Page 15 of Stalking Ginevra

“How was it?” She wiggles her brows.

My gaze darts to the booths, where the beautiful brunette holds court. Benito is absorbed by whatever she’s saying, practically entranced. I order another glass of Prosecco, wondering if I should go over there and apologize for the broken engagement.

Dad, Frederic Capello, Samson Capello, and even his quieter twin warned me not to explain my reasons. According to them, anything I said might warn Benito of the impending shitstorm, and we’d all get caught up in it, possibly facing jail.

I wasn’t convinced until Dad threatened outright that the next time Mom was flat-out drunk, he’d let her aspirate on her own vomit.

By the end of the month, Benito’s dad was dead, his older brother had been arrested for murder, Nick Terranova had lost his license to practice law, and his mom had run off to hole up with Tommy Galliano in New Jersey.

I continue picking at my food, trying not to glance at Benito and the woman, but it’s futile. My mind is so preoccupied with why he’s completely absorbed in what she’s saying that I barely register my best friend’s chatter. Later, when the waiter comes with the check, Martina raises her palms.

“Sorry, I left my purse at the office.”

I dig into my bag, fish out the company credit card, and hand it to the waiter.

He swipes it through the reader, and turns back to me with a sharp shake of his head. “Declined, ma’am.”

My stomach knots. I fumble for another card, and thrust it at him, my hands shaking. He swipes it again, and almost immediately, hands it back with an exaggerated sigh.

Panic rising, I shove two more cards his way, hoping one will clear. Each time, he swipes, waits a split second, then shoots me a look, his lips tight with impatience.

I glance at Martina for help. She grimaces. “Let me jog to the office and get my purse.”

Before I can ask her to wait for me to try another card, she’s gone.

I sit back in my seat, humiliated. The patrons at a nearby table snicker, their eyes gleaming with judgment. Squirming in my seat, I dip my head and wait for Martina.

“Ma’am, you need to vacate your place as it’s reserved,” says another waiter.

The woman at the nearby table giggles. I glance over, seeing her and her companion leering. Tears prick my eyes. They probably think I tried to dine and dash, when I’ve never so much as been short on cash. I’ve never had a card declined. Never been so socially embarrassed.

Rising, I back away from the table, the waiter guiding me toward a spot by the entrance. My thoughts spiral. What happened to my account? I was supposed to get paid last week. Martina’s taking forever to return with her card.

Humiliation creeps up my neck, prickly and hot and relentless. I’m almost certain every eye in the restaurant is burning with accusation. My instincts scream at me to defend myself, to announce that I’m not a thief. But common sense and propriety take control, and I stay quiet.

I glance over to Benito’s booth, but it’s empty. Then I turn just in time to see him sweep past with his companions, leaving a cloud of sandalwood, engrossed in conversation, without sparing me a glance.

As the trio step into the back of a limousine, the manager approaches, his features somber.

“Ma’am, you’re free to leave. The gentleman has covered your bill.”

I blink, stunned. “Who?”

“The tall gentleman in the navy suit and glasses,” he replies.

I whirl around, searching for Benito’s vehicle, but it’s already gone.

SEVEN

BENITO

Hours after witnessing Ginevra’s humiliation at the restaurant, I sit in the back of the car, my eyes glued to the surveillance app. She tosses and turns in bed, tangled in her sheets. After the day she’s had, I’m not surprised she can’t sleep.

Nick Terranova has taken back the law firm her father stole with the help of Capello, the transfer of her salary has been reversed, with the company credit cards canceled. And Valentino Bossanova is romancing her mother like she’s a billion-dollar insurance policy.

Her problems are piling on thick and fast, but they’re about to become worse.

It’s been a productive day. After preparing the boys from Mortis House for the upcoming casino raid, Reaper and I met my cousin, Elania, to help with waste disposal. She and her sister run the Newtown Crematorium.

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