Page 154 of Stalking Ginevra

Reaper scoops up the unconscious woman and runs with the other men. The streetwalker stands rooted to the spot, her eyes wide and paralyzed with fear.

“Move!” I grab her arm, but she’s frozen.

With a curse, I throw her over my shoulder and charge to the end of the alley. She screams, but it’s drowned out by the roar of the explosion.

We barely make it to safety when another blast tears through the night like it’s Armageddon. Flames and debris rain down, lighting up the sky. I duck behind a wall, releasing the streetwalker who gasps and tries to escape.

“Stay down,” I growl, stopping her from scrambling back toward danger.

Her earlier confidence is gone, replaced with wide-eyed terror. She says nothing—just nods, her knees buckling, her chest heaving like she’s about to give birth.

I pull out a handful of bills from my pocket and shove them into her trembling hands. “Breathe a word about this and I’ll blow you to pieces. Now, get the fuck out of here.”

She sprints around the corner like there’s another explosion on her back. Smart woman.

By the time I reach Reaper and the others, the wreckage is still burning in the distance, casting an eerie glow over the street. The middle-aged woman Reaper rescued is laid out on a stretcher, unconscious but breathing, her clothes stained with blood. Medics work on stabilizing her under his supervision.

This is no contract killer. Every assassin I know has mastered the fine art of escape. I turn to the medic. “Can you wake her?”

“This stimulant will do it.” He pulls out a syringe and injects clear fluid into her arm.

A few tense seconds pass before she stirs, her face contorting with agony. Her eyes flutter open, and she stares up at us, confused and disoriented.

Reaper holds her steady as she tries to sit up, and I crouch down, forcing our gazes to meet.

“Who are you? Why the hell was there a bomb in your car?”

Blinking rapidly, she breathes hard. Fear flashes across her eyes, which only sharpens when she sees my gun.

“Victor Bellavista took my daughter.” She chokes out a sob. “He said if I didn’t do what he asked, he’d kill her.”

I signal to Reaper. “See if she can identify him.”

Reaper digs into his jacket pocket, pulling out a tablet. He swipes until a photo of Salvatore Bellavista fills the screen and turns it toward her.

She shakes her head. “I’ve never met Victor. He’s just a voice on a phone who orders me about.”

“You’re sure?” I ask, my voice tight.

She squeezes her eyes shut, loosening tears. “Yes, I swear.”

I grit my teeth. Victor’s been one step ahead the whole time, and we’re still no closer to uncovering his identity.

“Get her out of here,” I growl.

As my men move into action, I pace outside a triage truck, my fists clenched, my veins coursing with fury. Victor Bellavista is a coward operating from the shadows, using regular people to do his bidding. Tonight’s bomb tells me how far he’s willing to go to conceal his identity.

Reaper joins me, his features grim. “What’s next?”

“We pay Salvatore another visit. If he’s protecting Victor, I’ll burn his entire empire to the ground.”

Reaper grunts. “You still think he’s hiding the man?”

“He’s hiding something.” I mutter.

I stride toward the car, my mind already working through the next move. It’s time to take a tougher approach—both with the bastards threatening my casino, and with my wife.

SEVENTY

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