Page 115 of Stalking Ginevra

Malfi was supposed to be a random creep, someone Ginevra could dismiss. But the bastard just called me boss. My fists land blow after blow, fueled by the fear that everything I’ve worked for is about to unravel.

I can’t let her see me as a puppet master pulling strings. I need her to view me as her savior.

Each punch drives that desperation deeper, my knuckles splitting as they collide with his face. Blood spatters, but I don’t care. Malfi just jeopardized Ginevra’s trust in me, my plans, our future. He needs to die.

A voice screams at the edge of my consciousness, but I’m too deep in the rhythm of violence to care. The impact of the blows sends shockwaves up my arms, and my knuckles become slick with blood. The pain only fuels my anger. I pour everything into each punch—the frustration, the fear, the panic when I heard that gunshot.

“Benito!” The voice screams my name again, louder, cutting through the haze of my rage.

I freeze mid-swing, my breath ragged. Blinking through the haze of fury, I glance up to find Ginevra standing close, her pretty face streaked with tears.

“Benito, stop it. You’re killing him!”

Her anguish cuts through the remnants of my anger. I stagger back, my chest heaving. Did she hear Malfi’s slip up?

I stare into those wide, gray eyes, forgetting how to breathe. My mind clears, leaving only gut-churning dread. Breath hitching, I freeze, wondering if this is the moment she asks if Malfi was a plant to keep her under my control.

My eyes snap to the pistol she’s still holding, its barrel pointing down at my feet.

“Give me the gun,” I say, keeping my voice steady.

She hesitates, her eyes flickering between Malfi’s fallen body and my bloody fists. “You can’t…” Her voice trembles. “Don’t kill him.”

Relief surges through my system, and I exhale lungfuls of tension. Holding my features into a mask of impatience, I stretch out a palm. “Death is too good for this bastard. He needs to go to jail.”

Her shoulders sag, and she steps forward, finally handing me the gun. Then she collapses against my chest. I wrap my arms around her shoulders, pulling her close. Honeysuckle invades my senses, reminding me of better days, when she was my sun, and I was her most ardent acolyte.

She sobs against my chest, trembling, and I hold her tighter, murmuring vague reassurances. Congratulating myself, I rock her from side to side, luxuriating in the moment I’ve orchestrated.

Ginevra now knows I’m nothing like Brisket, who would carve through a man’s insides to extract his heart. I’m the man who stopped. The man she can cling to when everything falls apart.

As she cries, I allow myself a small, inward smile. Finally, I’m the hero she needs.

Just as I’m about to scoop her off her feet, she pulls back and points to Carla, who lies unmoving on the floor.

“She tried to save me,” she whispers, her voice still trembling. “Please, help her.”

My brows rise. This isn’t the self-absorbed goddess I once knew. She’s just been through hell, but her first thought is for the woman from room service?

Masking my reaction, I nod and slide the key card from my pocket.

“Go to our suite.” I press it into her hand. “Get cleaned up.”

She hesitates, searching my eyes. For what, I’m unsure. I offer a kind smile, the sort that conveys that I still have a heart.

“Go, so I can call the police. We don’t want your name mixed up in this mess.”

Features relaxing, she gives me a trusting smile before drawing back. I watch her disappear through the exit and wait until I hear the click of the suite door.

Once she’s gone, I drop my mask, secure the door, pull out my phone, and dial Officer Rizzo.

He picks up on the second ring. “Benito?”

“Where are you?” I ask.

“Precinct.”

“Bring Barzelli. Get a team to the Hotel Montesano. I want the police swarming the upstairs hallway.”

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