Page 114 of Stalking Ginevra

My heart lurches as he lifts her off the floor, her feet dangling, her face turning red as she struggles to breathe. Every instinct screams at me to do something, anything, but I’m paralyzed by the sight of Carla’s life slipping away.

The smaller woman’s eyes meet mine, her features twisting with a silent plea for help. I can’t continue being a victim. I can’t let her die risking her life to save mine.

My gaze snaps to the nightstand, where he dumped his jacket. Half-hidden in the fabric and shadows is a gun. Without thinking, I dart toward the weapon and extract it from its holster, my fingers closing around its grip. By the time I turn back, Carla hangs like a limp doll, her eyes rolling as she teeters on the edge of consciousness.

“Put her down!” I scream and point the pistol at his head.

The man turns to me and laughs, his eyes dancing. “You like gunplay, baby?” He tightens his grip around Carla’s throat and shakes her like a ragdoll. “When I’ve finished with this little bitch, that barrel is going up your pussy.”

His words slam into my gut with an explosion of revulsion, but I clench my teeth and snarl, “Let go of her, or I’ll shoot.”

Snickering, he shifts, holding Carla in front of his head and chest like a shield.

My stomach plummets. The room spins, and the walls close in as my heart races out of control. What the fuck am I going to do now?

FIFTY-TWO

BENITO

I’m still erect as a dog from my encounter with Ginevra. My cock won’t stop raging until I’m watching her through those cameras, fucking my hand as she strokes her ginger pussy.

The elevator hums in sync with the thrum of my blood, a low mechanical whir that aggravates my shaft. Need coils tighter with each passing second, every floor dragging me closer to the breaking point.

My phone vibrates, snapping my focus. I pull it out, finding a message from Malfi:

Your wife is on the move.

Adrenaline spikes. Nostrils flaring, my fingers fly across the screen, firing off instructions to Carla. She needs to be in position, ready to escalate the upcoming confrontation between my security chief and my wife.

The elevator reaches the ground floor. Before its doors even think of opening, I slam my thumb against the panel, sending it back to the top. Impatience gnaws at my gut as the metallic bastard takes its sweet time ascending.

All traces of arousal escape my cock, morphing into impending dread. The ride feels like an eternity, each second a slow torture.

Malfi had better not hurt Ginevra. He’s an arrogant asshole, but how much damage can a man really do who sleeps alone with a stuffed animal? The thought would be amusing if the woman I love wasn’t at stake.

My fists clench, and I glare at the polished chrome walls, which reflect a distorted image. I’ve never looked so feral with these sharp eyes, clenched jaw, and prominent veins.

As the elevator inches upward, my thoughts churn. What the hell am I thinking? I’ve been without Ginevra for five years, and now I’ll resort to any method—no matter how depraved or cruel—to make her mine. Malfi’s frustration has to go somewhere. He might tear her apart.

Even thinking about that bastard burns through my veins like acid. I make a mental note to myself to stop using third parties to keep her in line. No men can be trusted around her but me.

Finally, the elevator dings its arrival. The doors slide open, and I explode into the hallway in a sprint. Doors whizz past in a desperate blur. My pulse hammers, anticipation tightening every muscle.

Halfway down the corridor, the sharp crack of a gunshot shatters the air. Panic freezes my blood, making my steps falter.

Ginevra.

I charge the rest of the way, my mind a blur of worst-case scenarios. What if she’s shot? What if she’s dead? My entire life isn’t worth living without the woman I love. With a burst of adrenaline, I slam into the door of Malfi’s suite.

Ginevra stands in the middle of the room, clutching a gun. Her face is pale, her eyes wide with shock. Malfi, the dumb bastard, holds Carla’s limp body in front of him like a shield.

My gaze snaps back to my wife. Her robe hangs off one shoulder, exposing darkening bruises. The hand gripping the gun shakes so hard, her fingers are at risk of pulling the trigger once more.

The sight of her beaten down, vulnerable, yet still standing, makes my heart twist. I turn to Malfi and snarl, “Nobody touches my wife!”

He drops Carla’s limp body. “Boss?—“

My fist connects with his mouth before he can finish that sentence. Rage explodes in my chest, burning away any semblance of control.

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