Page 101 of Stalking Ginevra

My lips tighten. “How’s he connected to the old man?”

Vitale shuffles on his feet. “That’s the thing. We’ve combed through the family tree. Salvatore Bellavista doesn’t have any sons, brothers, or cousins named Victor.”

The implications hit hard. If there’s no Victor Bellavista, then someone’s using the name as a cover. Understandable, considering Salvatore would shoot his own blood for messing with his business.

The low murmur of the casino blends with the hum of the air conditioning, the scent of cigar smoke hanging in the air. This so-called Victor Bellavista has to be connected to the factory, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to obtain the chips.

“Did you show them photos of his son?”

“We printed out pictures of every known Bellavista male, young and old. None of the people we caught with the chips recognized them as Victor.”

My teeth grind. “Summon Bellavista to the casino. Make sure he knows this isn’t a request.”

Nodding, Vitale pulls out his phone and walks around the bar, his voice low as he relays the order.

I glance at my watch, realizing half an hour has already passed.

It’s time to retrieve my wife and remind her exactly who holds the reins.

FORTY-FIVE

GINEVRA

Darkness presses down on my chest, heavy and suffocating. It squeezes the air from my lungs, making each breath a struggle. The cell feels smaller with every frantic heartbeat, the concrete walls creeping closer to trap me in this tomb.

I curl up tighter in the corner, pulling my knees to my chest. The cold floor leeches the warmth from my skin, but it’s the dread that makes me shiver. The thought of life with Benito—locked away, powerless, until he wrings every drop of revenge—tightens a knot of fear deep in my gut.

How long will he keep me here? How long before I break?

Each second in this concrete box erodes my resolve, grinding down my will. I press harder against the wall as if I could slip into the cracks and disappear out of his reach. The thought of being his prisoner sends my pulse pounding against my skull.

The door creaks open, flooding the cell with artificial light. Squinting against the glare, I raise a hand to shield my eyes, but there’s no mistaking the figure that fills the doorway.

Benito.

He stands immaculate in a dark suit that clings to his broad shoulders. Light pours in behind him, giving him an air of power and control. Shadows cut across his chiseled features, turning his beauty dark and dangerous. The man I loved is now a stranger.

His presence fills the room, overwhelming and oppressive. I’m pinned to the bricks, my heart pounding with sharp, painful beats. Every muscle coils, braced for whatever comes next.

There’s no trace of the old Benito, only a man who could crush me without a second thought. I can’t read his expression, but the weight of his gaze pins me to my corner.

I shrink into the bricks, wondering what the hell he’s going to do. Is this where he demands my body? Fear claws at my throat, tightening it until my lungs scream for air. I want to close my eyes, but I can’t look away.

Not from him.

Not from my husband.

Benito enters the cell, his footsteps heavy on the concrete floor. Flinching, I brace for his next move, expecting him to grab my arm, force me up, demand something I can’t give.

Instead, he extends a hand.

I stare at those manicured fingers, my brow furrowing, and meet his eyes. Eyes that once melted in my presence. Eyes that once bathed me in security and love. His face gives nothing away—only an unnerving calm.

Instinct screams to pull back, to keep my distance. But that gesture stirs something buried deep inside, something that wants to believe in the boy I once knew.

“What about my mom?” Voice shaking, I force out the words. “Where is she?”

“She left Bossanova’s apartment this morning.”

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