Page 103 of Stalking Ginevra

A chill creeps down my spine. I hurry across the suite and into the bathroom, hoping to find my red wedding dress. But when I open the door, it’s gone.

All I’m left with is this robe.

I clutch it tighter, but it does nothing to shield me from the terrifying truth. Benito may have moved me from a concrete cell to a luxury suite, but I’m still his prisoner.

Different walls, different chains, same fucking trap.

FORTY-SIX

BENITO

I should be upstairs, watching Ginevra eat. Instead, I’m in a secluded parking lot beneath the casino, flanked by two armed guards. I’m still wearing this morning’s suit, only reinforced by a bulletproof undershirt. Strength doesn’t need to hide behind armor.

This place is hardly used, yet the air thrums with the mingled scents of oil and exhaust fumes, and of course, the approaching truck. Its headlights cut through the dim light, illuminating the empty space.

My men tense, their hands hovering near their weapons, but I remain in place.

The truck pulls up in front of us and stops its engine. Its back doors swing open, and one of my men steps down. The second drags out Salvatore Bellavista like a sack of meat.

His silk smoking jacket hangs off one fleshy shoulder, and his cravat wraps around his neck like a noose. Both men march the old man to my feet and force him onto his knees, shoving his face into the oil-streaked concrete.

“Release him.”

They step back.

Bellavista raises his head to stare up at me through wide eyes. When he realizes it’s me, his mouth falls slack.

He should be afraid.

“Did you get the compensation I sent?” His voice wavers, his bravado betraying desperation.

I stare down at him, unblinking, allowing the silence to stretch as the weight of the situation settles into his thick skull. Tension mounts, and I savor every moment of his fear.

“The money came through,” I finally say, “but your problems go deeper than a prodigal son releasing counterfeit chips.”

Bellavista shifts on his knees, his eyes darting between me and my men. “What’s this about, Benito?”

“Every scumbag we’ve rounded up in the last twenty-four hours with those deactivated chips mentioned two people. A woman and an old man named Victor Bellavista.”

Confusion flickers across his jowls. “I don’t know any Victor.”

“This Victor knows you well enough to infiltrate your factory and steal chips.” I cock my head, studying him for signs of deception, but all I see is terror. “Funny, how you shot your own son over the fraud. Almost like you were covering up something bigger. Something bad enough to take down your whole family.”

Sweat beads on his forehead, trailing down his temples and sliding down his pale cheeks. His eyes dart to the gun holstered at my side, and he shudders.

“Everyone knows your family wiped out the Capellos,” Bellavista says, his voice cracking. “You waited five years for the right moment to take out their entire bloodline.”

My brows rise. Turns out the outside world doesn’t see us as weak.

“My son was a liability,” he adds, his voice wavering. “An addict making stupid mistakes and drawing unwanted attention.I couldn’t let his recklessness bring your wrath down on my family. I did what I had to do.”

He drops his gaze, his shoulders sagging, his spine sloping to the oil-stained floor.

I crouch down to look Bellavista in the eye. “Is your son still alive?”

He hesitates, then offers a tight nod.

“Then you’ll question him. Between the two of you, you’ll uncover this ‘Victor’ and bring him to me alive. Fail, and the Bellavista name will be wiped out of existence.”

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