Benito chose this place when the club is closer to my office. As the doors open to a sprawling penthouse, all the air vanishes from my lungs. The front wall is all glass, overlooking the casino Dad helped steal from Benito’s family.

Did he choose this place to remind me of that betrayal?

My gaze settles on Benito sitting in an armchair by the window, bathed in golden light. He looks otherworldly, untouchable, like a deity.

His dark hair is slicked back, accentuating his sharp cheekbones and strong jawline shadowed with stubble. A tailored navy suit clings to his broad shoulders and tapers down to his narrow waist, emphasizing his athletic build.

Even seated, he exudes a quiet menace I never noticed while we were together. This version of Benito radiates authority and a kind of ruthlessness that demands respect.

I step out of the elevator on shaky legs, waiting for him to acknowledge my presence. When we were together and even before then, his gaze always followed me across the room. That unwavering attention warmed my spirit, stirred my soul, but all I’m getting from him now is indifference.

He doesn’t look up from his papers, even as my heels click on the marble floor. I clear my throat, but he doesn’t even twitch.

My chest tightens. Should I interrupt him or should I wait? I slow down, not knowing how to act. It’s like I don’t know Benito at all.

“Thanks for agreeing to see me…”

He turns the page as though absorbed in his reading materials.

“Benito?”

He glances up, making my steps falter. His eyes are darker than I remember, maybe because of the glasses. They’re stormy and impatient, making me feel like an intruder.

My heart pounds at the intensity of his gaze. There’s no warmth, no recognition of the woman he once loved. All I see is a ruthless mafia prince staring down an enemy.

Forcing one foot forward then the other, I continue toward what could be my last hope. There’s no way in hell I’ll allow his coldness to stop me from getting help, but when I try to speak, the words tangle in my throat.

“Benito, I’m sorry⁠—”

His hand cuts through the air like a scythe, making me fall silent. “Spare me the apologies. I’m not interested.”

My explanation dies in my throat, leaving only another sting of rejection. Benito didn’t bring me here for closure or reconciliation. He’s probably just curious.

“Tell me about this stalker.” He leans back, his expression unreadable.

The command snaps me to attention. “Someone working for you broke into my house and made threats. The police won’t help.”

Benito’s eyes narrow. I squirm under the heavy silence, feeling small and painfully exposed. When he picks up his paperwork, I almost see the thoughts flickering in his mind. I’m wasting his time. It’s all my fault. If I’d stayed with him, I’d be treated like a princess, not some pervert’s pawn.

“The things he makes me do are degrading,” I say with a shiver. “He comes to my room at night, demands sexual favors, and he nearly got me fired at work.”

When he glances at his watch then frowns at his document, the words shrivel once again on my tongue.

The Benito I knew would have flown into a rage at the thought of a man trying to get too close. Instead, he’s more interested in his work. This indifferent version of him may as well be a stranger.

“He’s dangerous,” I add, my chest tightening, my voice wavering with desperation. “And depraved. It’s only a matter of time before he escalates and somebody gets killed.”

That finally captures his attention, and he glances up from his document. He leans forward, making me hold my breath in anticipation of his response.

My heart flutters in its cage like a trapped bird. This is more nerve-wracking than waiting for the verdict of a judge.

“What do you want me to do about it?”

His question hurts worse than a gut-punch. When he picks up his phone and glances at its screen, my stomach drops to my feet. Benito once lashed out when some guy bumped me in a hallway at college. Drove his face into a door then made him apologize to me on his belly.

This lack of reaction is… uncharacteristic.

I expected anger or assurances—not this apathy. Pride tells me to walk away, but I stay rooted in place, determined to get his help with my stalker.

As the moments drag on, my lungs tighten with frustration. I want to snatch those papers and tell him my life is at risk. But I’m in no position to make demands. Sucking in a deep breath, I gather the last shreds of my dignity.

“I was hoping you could help, tell him to back off, or assign someone to watch over me,” I mutter.

His eyebrow arches, and my confidence unravels. My heart shrivels along with my courage. What gave me the nerve to come to the man I betrayed for help?

My gaze darts to the exit. “Sorry. I know I’m asking a lot considering… I shouldn’t have come⁠—”

“Ginevra.”

I freeze, my chest expanding with a flicker of hope. Maybe part of him still cares.

“You’re asking for my protection?”

“Yes,” I rasp.

“Protection to the level you’re demanding isn’t as easy as assigning you a few of our men. I don’t need to explain why our ranks are diminished.”

I flinch, my chest caving into my stomach. Over half the Montesano organization defected to Samson’s father after Uncle Enzo died, taking with them about a billion dollars worth of assets. Holding Benito’s gaze, I force myself not to fidget. This is the moment he confronts me outright about how Dad helped steal from his family.

After what feels like an eternity of silent accusation, he adds, “That sort of protection comes with a price. It’s the only way I can guarantee your safety.”

Relief loosens my muscles, and I give him a hesitant nod. “What is it?”

“You said your stalker works for my family?”

“Yes.”

“As my wife, you’ll be untouchable. No one would dare cross me, let alone this character.”

The words land like a slap. Marry him after everything I did? With no demands for an apology or even answers? My mind reels, struggling to process the enormity of his proposal.

He can’t still want the children we talked about years ago in our tree house. He can’t ignore my role in his family’s downfall and live happily ever after with me? If he did, he wouldn’t brush me off so callously.

No, this has to be a trap.

I came here for help, not to submit to his vengeance.

“Benito, you can’t⁠—“

“Either marry me or handle the stalker yourself.” His icy glare chills my bones to the marrow.