Stalking Ginevra (Morally Black Book 4)

I was ready to maim him, but he didn’t come.

Instead, I spent the night lying awake, with one hand beneath my pillow gripping the knife, the other drifting between my legs while I imagined overpowering my masked molester.

That’s why I look like shit. My skin is so pale and thin that the vessels beneath them stand out like veins in blue cheese. Dark circles ring my eyes, and my hair lies flat against my sallow features like melted wax.

Fuck my life.

I can’t believe Benito proposed. As if I’d be stupid enough to marry a man Dad forced me to stab through the heart.

Just when I’m free from one abusive relationship, I’m not about to stumble into another. Samson had no reason to treat me like shit, other than his sexual hangups. Benito, however, has several.

I knew at the time that breaking our engagement would ruin his family, yet I did it anyway because Dad threatened Mom’s life. That decision to protect her meant that I failed to warn Benito and his family that one of their most trusted lieutenants was plotting their demise.

With a sigh, I loosen my robe and prepare myself for another day of work. My life feels like that Shirley Temple movie where her dad died and couldn’t pay the boarding school fees, so she was forced to scrub the floors.

A crack of gunfire jolts me out of my self pity, turning my blood to ice. At the second shot, I’m racing down the stairs, reaching the bottom before the echoes die. Blood roars between my ears, drowning out the frantic beat of my heart. I burst through the front door, my lungs burning.

The morning air hits me like a slap. Mom stands frozen in the courtyard, surrounded by men who look like they’ve crawled out of the gutter. They crowd around her like wolves surrounding a trembling cat. She’s barefoot and clad in a dress that’s slipping down her cleavage.

Bossanova slopes behind her, squirming like someone set fire to his crabs. The old bastard looks like he’s hiding something—or maybe just trying to disappear.

The leader steps out of the throng of thugs, all broad shoulders and dead eyes. He’s a brick shithouse of a man who looks fresh from a cage fight.

“Where’s the money, Mrs. Di Marco?” His voice is a low growl.

Mom’s lips tremble, too frozen by fear to speak. Behind her, Bossanova stiffens.

Fury pounds through my temples. Fury at the unknown killer who murdered Dad. Fury at Dad, for dying in debt and leaving us to pick up the pieces. Fury at these goons for harassing a widow still reeling from the murder of her husband. Fury at Valentino fucking Bosssanova for using a frail woman as a shield.

I step forward, my hands curling so tightly into fists that the nails bite into my palms.

“My father is dead!” The words explode from my throat. “Get the fuck out of here!”

When the leader’s gaze shifts from mom to me, I stiffen. What happened to the caution I used when dealing with Dad, or Samson, or any of the underworld lowlives?

It evaporated the moment someone threatened Mom.

The man’s eyes are so dark that his pupils and irises meld together to create twin voids—voids attempting to suck my soul. He sneers, the curl of his lips slow and deliberate, as if he’s savoring the sight of me quaking in my robe.

“Debt doesn’t die, sweetheart. And if you can’t pay…”

He doesn’t finish. Doesn’t need to. I can see it in his eyes, the way they rake over my body like I’m merchandise he can carve up and sell to the highest bidder. My stomach lurches, and I draw in a sharp breath. From the way his thick tongue slides across his lips, I can tell he’s already sizing me up for a brothel.noveldrama

As the last shred of hope evaporates in the morning sun, I turn to Bossanova. Someone has punched him so hard in the face that bruises ring both eyes. The band aid fluttering on the bridge of its nose looks like it’s failing to conceal a fracture.

“Do something!” I hiss. “You said you’d help us!”

The old bastard’s gaze drops to the ground. He takes a step back, shoulders hunching as if the weight of his cowardice is too much to bear.

“I—I… Your mother…” His words are a pitiful murmur, barely more than a breath. “It’s complicated.”

Fucking useless.

Mom and I are alone, facing the mouths of six hungry sharks. There’s no help coming. Not from Bossanova. Not from Benito. Not from divine intervention. Not from anyone.

My gaze darts back to the leader, who smirks. “If you can’t make the first payment, we’ll find a way to take what’s owed.”

Bile rises to my throat. I swallow hard, which does nothing to push back the encroaching dread. “We have furniture. Cars. Jewelry.”

He scoffs. “That won’t even make a dent.”

Before I can counter with anything else, he shoots out a hand. His thick fingers close around my arm with a grip tight enough to send lightning bolts of pain across my shoulder.

“Let go of me.” I try to yank free, but his hold is iron.

The men part as he marches me toward a grimy truck. It’s the kind of vehicle that’s almost certainly held captives. He’ll toss me in the back with his buddies, and they’ll take turns softening me up for a life of sex slavery. I’ll service lowlife after lowlife in a world of degradation and pain. Then, when I’m too old or beaten down to appeal to clients, they’ll harvest my organs.

Stomach churning, I throw myself backward, desperate to escape his grip. No matter how much I fight, it’s futile, and dread tightens like a vice around my chest.

With a scream, Mom hurls herself at the man, but he shoves her to the ground. She drops to her ass, her breasts falling free from her neckline. The men surrounding us snicker. Bossanova helps her off the driveway, his leathery fingers fumbling with her nipples.

My heart races, the familiar clutch of fear morphing into something darker, harder. Rage surges, hot and blinding, burning away my panic. My fists clench, and the edges of my vision turn black.

Nobody humiliates my mother.

“Get the fuck out of here,” I scream, my voice cracking. “I belong to Benito Montesano.”

Stiffening, his grip around my arm relaxes. “What the fuck did you say?”

Dread plummets through my stomach. I said those words in the heat of the moment. The last person I want to drag into this mess is an ex with a grudge, but backing down will earn me a one-way trip into that truck.

“Montesano?” he asks, his heavy features flickering with suspicion.

Sharp claws of fear rake through my chest. “He proposed to me yesterday,” I croak. “Took me to his penthouse in a limo and demanded my hand in marriage.”

His eyes narrow. “Benito Montesano. The same man who seized control of the Capello Casino last night and made its entire leadership team disappear? That Benito Montesano?”

My breath catches. What the hell is he talking about? Benito took back the casino? He didn’t mention anything like that to me. My heart sinks into my stomach. Why the hell would he confide in the woman who stabbed him so deeply in the back that his heart shattered?

The leader flashes his teeth. They’re stained with nicotine, each one ground down so badly that they resemble rings of a tree.

He chuckles. “You’re telling me a bad-ass motherfucker like him had time during this casino heist to get down on one knee?”

My jaw clenches. “Call him. It’s the truth.”

His gaze darts to one of his companions, who no longer looks so arrogant. Then the grip on my arm loosens a little more.

Buoyed by a surge of confidence, I lift my chin and shoot him my most defiant glower. “What do you think a man capable of taking over a casino will do to you when he discovers you touched what belongs to him?”

Doubt crosses his eyes, which are no longer an impenetrable black. I finally see wide pupils and shades of dark brown. Benito’s name never used to carry so much weight. At least not with me. Now, I’ll wield it like a club.

“Let go of me,” I snap.

His fingers loosen a little more, making my chest rumble with satisfaction.

That’s right. I pull back my shoulders, my eyes hardening. Then I sweep a malevolent gaze across the courtyard and revel in the way the men shrink.

“Unless you’re starting trouble with the Montesanos, I suggest you all fuck off,” I say, making my voice venomous and low.

The leader finally releases his grip on my arm and his men exchange uneasy glances. Their confidence seems to waver, but they still hang around waiting for his command. No one seems to know how to act.

If I wasn’t obscuring the truth, I would snatch a phone and call Benito. But I walked out on the man without even answering. His proposal of marriage wasn’t a declaration of war but a promise of retribution.

Now I know why he brought me to that penthouse. It wasn’t just to make a point about the casino Dad helped Frederic Capello to steal. Benito was about to take it back. Until this moment, I didn’t know he was such a major player in this world.

“Leave,” I say.

As the men back toward their vehicle, I know our troubles aren’t over. In minutes, he’ll contact his boss, who will reach out to someone in the Montesano family. They’ll ask Benito if we’re engaged again, and he’ll say no.

I need to make sure Mom won’t be there when they return.