Page 134 of Stalking Ginevra

It was wrong, but I couldn’t stop. Not when my heart only beats for her. Not when my blood only flows for one treacherous woman.

I pass a pair of gardeners at the flowerbeds, who nod a greeting. As I ascend the steps leading to the double doors, the morning sun shines down through the clouds, soaking through my armor. I press my palm into the warm wood, and it strikes me that this will be the first time I enter the house, no longer a virgin.

But I’m entering without my bride.

Last time I checked the app, she was still sobbing on the steps. I could pull out my phone and see if she’s skipped town, but what’s the point? Ginevra fucked another man, even after vowing to be faithful.

Granted, that other man was me in disguise, but my adulterous wife thinks he’s Bob Brisket.

With a snarl, I push open the door and step into the marble hallway. Coming here alone makes the weight of Ginevra’s betrayal settle deeper in my chest. I was supposed to carry her over the threshold.

Desire, dejection, disappointment churn together in a knot that tightens with each passing moment. After last night, I don’t even know if I can ever look her in the eye.

Gil emerges from around the corner, his face a stoic mask. At the sight of me, he frowns but doesn’t ask what’s wrong.

“Roman’s awake. He’s in his study.”

Stomach clenching at the reminder of my brother, I shove thoughts of Ginevra aside. Now isn’t the time to dwell on my adulterous wife. Not when Roman is going through hell and Tommy Galliano might still be alive.

I walk toward the study, my steps dragging on the marble floor tiles. Gil follows at a distance but pauses before I reach the door. Turning back to him, I say, “Send for Cesare.”

With a nod, Gil disappears around the corner, leaving me to step inside. My gaze lands on the portrait above Roman’s desk.Emberly captured his commanding presence down to the sharp angles of his face.

The man in the picture looks powerful, in control... deadly.

The man slouched on the sofa in the far right of the room is a mere shell.

Roman’s head hangs like he’s carrying the weight of the world. He continues staring into his tumbler of whiskey even when I cross the room. A black shirt hangs off his frame like he’s been on a hunger strike, and his gaunt features hang beneath three days of stubble.

The contrast between the man in the painting and the one sitting before me is like a punch to the balls.

I fold my arms, watching him swirl the glass as if the amber liquid contains the answers to his problems. The Roman who spent half a decade on death row never looked so broken.

“She locked me in that room,” he mutters, his voice cracking. “No phone. No clothes. Left me tied to the furniture like a fucking dog.”

My eyes narrow. “Emberly?”

Fingers tightening around the tumbler, he nods. I expect the crystal to shatter any second.

“Didn’t think she had it in her,” he mutters.

I step closer. “Where is she, now?”

Roman lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Probably pregnant.”

My jaw drops. “How would you know?”

Leaning back, Roman drags a hand through his hair and stares up at me through red-rimmed eyes. “I tampered with her birth control.”

“Why?” I rasp.

“Figured it’d give me some leverage for when she discovered the truth.”

His words hang in the air, thickening the tension. I study my big brother, my mind working through the implications. That was bold, reckless even, but in desperate times, even the lowest of measures are justifiable...

Even if she was Capello’s daughter.

“What made you think it would stop her from retaliating?” I rasp.

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