Page 116 of Stalking Ginevra

“For what?” Rizzo asks.

“Put my head of security in handcuffs, knock on the honeymoon suite door, and demand to see Mrs. Montesano.”

“Your mom?” Rizzo asks.

“Don’t ask dumb questions,” I snarl. “Just do it.”

I hang up, shoving the phone back into my pocket just as Carla rises off the floor and scowls.

“You okay?” I ask.

She rubs her throat with one hand and crosses the fingers of another. “After this, she and I will be inseparable.”

I nod. “Good work.”

My gaze shifts to Malfi, still crumpled on the floor. Blood trickles from his split lip, which only ignites my fury.

“Get the fuck up,” I growl.

Wincing, Malfi struggles to his feet. That beat-down is only the beginning. He’s going to pay for almost jeopardizing my plans.

FIFTY-THREE

GINEVRA

I exhale the moment the door clicks shut behind me, muffling the outside chaos, but my heart thinks we’re still under attack. The sunlight streaming in through the windows burns my retinas, making me squint against the glare.

Half blinded, I stumble into the bathroom. Each step is shaky as if the marble floor might give way beneath my feet. My pulse pounds hard enough to drown out all but the wet thud of Benito’s fists against the brute’s face.

The scene replays in my mind over and over like a horror film I can’t escape.

With a shuddering breath, I grip the edge of the sink, and stare into the mirror. The woman staring back is wild with crazy eyes, a blood-streaked face, and hair matted to her pasty skin. Red finger marks stain my throat like a macabre choker.

My stomach lurches. This time yesterday, I was an attorney. Now, I’ve become a monster’s punching bag.

That man could have?—

No. I can’t voice that thought.

Stripping off the remnants of my robe, I turn to the shower and twist the spigot. Water cascades from the oversized head, soothing, hypnotic, captivating, and glimmering.

I want more. I want to lose myself in its flow. Wash away the day in a scalding torrent.

Shivering, I step into the cubicle, letting the hot spray pound against my skin. The physical pain is almost a relief, giving me something to focus on other than this relentless revulsion.

Water streams down my skin, but it isn’t nearly enough. This is the second time in twenty-four hours I’ve found myself covered in a man’s blood.

I snatch the shower gel off the shelf, pour a large dollop into my fingers, and rub my palms into a thick lather. The honeysuckle scent overwhelms my senses, but nothing can chase away the tang of metal.

Steam fogs the shower walls, thick and suffocating as I scrub at my skin, trying to erase the grime, the blood, the disgust. No matter how hard I try, it’s not enough. I can still feel the brute’s hands around my neck, his eyes on my breasts. My ears still ring with his lascivious comments, but more than that, I see Benito’s face.

His cold, detached fury as he beat that man to a pulp almost reminded me of Brisket.

At least Benito knew when to stop.

Bowing my head, I breathe hard through my relief, but I can’t shake off a creeping dread. I’m safe now, but at what cost? Benito rescued me but what will he want in return?

As the water flows over my head, washing away the filth, my thoughts drift to Carla. Guilt gnaws at my chest, more relentless than the scalding water. Is she okay? Did Benito call 911 or did he just leave her on the floor to handle that bastard?

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