Stalking Ginevra (Morally Black Book 4)

I pull into the office parking lot the next morning, my head pounding. In between erotic daydreams about that man fucking me doggy-style, I keep freaking out about Mom.

Shouldn’t there be a rule that says a woman should wait until her first husband is in the ground before marrying the next? Mom can’t even make a decision on Dad’s funeral, and she’s already entertaining men.

Not just any man but the worst kind of mass murderer.

They laughed when I refused to give my blessing, and Bossanova scooped Mom into his arms then carried her out of the house. I spent the rest of the day off-balance, waiting for Mom to return, but she stayed out the entire night.

Someone’s ostentatious convertible is parked in Dad’s old space, so I drive around to find all the lots full. Something must be happening at work. We usually have at least six empty places. I drive around the block and have to park on the street, only to find that I have no change for the meter.

Making a mental note to send Pamela out later, I exit the car and walk to the office on foot. We have the nicest, most efficient receptionist. When Dad was murdered, she organized a hotel for Mom and arranged for her sobriety coach to visit so she didn’t relapse.

Bossanova must have interfered and got Mom drinking again to make her susceptible to his dubious charm. Why else would she entertain someone so morally corrupt?

The Di Marco Law firm occupies the top floors of a 34-story Beaux-Arts building overlooking the park, with an arched entrance and ornate sculptures adorning the facade. The security guards incline their heads to me as I step through its grand doors into a lobby of marble floors and intricate moldings.

An ancestor of Dad’s former partner, Paolo Montesano, built it in 1929 for his youngest son, who wanted to fight the prohibition law. Dad joined the firm as a junior associate and worked his way up to partner. When Paolo’s great-grandson was disbarred, the firm appointed Dad as the managing partner.

Now, at the tender age of twenty-eight, it’s all mine.

It’s not all offices—we have the most extensive law library in the state, a fully equipped gym, a cafeteria, a rooftop garden, a media room, state-of-the-art IT facilities, and Dad’s penthouse for when he works late.

The lining of my stomach flutters as I take the elevator to the 30th floor. I don’t know if I should be myself or act like a managing partner.

I haven’t been to work since the Capello massacre. Technically, I’m still mourning the death of my fiancé. Samson wanted everyone to think he’d died with the rest of his family, at least until the firm of assassins he hired had taken out the lone gunman. I should be at home, grieving Dad’s death, but I can’t be alone with my thoughts.

Before I can even contemplate that dilemma, the doors open and I step out on trembling legs. The first person I spot is Pamela at the reception desk. Raising a hand, I smile, expecting her to return the gesture, but she looks through me like I’m invisible.

Is she having a bad day? I cross the space to pause at her desk, only for her to turn her head and pick up the phone.

Dismissing her behavior as peculiar, I walk around the cubicles. No one acknowledges my presence, except for clingy Julian, who rises from his cubicle and opens his arms for a hug.

“Ginny,” he says, his voice breathy with exaggerated sympathy. “Welcome back!”

His imploring gray eyes, a shade darker than mine, set within sallow features and muddy blond hair, are off-putting enough to make me pivot toward Dad’s office. I don’t want to be cornered so soon after being bound and shoved into a closet by one man and then freed by another in exchange for my throat.

Julian is a hardworking attorney who makes insightful contributions in client meetings, but he spends more time looking into my eyes than focusing on the discussion. Now that I’m newly single, I expect his behavior to become worse.

I open the door to Dad’s office, finding it occupied. The man sitting behind his desk has his head bowed, pouring over a stack of documents. He’s in his late 40’s to early 50’s with a receding salt-and-pepper hairline, and a matching beard. He’s vaguely familiar, but I’m certain he isn’t an employee.

Flanking him on his left and right are two college-aged men in sharp suits who comport themselves like soldiers.

“What are you doing here?” I fold my arms over my chest.

He raises his head, sweeps his gaze up and down my form, and rests his hands on Dad’s desk. “Ginevra Di Marco, I presume?”

“Yes,” I say, my spine straightening. “Who are you?”

“Niccolò Terranova. Practice Manager and true owner of this law firm.”

I rear back, my breath catching. The Nick Terranova I remember from the past was younger, sharper, and handsome. The man in front of me has aged at least fifteen years.

“But you’re⁠—”

“Disbarred?” He rises from his seat, his shoulders broadening within a pale blue shirt.

“You’re…” I gulp. “Forbidden to practice law.”

“For now,” he says, his voice cold.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

He smirks. “Do the rules say I can’t enter a building I own?”

My mouth opens and closes, but I can’t muster a counter argument. Dad once mentioned the building belonged to the firm, which Terranova had to relinquish when he lost his license to practice law.

“Do you have any proof of your claims?” I ask, trying to keep my voice from trembling.

Terranova’s smile morphs into a full-on grin, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Rimaldo, give Miss Di Marco the documents.”

One of the men standing behind him walks to a bookshelf and picks up a stack of lever-arch folders. Without meeting my gaze, he asks, “Want me to take it to your desk?”

My jaw clenches. “This is my office.”

“Capri,” Terranova drawls. “Help the young lady out.”

Capri, a man the size of a wardrobe, lumbers forward, making me step back. I won’t be manhandled by these interlopers in my own law firm.

Grabbing the door handle, I step out into the bustling office space. Every attorney, paralegal, and administrative assistant in the cubicles stops work to stare.

A lump forms in my throat. What the hell is happening? Who allowed this hostile takeover?

I walk to the other private office, which Dad let me occupy, only to find it containing four desks. Two of them are occupied by college-aged men in the same sharp suits as the pair orbiting Terranova.

They glance up as I step in, their eyes flicking over my face without a hint of recognition.

“This is my office,” I say.

One of them, a tall guy with spectacles perched on his nose, raises an eyebrow. He leans back in his chair, folding his arms. “Mr. Terranova assigned this room to the interns.”

My heart pounds so hard that my body throbs with frustration. Fury flushes through my veins, filling my cheeks with prickly heat.

I would stay and argue, but I don’t have any of the facts. Turning on my heel, I narrowly avoid bumping into Rimaldo, who flicks his head toward the cubicles.

“Your workspace is this way.” He walks around the room’s perimeter, leading me back toward Pamela’s desk. Now, I understand why she avoided eye contact. She knew what was happening and hadn’t offered a word of warning, not even a text.

My stomach clenches at the betrayal. Each person I pass seems to shrink back, avoiding my gaze. This is worse than any walk of shame.

Julian rises from his cubicle and raises a palm. “Over here. The seat next to me is empty.”

Dread rolls through my insides with the force of an avalanche. I glance around for an empty place, but they’re all occupied.

Rimaldo places the folders on my new desk and strolls back to Dad’s corner office. I’m torn between pouring through the documents and walking out. The latter is so tempting, but I’m not about to lose Dad’s legacy.

With as much dignity as I can muster, I lower myself on the seat and open the first file. It’s so full of convoluted legalese that I almost forget I’m 3 years qualified.

Did Terranova kill Dad to take control of the firm?

Julian leans in from his cubicle. “Hey⁠—”

“Could you…” My throat tightens. “Could you please give me a minute?”

“Sure thing, Ginny,” he murmurs, his voice whispery and low. “Anything you want. Just know I’m here for you. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask. You hear that? You can ask me. Anytime… You know that. Any. Time. Ginny.”noveldrama

I breathe hard, tuning out his incessant chatter. His words might be sympathetic, but he could have called or texted to warn me I was walking into an ambush. I can’t trust anyone in this firm. Not a single person.

When a hand lands on my shoulder, I’m ready to scream. I whirl around and lock gazes with my best friend, Martina, who offers me a sympathetic smile.

“Let’s go for brunch,” she says. “I can fill you in on what’s happened.”