Page 173 of Stalking Ginevra

“Thank you, Mrs. Montesano. I’m glad the dish was a success.” With a quiet bow, he slips from the room, leaving behind the warm, lingering scent of vanilla and fruit.

As we continue our lunch, I wonder if this is the start of my new reality: being escorted by bodyguards, protected in even the most mundane activities.

Samson had his men, but he allowed me to go to work unaccompanied. Back then, I thought it was freedom, a twistedgesture of trust. Maybe he didn’t care if I was abducted. Maybe Benito thinks I’m worth protecting. After all, he brought me to dinner with men like Emmanuel and Marcello Demartini—something Samson would never have allowed.

After lunch, Carla leaves to perform her other duties, and Lorenzo and Vitale escort me back to the office. I continue unpicking the tangle of business entities until I find a shell company with a single shareholder named Vittorio Pizzica.

Interesting.

Setting those documents aside, I wonder if this Vittorio is the same Victor who’s been stealing from the casinos. A strange sense of excitement bubbles up in my chest, the kind of thrill I haven’t felt in years.

I sift through more documents, my mind racing, pushing aside the haze of exhaustion. Carla breaks up the frenzy with deliveries of water, juice, and fresh coffee, helping me stay hydrated.

Hours pass. I glance through the floor-to-ceiling window at the gambling tables below. The hum of chatter and the clinking of slot machines drift up through the glass, stirring a pang of nostalgia. Benito and I used to be obsessed with this place, and now I work here with him. The casino is alive with energy, so different from the structured chaos of my old job.

I can’t believe this all belongs to Benito. And more than that, I can’t believe Benito belongs to me.

The door opens, and I turn to find him striding in, clad in a black suit and matching shirt. A familiar ache settles in my chest—he looks both exhausted and powerful, his hair still damp from a shower, his features set in a hard mask.

“Where have you been?” I ask.

“Cracking Bellavista heads.” He walks over and presses a kiss on my temple. Instead of moving to his desk, he lingers, his arm slipping around my shoulder, pulling me into his warmth.

“Find anything?” I ask.

“My men are following a few leads,” he murmurs into my ear. “How was your day?”

“Thanks to the documents you sent over, I’ve traced large amounts of money from Bellavista’s side operations in the U.S. to offshore shell companies. It’s a complex network, but I’m starting to piece it together.”

“Good work,” he says, his lips brushing my ear, sending a thrill down my spine. “How much are we talking about?”

“I’ve found twenty million so far, but I haven’t finished.”

He leans down, his lips ghosting over mine, his breath warm against my skin. “You’re amazing.”

Then his mouth claims mine in a slow, deliberate kiss. He slides his hand to the nape of my neck, his fingers curling in my hair. I gasp, my nipples tightening as he pulls me closer.

The kiss deepens, his lips moving with a controlled desperation that sends heat pooling in my core. His touch is both familiar and electrifying, and I lose myself in the moment. When he groans, the sound goes straight to my clit, but then my mind dredges up the name Vittorio Pizzica.

“Wait,” I murmur into the kiss, my hands on his shoulders. “I might have another lead toward Victor.”

Benito pulls away, his gaze sharpening. “Explain.”

My heart is still racing from the kiss, and my thoughts stumble over one another as I stutter out an explanation. I tell him everything I discovered about the shell company and the assets Bellavista’s operations funneled into its accounts.

He cups my face, his lips curving into a smile. There’s something in his eyes I haven’t seen for half a decade—pride. Genuine admiration.

“You’re brilliant,” he says.

I lower my lashes, not feeling worthy of his praise.

“Look at me.”

I raise my gaze to meet his eyes. Eyes that soften only for me. Eyes framed by thick lashes, sharp cheekbones, and a strong brow. Eyes I could look into for the rest of my life and still find some new, fascinating depth.

“What?” I ask.

“I underestimated you, and I’m sorry.”

---