Page 117 of Stalking Ginevra

I should have done more to help her, but my mind froze with fear. I hate feeling so powerless, but in a world full of monsters,the best hope a woman has for survival is to ally herself with the strongest of them all.

“I hope she’s alright,” I whisper.

Benito wouldn’t fire her for attacking a guest... Would he?

He was never so irrational except when it came to me.

My arms fall limp at my sides and I rest my head against the tiles. Benito is cold, calculating, even terrifying, but he’s not a monster. Not like Brisket. That realization offers a small comfort, but it’s not enough to silence the screaming doubts.

I rinse off the soap, turn off the shower, and shiver in the sudden silence. It’s almost deafening in the steam-filled cubicle. My fingers grope for a towel, and I wrap one around myself and step into the rest of the bathroom.

The robe I left on the counter is gone.

As are all the others that were hanging on the wall.

Realization hits like a slap—Benito must have taken it. Why the hell has he stripped me of even the simplest of coverings? Anger flares across my chest, but it’s swallowed by the cold reminder that I’m still at his mercy. Still trapped in this game where I don’t know the rules.

I tighten the towel around my chest, every nerve on edge as I step back into the main room. The fabric feels too thin, a flimsy barrier over my dignity.

Benito stands by the bed, holding a green kimono. The sight of him, so undisturbed after beating a man half to death, makes my breath catch. He’s a bronze statue with high cheekbones, a slight Roman nose, and the same well-shaped lips I once loved to kiss. The navy suit clings to his athletic frame, every fiber perfectly in place. If I hadn’t witnessed it myself, I would think another man had laid into that brute.

Every instinct screams at me to keep my distance, but I force my feet forward. My pulse quickens with each step, filling my ears with a frantic drumbeat. I reach out for the profferedkimono. Its smooth fabric glides against my fingers, doing nothing to ease my stomach's twisting sense of unease. I slip it on over the towel, feeling its weight settle around my shoulders as Benito secures it with a matching belt.

He steps back, his gaze never leaving mine, his eyes tracking every movement as I pull down the towel and let it drop to the floor. It’s as if he’s stripping away my defenses one by one, leaving me bare and vulnerable.

Those dark eyes penetrate my soul, without a trace of the boy, or even the young man who once catered to my every whim.

Silence stretches, thick and suffocating. He keeps staring me down until pressure mounts like a tea kettle, ready to shriek. What does he want from me, an apology for leaving this gilded cage?

The words burst out before I can catch them. “Why are you keeping me here like a prisoner?”

Benito cocks his head to the side, his expression so detached I wonder if he’s snapped. I search his dark eyes for a flicker of humanity, but they reveal nothing.

How can he stand there so composed while I’m falling apart?

The room spins, and my vision blurs. I sway on my feet, my strength crumbling under the weight of his unyielding stare.

“Please, Benito, say something!” My words come out desperate and raw.

Just as he's about to respond, someone pounds on the door. I jump, my hand flying to my chest, wondering if that monster has resurrected.

Benito strides over and cracks it open, blocking my view.

“This is Officer Barzelli. I’m here to speak to Mrs. Montesano.”

My heart somersaults. I inch closer, peeking through the tiny gap in the door, spotting two officers dragging the brute fromearlier into the hallway. He’s handcuffed and swaying on his feet as if drugged.

“Mrs. Montesano died a long time ago.“ Benito’s voice is like ice, cold and cutting.

“The young lady said that guy attacked Mrs. Montesano,” the policeman snarls. “Where is she?”

Benito pauses a beat before replying. “Ask Tommy Galliano for the location of her final resting place.”

The words send a chill down my spine, colder than the water still dripping from my hair. I knew Mrs. Montesano died a few years ago, but the thought that Benito and his brothers haven’t found her grave is heartbreaking. Guilt clutches my chest. This is yet another reminder of everything I was forced to cause Benito to lose.

He shoves the officer back, slams the door, and turns to meet my gaze. The suite’s walls close in around us, making the space too small, the air too thick. As he closes the distance, my heart gallops around my chest like a bolting horse.

“You left me once,” he says, his voice glacial. “How can I be sure you won’t leave me again?”

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