Page 121 of Stalking Ginevra

“We found your father’s vintage Mercedes,” he says from a noisy background. “It’s the last thing Roman was seen driving. We tracked it down to a scrap yard.”

My stomach drops. “What’s it doing there?”

“It’s been cubed.”

Anxiety punches me in the chest. Glad to have the wall at my back, I ask, “Any human remains?”

“None.”

Hearing that should be a comfort, but it feels hollow. What the hell happened to Roman? And to Cesare? I knew nothing good would come of turning an entire firm of assassins into a crater. Did either of them send out a follow-up crew to track down the survivors? Did either of them care?

We have so many enemies, from the Galliano family to the assassins. The thought of any of them going after Roman and Cesare sets my blood to ice. After telling Gil to double his efforts in locating Roman, I dial Reaper.

“Pull back all the men from Bellavista,” I say, my voice tight. “Focus on finding my brothers.”

Reaper hesitates. “What happened?”

I breathe hard, trying to stave off a surge of panic. “I don’t know yet, but something’s off.”

Over the next several minutes, we deploy teams around key sites within New Alderney. Some of them interrogate informants, others employ drones to search wooded areas. Even our friendly cops, Rizzo and Barzelli, expand their patrols.

There’s a chance that it’s nothing—my brothers might be holed up with their women, too obsessed with their whirlwind affairs to care that I’m turning the world upside down to find their irresponsible asses. But they could be in any amount of peril, including dead.

Who the hell could be behind their disappearances?

The bathroom door opens, and Ginevra emerges, dressed in a deep emerald gown that clings to her curves. Her auburn hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, and her eyes shine with a brightness I haven’t seen in years. The sight is enough to stir a sense of longing deep in my chest.

Her bright smile reminds me of the girl who stole my heart. I should tell her to change back into the kimono and order room service. I should explain that something important has come up. But when she spins around, showing off that perfect ass, my pulse quickens to the point of insanity.

All thoughts of my missing brothers crumble to dust.

Then she crosses the room, encasing me in her honeysuckle and vanilla scent. It wraps around my senses, making it impossible to think straight.

“Where are we going?” she asks, that soft voice a siren’s cry.

As my gaze drifts down to the nipples protruding through the green silk, I decide that Reaper and Gil can handle the search parties. In my current state, I’d only get in the way.

“Casino,” I say, fighting to keep my tone steady.

I can’t afford to let her sense the way my pulse races, the way my thoughts scatter with her so close. Keeping my face in a mask of iron, I hold out my arm.

She loops hers through mine the same way she did when we were younger. At one point, Ginevra knew me better than anyone. The thought of her slipping past my boundaries is dangerous.

We step out of the suite and head toward the elevator in silence. She clings to my arm on the ride down, her touch amplifying the tension coiled in my balls.

I should be thinking about Roman and Cesare, should be worrying about that cubed Mercedes, but my mind keeps slipping back to Ginevra. I’ve had this woman on her hands and knees, wearing cat ears and a fluffy tail, yet seeing her dressed like a lady erases everything. My entire world condenses to the way her body brushes against mine, and how her fingers graze my forearm.

The doors open into the lobby connecting the hotel to the casino. Lights glitter from the ceiling, reflecting off the polished floors and bouncing off the wall’s gold embellishments.

Distant chatter beckons us forward, along with the tinkling notes of a grand piano playing Sinatra. As we continue through to a walkway above the casino floor, the air fills with a buzz of excitement, and not just from the tables.

Ginevra glances from side to side, taking in all the sights. In my periphery, I spot several men casting me envious glances, while their female companions stare at Ginevra’s dress.

She’s intoxicating, a vision in the midst of sin. In a world filled with nearly four billion women, my eyes see only one.

Her bright chuckle breaks the silence. “Remember when we snuck in here all those years ago?”

She nudges me with her elbow, her laugh infectious, and for a moment, it feels like old times. The two of us against the world. The weight of the years we’ve spent apart slips away, replaced by a fleeting memory of simpler days.

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