Page 176 of Stalking Ginevra

“Ginevra,” I say, softer this time. My chest tightens, and I fight the urge to reach for her again. “Trust me. Please.”

Her eyes flit to mine, her throat bobbing as she nods. Shame flickers across her gaze before she turns away.

“He made you do things?” The words scrape against my throat, every syllable weighted with fear and fury.

She bobs her head.

“And you had no choice?”

“He would have hurt me,” she rasps.

Rage bubbles in my chest. I clench my fists, wishing I’d been the one to murder Samson. Sucking in a breath, I force down the fury. She needs my support, not my anger.

I cup her cheek, my thumb brushing away a stray tear. “It wasn’t your fault,” I say, my voice wavering with the effort to stay steady. “None of it was. You hear me? Samson Capello was the worst kind of psychopath. He and Gregor kept an innocent young girl in their basement.”

“What?” Her breath quickens, her eyes turning frantic and wide. “I was engaged to that bastard. How the hell didn’t I know?”

“Because their father handed her to them like a party favor. What they did to you was monstrous. But not your fault. You’re here, Ginevra. You survived.”

Nodding, she sucks in a deep breath. “But the girl… Where is she? Is she safe, or even sane?”

My brows rise at her astute question. Something tells me Seraphine didn’t emerge from the Capello basement with her mind intact, but she’s sane enough to take care of Leroi’s injuries.

“She’s staying in one of the cottages with my cousin,” I say. “It’s a long story.”

“Oh.” She dips her head.

I slide my fingers beneath her chin and lift her head, forcing her to meet my gaze. “Nothing you tell me could ever make me abandon you. You know that?”

Ginevra nods. “Promise me you won’t go into a murderous rage.”

“I can’t do that,” I growl.

Barking a laugh, she squeezes her eyes shut, loosening tears that roll down her cheeks. “Can you at least promise not to hand me body parts?”

Pulling her into a hug, I place a kiss on her forehead. It’s reassuring that she finds at least one aspect of Bob Brisket repulsive. But he’s gone, and all that’s left now is Benito.

“Let me take you upstairs,” I murmur. “You can lie down and tell me everything.”

EIGHTY-ONE

GINEVRA

I almost wish Benito had brought me to our old hideout any other time because I’m too nervous to appreciate the improvements he made to the treehouse’s interior. The trunk and thickest branches still bisects its center, but it looks less like a kid’s sanctuary and more like a nature retreat.

It’s lighter, more airy, since most of the walls were now large windows, giving panoramic views of the forest. Benito walks me past a new kitchen area, complete with a wood-burning stove, to where we used to have our old bunk beds. He converted them into a beautiful reading nook of a deep chaise surrounded by bookshelves.

“I can’t believe what you’ve done with the place,” I say, my voice breathy with awe.

He shrugs. “While Roman was on death row, he put Cesare and me on lockdown. Instead of fighting my guards, I brought them here to help me rebuild this place and give me something to occupy my mind.”

Pain gathers in my chest, rising to clog my throat. I swallow hard to dislodge it and fail. “If I’d said something earlier?—”

“Did you know what your father and Capello were planning?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“Then no more apologizing.” He places a hand on my shoulder and guides me down to the chaise. “I know why we broke up. Tell me what happened after.”

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