Page 148 of Stalking Ginevra

But as his fingers unravel the belt of my kimono, I know that man is gone.

SIXTY-SEVEN

BENITO

Twelve hours have passed since I walked out on Ginevra, but she lingers in my thoughts like an open wound. Her pleading eyes, the way her fingers traced my chest, the desperation in her voice—it claws at the edges of my mind.

I shouldn’t let her seep under my skin, but it’s already too late.

The drive to the casino did nothing to shake her hold, though I focused on every bend in the road, every turn of the wheel. But now, seated in the heart of my empire, I reinforce my defenses. Ginevra will not manipulate me with her beauty, her body, or her broken tears.

I control the progression of our marriage. I control everything, including this conference room.

Teresa Carlini, the head of procurement, sits across from me, her eyes darting between the documents spread across the table. Her son, Leo, and his fiancée, Bianca, are beside her, visibly uncomfortable. They know what’s coming, though they try to hide it behind weak facades of professionalism.

I allow the silence to stretch. It gives me time to focus, to push aside thoughts of Ginevra, even if just for a few moments.

Vitale and Lorenzo stand ready with evidence of their betrayal. My forensic accountants uncovered a kickback scheme, another drain on the casino. The guilty party's silence stretches, and I let the pressure rise, savoring their mounting terror.

But my mind drifts to Ginevra, trembling under me last night, completely undone. Blowing hot and cold worked because now I have her pleading for a connection.

Focus. There’s no room for weakness—not here, not now.

“You’ve been generous with my money, Teresa,” I say.

Shoulders tensing, her fingers tighten around the armrests. She twitches her lips but doesn’t speak. A bead of sweat trickles down from her hairline, betraying her mounting anxiety.

Locking gazes, I continue until she trembles. “Five years. Four million dollars. A steady stream of funds siphoned out of my businesses, under the guise of procurement.”

Her son is the first to flinch. He’s younger, less practiced in the art of hiding guilt. His eyes bore into my profile, darting between his mother and my men, seeming to wonder how much of their scam I’ve uncovered.

“Mr. Montesano,” Teresa begins, “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I didn’t?—“

I hold up a hand, making her mouth shut with a click of her teeth.

She’s just like Ginevra. Full of words and emotions and raw vulnerability, wanting to talk herself out of trouble. But I’m not the same man I was five years ago. That man had his heart trampled in the dust, his family broken into pieces. That man learned from his mistakes.

“Vitale,” I say.

He slides a stack of invoices across the table. “We’ve analyzed your procurement records. Inflated orders for premium alcohol and luxury food supplies, yet only half the goods ever arrive.”

Teresa’s breath hitches, even though the rest of her body remains still. “I’m...” She blows out a long breath. “I’m horrified that our vendors failed to deliver our orders. This has to be an oversight. Let me take care of it.”

She thinks she can talk her way out of a multi-million dollar fraud. It’s laughable.

“Four vendors under delivered large orders and you failed to notice?” I lean back, folding my arms across my chest.

Her lips move, but she fails to speak. Wise of her to remain silent. In her position, I would have left the country the moment the casino changed ownership.

Lorenzo takes over, flipping another page to show stock receipts. “Here’s a specific example. A shipment of a hundred cases of premium wine, each worth $2,000. The invoice billed you for two hundred grand. The actual delivery is only fifty cases.”

Leo pales. He’s been quiet so far, hoping to keep his head down, but his composure is slipping. Teresa clenches her jaw, her lips pressed tight.

“Let me call the vendor,” she says, her voice wavering.

“My men already had that conversation, and he admitted to the procurement fraud.”

Teresa’s eyes dart toward the door, as if she’s thinking of running. The desperation in her eyes mirrors Ginevra’s. She wanted me to stay and talk as if words might smooth over a betrayal of this magnitude.

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