Page 170 of Stalking Ginevra

“Shut up,” I mutter, turning on the cold spray.

The shock of frigid water derails those thoughts. What’s the point of torturing myself with assumptions, when I can just enjoy the morning?

After the shower, I step out into the bedroom and return to the garment bag, finding he’s supplied a bra in my size, a silk blouse, heeled shoes, but no panties. I dry my hair, get dressed, stand in front of the mirror, and smooth down the lapels, feeling the weight of the fabric settle over my body like armor.

The woman reflected back no longer has dark circles under her eyes or that constant undercurrent of misery. Samson is dead, so are his men, and his humiliation rituals can follow him to the grave.

I have no idea what’s next, but this outfit is an unspoken command. A subtle instruction to be ready for anything. I relax because no matter what, I’m always safe with Benito.

Dressed and ready, I step out onto the patio, where breakfast awaits by the pool. I lift the silver dome over a plate, revealing a frittata with pancetta, potatoes, and roasted onions. I sit down to eat alone, my gaze wandering past the pool and across the lawn.

Gardeners mill about the lawn, tending to the flower beds around the mansion, and a large figure in a burgundy gown moves from window to window before stopping to stare out at me.

I dip my head, focus on my breakfast, and try not to attract Roman’s attention. Later, as I’m enjoying my coffee, Lorenzo and Vitale appear from around the side of the house. My stomach tightens as they approach, reminding me of my imprisonment.

“We’re ready to take you back whenever you are, Mrs. Montesano,” Lorenzo says from a respectful distance.

Back. As if I’m an inmate being returned to my cell. The knot in my stomach twists around my lungs until I can barely breathe.

Last night, flexing mental muscles with the Demartinis made me feel alive. My heart shrinks at the prospect of returning to being a captive broodmare.

Part of me screams to fight, to reclaim the woman I was before breaking up with Benito. But I can't remember life without him and I can't face losing my best friend.

Sucking in a deep breath, I force back those unruly thoughts, washing them away with a sip of coffee. It's hot, strong, and burns all the way down, drowning out my anxiety. My fingers tremble so I set down the cup before I make a mess.

“Let’s go.” I rise from the seat, square my shoulders, and act like I’m not returning to a gilded cage.

The journey back to the casino is suffocatingly silent. The hum of the engine vibrates through the car, but I barely notice it over the cacophony of my own heartbeat. Lorenzo drives, while Vitale sits in front, communicating on his tablet.

I stare out of the window, watching the city blur past, my mind racing faster than the car. What if this taste of freedom has broken my tolerance for being Benito’s prisoner? What if I decide to run? Will Bob Brisket slither back from wherever he’s hiding to spirit me away? Will he punish me for returning to my husband?

Shivers run down my spine at the prospect of meeting that seductive psychopath. I’d better get used to being under Benito’s thumb. Brisket seems like the type of man who might groom me into becoming his homicidal helpmate.

The car rattles over potholes. The scent of the leather seats mingles with Lorenzo's aftershave from the front seat. I focus on the engine's vibrations, desperate to drown out the internal voice telling me I'm returning to my prison.

We pass the casino’s grand fountains, but instead of stopping at the front door or even the hotel entrance like I expected, wepark around the side. My confusion spikes as Vitale gets out and opens my door.

“This way,” he says, gesturing for me to follow.

He leads me through the employee entrance, and we step into the casino’s back corridors. The air is cooler here, the hallways filled with the lingering scent of cleaning products and smoke. The hum of chatter and slot machines drift through the walls, making me shiver, but I lift my chin, trying not to feel like I’m being led into the belly of the beast.

After a trip up an elevator, Vitale stops at a door, opening it to reveal a large office with a glass wall overlooking the gambling floor. I turn my attention from the flashing lights and bustling patrons below, to the two desks inside the room. One is pristine, untouched. The other is stacked with documents arranged in neat piles.

Another man enters, holding a thick folder. He’s as young as Vitale and Lorenzo, yet comports himself like a soldier. “The Di Marco Group sent these over for Mr. Montesano.” He places the documents on the cluttered desk. “He wants you to help trace BV Holdings’ shell companies and offshore accounts.”

My lips part, but I make no sound. A thousand thoughts race through my mind, each more conflicting than the last. Is this another test? Another power play? But then I push away those thoughts, choosing the small sliver of hope over my skepticism.

Is this really happening? Benito is giving me work, and trusting me with something important.

Excitement bubbles in my chest, hot and fierce , but I tamp it down. I can’t afford to lose myself in the thrill of this moment even though I find myself crossing the room. My fingers itch to dive into the paperwork. It looks like I’m back in employment.

The leather chair creaks as I take my seat in this luxurious office. I crack open the laptop, my hands trembling with a mix of excitement and anxiety. For the first time in this marriage,I have a purpose beyond being Benito’s possession. Ignoring the voice in the back of my mind warning me not to get too comfortable, I pick up the first document.

This work is a lifeline, and I’ll cling to it for as long as I can.

SEVENTY-EIGHT

BENITO

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