Page 169 of Stalking Ginevra

She sits straighter. “I’ve studied their financials for years since joining the Di Marco Law Group. Salvatore Bellavista funnels money through a series of shell companies.”

“How did you get so close to their inner workings?” Marcello asks.

“My late father managed their account for decades,” she replies. “I handled a lot of the paperwork, so I’m familiar with their entire corporate structure.

“Go on,” I say, my brows rising.

She shifts in her seat. “I never understood why he funneled so much money through a convoluted network of entities and offshore accounts when he had a legitimate manufacturing business. What if those funds were stolen from your casinos?”

There’s a pause, and the air thickens as her words settle. Demartini shifts forward in his seat, his attention fully on Ginevra.

Rinaldo enters with the first course, which he places on our settings. We sit in silence, waiting for him to serve more wine, before he leaves again with another bow.

“And how would you suggest we unravel the money trail?” asks the old man.

Marcello leans close as Ginevra launches into a flurry of legalese. “Your wife is a real asset.”

Throat thickening, I force a nod. How the hell did I lock her away in a hotel room, degrading her into submission, when she could have reigned at my side?

As the conversation continues, Ginevra outlines how to obtain an asset freezing order to force Salvatore into being more forthcoming with information.

During the main course, the conversation drifts to history, politics, and law. I knew Ginevra was intelligent and resourceful, but watching her hold court with an aristocrat like Demartini is a revelation.

By the time Rinaldo serves dessert, I’ve already made my decision.

Ginevra is my equal. And I’ve been a fool to treat her as anything less.

Tonight, I’ll let her shine. And after that, I’ll treat her like my wife.

SEVENTY-SEVEN

GINEVRA

I wake to the silence of an empty room. The space beside me is cold, Benito’s absence leaving a void that gnaws at my chest in the early light.

Last night, he brought me back to the pool house and made love to me until we both ached. Then he let me curl up beside him with my head resting on his shoulder.

It was the best night sleep I’ve had for years. Somewhere, in the pit of my heart, I felt like we’d reached a turning point. After telling me he wanted to make things between us work, then bringing me instead of Roman to the Demartini mansion to discuss business, I thought we’d grown closer.

But he’s gone.

And he’s taken away the warmth of yesterday’s promises. Did he really mean it when he said he wanted us to work? Or was I just a pretty face to bring to the table? The way his hand lingered on my back, the way his eyes softened when I spoke… I want to believe it was real, that it wasn’t just my imagination.

Chest tightening, I trace the faint impression he left on the pillow with my fingertips. No matter how much I try to hold back, I can’t stop thinking about last night.

It wasn’t just the business talks or Mars’s admiration—it was him. Benito. The way he softened for me, his gaze unguarded for the first time in what felt like years. I saw the man I fell in love with, not the one who’s kept me captive. But with him gone, it’s hard to tell if that connection was real or if it was just another illusion to keep me tethered.

I felt like myself again. Professional, intelligent, independent. It was like being in a meeting when Dad was alive and having people hang on my words. But with the way I’m pining for Benito, I wonder if it was all in my head.

Sunlight streams from the back window, casting pretty patterns on the pale walls. My gaze wanders across the expanse to where a garment bag hangs on the door.

Even though it’s probably another kimono, I throw back the sheets, swing my legs out of bed, and pad across the tiled floors. When I unzip it, I find a business suit.

My stomach twists. It’s navy blue, sharp, tailored, and entirely out of place in this strange limbo that’s become my marriage. Brows pulling together, I wonder why he wants me to get dressed.

I shake off my speculations, enter the bathroom, and take a shower. Steam fills the small space, but it does nothing to clear the tension clinging to my bones. As I work honeysuckle shampoo into my hair, my thoughts keep circling back to last night.

Benito listened to my conversation with Mr. Demartini in a way he never did whenever I talk about our relationship. Is this the reason for the suit? I work shower gel into my skin, wondering if it’s just a costume for office role play.

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