Page 175 of Stalking Ginevra

I chuckle. “And Dad put you in the tower?—”

“Because he wanted no funny business,” we both say in unison.

Ginevra laughs, the sound reminding me of happier days. For a moment, I imagine us back at law school, coming home for one of Dad’s family dinners. It’s something he introduced years ago after Uncle Luca died, and his wife left with our cousins, Jennifer and Leroi. Recently, Roman tried to reintroduce the tradition, but it was a disaster.

I shake off that thought and focus on Ginevra. “You said you needed somewhere grounding.”

She nods, her brows pinching.

“I’m taking you to our old hideout.”

“Is it still there?” she asks, her voice rising an octave.

“Of course.” I stop the car at a set of iron gates with railings covered in foliage.

The men guarding them wear full body armor and carry automatic weapons. It’s been like this since Roman was framed the same week as Dad’s murder. When your enemies are powerful and numerous, the only way to win is after a long retreat.

They open the gates, and we drive through a path lined with juniper trees so tall they block out the fading light. Ginevra slides a hand on my knee and squeezes.

“Shouldn’t it have rotted by now?” she asks.

“Some things are worth preserving.”

Gasping, she slides down the hand on my knee to intertwine our fingers. From the way her gaze burns the side of my face, it looks like she gets my second meaning.

The road ends at one of many buildings with wooden façades dotted around the empty plots surrounding our estate. They’re reinforced security checkpoints where guards can rest and sleep between shifts.

I step out, walk around the front of the car, open the passenger side door, and offer Ginevra my hand. We step out together and walk past the building, moving down a narrow path winding deeper into the woods. The familiar crunch of twigs breaking underfoot brings back memories of stolen afternoons spent in our secret haven.

We stopped coming here when we started college and moved into an apartment close to Alderney State University. We had separate bedrooms because Ginevra and I were both committed to saving ourselves for marriage.

Maybe a lack of passion was our problem back then, but it sure as hell isn’t now. I can’t imagine myself spending a night in the same building as Ginevra and not wanting to fuck her and make her scream my name until we’re both spent.

As we pass by a wall of dense shrubs, her breath hitches, and she stops in her tracks.

“Benito,” she whispers. “I don’t remember it being so big.”

I turn to the old oak, which always looks larger at this time of the year. We chose it nearly two decades ago for its multi-lobed trunk. Dad said it would be sturdy enough to support a house and a spacious deck. The ladders we used to access it are still in place, but I built a curved staircase after the last remodel.

She grabs my arm. “This is more than just a bit of maintenance.”

“Come on.” I wrap an arm around her waist. “Let me show you around.”

We continue toward the oak, pausing at the swing. The first version was just a plank wide enough for two. Now, it’s a woven loveseat suspended by thick ropes.

Ginevra walks around the trunk’s perimeter, pausing at the spot where we carved our names. She runs her fingers over the etched letters, tracing them with a sigh. “Life was simpler back then.”

I run my fingers down her hair, which still feels as silky as the first day I touched her. “Things change.”

She turns around, meeting my gaze with watery eyes. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

“What if you don’t like what I say?” Her voice cracks, trembling as if the words alone might shatter her spirit. “What if you decide to lock me up again?”

“I won’t.” Exhaling, I let my hand hover near hers. She’s shaking, and I don’t want to rush her into accepting my touch.

Lips tightening, she fidgets with her sleeve and glances at our feet. “You say that now, but some of the things he made me do were awful.”

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