Page 160 of Stalking Ginevra

“Don’t touch the paintings. Or the art supplies,” he snaps over his shoulder, not bothering to look back.

Then he leaves.

The moment the door clicks shut behind him, my legs buckle, and I collapse against the wall, gasping for air. I press my palm to my chest, willing my heart to stop racing, but fear still fills my veins with adrenaline.

Roman is frightening. But the raw terror he inspires is cold and unpleasant.

It’s not like Bob Brisket.

Brisket’s danger seeps into my core, leaving me weak and sending heat straight to my clit. He makes me crave things I shouldn’t. He’s dark, compelling, and awakens a part of me I thought was dead, even when I’m scared out of my mind.

But all I feel with Roman is dread. Nothing more.

So my theory that Roman can be Bob Brisket is bullshit.

He has to be someone else.

SEVENTY-THREE

BENITO

My people and I spent the day scouring the security feeds from both inside and outside the casino. Whoever attacked my business knew what they were doing. They knew the positioning of the cameras, the timing of the waste disposal trucks, and how to position themselves to plant both the bomb and the safe without being seen.

To say it’s an inside job would be an understatement, since Bellavista already compromised one maintenance worker. He could have dozens of them in his pocket.

I park the car at the side of the house, wanting to avoid a conversation with Roman until I can present him with Bellavista’s head. After opening the door, I step out into a gust of fragrance from the climbing roses covering the wall that mingles with the ever-present scent of juniper.

Crossing the lawn, I cast my sights on the pool house. Its glass walls reflect the last traces of the setting sun, and I wonder if Ginevra is having another nap.

Lorenzo and Vitale sit outside, playing cards on the patio table amongst remnants of their evening meal. Reaper hashoned those boys to become loyal soldiers. I send Sofia a silent word of thanks for feeding them.

They stand as I approach, and I dismiss them for the evening. I wait for the pair to reach the other side of the pool before I open the patio door.

I step inside, only for Ginevra to rush at me, her kimono billowing. In three desperate steps, she throws herself into my arms, her body trembling against mine.

My muscles stiffen from the way her hands grip me like a lifeline. She’s usually composed, calculating, in control. Seeing her shaking and barely able to stand is disconcerting.

“Benito,” she whispers, her voice frail. “I’ve been so scared.”

She clutches at the fabric of my jacket, her grip tight enough to leave indentations. Every breath she takes shudders through her body, with her pulse pounding hard enough to reach through my suit. The fear radiating from my wife is so jarring that I cup her face with both hands.

“What happened?” I ask, my chest tightening.

“Roman was here,” she says through panting breaths. “He was so frightening.”

Her trembling body presses harder against mine, as though seeking refuge from the memory of my brother. I tighten my arms around her shoulders, wondering what the hell she’ll say next. Ginevra has known Roman nearly as long as she’s known me. They were never friends, but surely she knows he isn’t capable of murdering an innocent woman?

“What did he say?”

She doesn’t look up. Her head presses against my chest, as though if she holds tight enough, it will make Roman disappear.

“I’ve been on edge the whole day, thinking he would break in and force me to have sex,” she chokes out, her voice cracking.

Her words hit like a punch to the gut, filling my veins with a surge of white-hot rage. My grip on her arms tightens, themuscles in my chest coiling with tension as I tilt her chin up to lock gazes.

“Who are you talking about?” I growl.

She shudders, her breath hitching, her eyes welling with tears. “Bob Brisket,” she wails. “He’s going to track me down. He’ll find me and make me?—”

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