Page 157 of Stalking Ginevra

His face disappears. I feel the loss of his presence like a punch to the gut. Lorenzo tucks the phone into his jacket,and sweeps his arm toward the door. “We need to move now, Ma’am.”

I slide my feet into the slippers, my stomach lurching. If Brisket is behind the explosion, I doubt whether two young men are strong enough to keep me safe.

SEVENTY-ONE

BENITO

The city rushes past in a blur of muted lights and steel-gray shadows, but my focus isn’t on the road. My phone buzzes on my lap with Ginevra’s location. The little dot representing her green kimono speeds around Alderney Hill.

Relief pulses through my muscles as she nears the entrance of our family home. She’ll soon be secure behind those walls, safe from whatever shitstorm Bellavista just unleashed at my casino.

A tightness in my chest eases as I turn my gaze back to the windshield. Once she’s in the pool house, surrounded by my best men, I might be able to breathe.

Thoughts of Ginevra fade into the background, and my mind returns to the attack on my casino. This was no petty grudge. It was a message. I don’t need to see the aftermath to know the culprit is Victor Bellavista.

The name rattles in my mind like a loose bullet. I’ve been closing in on him for days, following every thread of his network, every bastard who brought a counterfeit chip to my casino. Hewas desperate enough last week to murder Larry Zambino in cold blood.

Today’s explosion proves that I’m getting close.

I grit my teeth, forcing myself to focus on the road ahead as the driver navigates through traffic. Bellavista has been pushing my limits, testing me with grand-scale fraud, rigged machines, his little minions playing their games behind the scenes. And a bomb at the back of the casino.

His pathetic attempt to slow me down won’t work as long as I draw breath. I rub a hand over my face, failing to wipe off a layer of frustration. Ginevra is a constant pull on my thoughts, as are the constant drains on the casino. Over half of what’s wrong with the operation leads to Bellavista.

My phone vibrates, breaking through the tension. I glance down, finding Roman’s name flashing on screen. Putting him on speaker, I lean back into the seat, forcing my features into a semblance of control.

“Roman.”

“You heard about the explosion?” His voice comes through, low and rough, as if he’s been drinking the entire night.

“I’m on my way.”

There’s a pause, long enough that I can almost hear him rubbing a hand over his stubble. “It has to be Tommy Galliano. Makes sense after what we did to his brother.”

My brow furrows. “We don’t even know if Galliano survived the helicopter. Besides, he would’ve gone for Cesare or the house for revenge. Or hit the meth lab.”

Roman grunts. “The house is a fortress, and the meth lab is hidden. And don’t forget that Galliano was supposed to inherit the casino before we took it. He’d burn it to the ground out of spite.”

I grind my teeth, feeling the tension settle between my shoulders. Roman has a point, but Galliano is too hot headed toset off a small explosion. He’s more likely to rush in with guns blazing, like Scarface. Or Cesare.

“This is something else,” I mutter. “A man calling himself Victor Bellavista has siphoned cash from the casino for years. Now that I’m cutting him off, he’s pissed.”

Roman goes quiet on the other end. I can hear the doubt in his silence. I also imagine him slumped in his chair, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused, sinking further into depression.

Five years on Death Row is enough to break any man. Falling in love with the woman he was supposed to murder, only for her to discover the truth? If he only feels a fraction of my devotion to Ginevra, I don’t know how he’s still alive.

Finally, he exhales, the sound heavy with resignation. “You really think it’s Bellavista?”

“I would bet my life. Over the past week, people connected to his scams have disappeared, including members of staff. He’s killing everyone who might talk.”

“Have you spoken to Salvatore?”

“I’ve done more than speak to him,” I mutter. “The old man either knows nothing, or Victor’s got him by the balls.”

Roman falls quiet again with a sigh that makes my stomach plummet. If he wants that woman, he should drag her back home. She owes him for locking him up in that dark room. And for turning Dad’s classic Mercedes into scrap metal.

“I’ve made some calls,” I say, trying to steer the conversation from his dark thoughts. “Another casino’s been hit. Same counterfeit chip scam. The owner wants to meet in two days.”

“Which one?” Roman asks, sounding more alert.

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