Page 177 of Stalking Ginevra

I sink down on the cushioned seat, wriggle out of my jacket, and toss it aside. Benito does the same and places an arm around my waist.

“You need to understand I hated Samson. Even before the forced engagement.”

He nods. We all moved in similar circles. Dad was Uncle Enzo’s attorney, Frederic Capello was his lead enforcer, so I often met the Capello twins at family functions. They were loud, crass, and psychopathic, but they left me alone because I belonged to their boss’s son.

I blow out a long breath. “Samson was polite enough in public. His father would never allow him to disrespect me if it meant jeopardizing his working relationship with Dad.”

“But in private?”

Fragments flash through my senses: Samson’s cold eyes boring into my soul, his grating laughter mingling with the jeers of his friends, the crack of his fist against my skull. My heart clenches, and I clutch at Benito’s shirt.

“Samson… he…” Throat tightening, my voice drops to a whisper. Memories swarm my mind, splintered and unforgiving. I shove them back and concentrate on forming words. “He didn’t think women were fully human. I was just an object to him. There was no conversation, only commands.”

Benito pulls me into his chest, and I relax against his stronger body under a wave of nostalgia. The warmth of his hand stroking my arm anchors me to the present. Not being able to see his reaction makes it easier to speak. Bands of stress windaround my chest, urging me to offload. He needs to know what I endured so he can finally understand that leaving him was my worst mistake.

“I’ve never met anyone so twisted.” The words come jagged and broken, as if dredging them up is tearing me apart. “He used to parade me in front of his friends.”

Stiffening, his breath quickens, and his grip on my side tightens like he’s bracing himself to hear the worst. “Samson shared you with other men?”

Bile rises to the back of my throat. “He told them I was too ugly to fuck and sometimes ripped off my clothes to prove his point. The others would laugh and agree with him.”

“Bastard.” Benito’s voice shakes with restrained rage, his grip on my side tightening as if trying to hold himself back. “I should have been there. I should have stopped it.”

I squeeze his hand. “There was nothing you could have done.”

“If I’d known, I would have torn him apart.” Benito’s voice thickens with emotion. “I would have made sure he paid for every second of your humiliation.”

Tears sting my eyes, blurring my vision. My chest tightens like a vise, each breath catching in my throat. A sob escapes before I can stop it, and I clutch tighter at Benito’s arm, hiccupping as I force myself to continue. “Samson’s family had taken everything from yours. He was unstoppable back then.”

“What he did to you was unforgivable. And dangerous,” he growls, his shoulders trembling, his breath coming in ragged bursts. “Did his friends give you any trouble when his back was turned?”

A bitter laugh bubbles up in my chest, bringing up a flood of tears.

“What is it?” Benito asks, his voice halting.

“I…” My voice cracks, and curl inward under the weight of shame ripping through my spirit.

Tears flow freely down my face, making my vision double. My mind dredges up the sensation of the cold floor beneath my shins and the crack of his fist against my skull. Words stick in my throat, and I battle against the urge to retreat into silence. My chest convulses with painful, suffocating sobs, making me gasp for air.

“I… I can’t… I can’t breathe…”

“You’re safe now,” Benito’s voice cuts through the haze. “Take your time.”

Gulping, I nod. Gather my thoughts. “Do you remember Vito Rinaldi?”

He nods. “What happened?”

The memory crashes to the front, suffocating and sharp. “The first time Samson forced me to strip, he handed me a toy and told me to prove to his friends that I wasn’t a frigid bitch.” I inhale a shuddering breath, trying to block out the sounds of their laughter, the sight of Samson’s sneer as he drew back his fist. “When I refused, he punched me so hard on the temple that I saw stars.”

Benito’s heart pounds against my ear, his body tensing, his breath coming in ragged bursts. His arms tighten around me as if he’s afraid I’ll slip away. I relax against the ragged rise and fall of his chest as his body trembles beneath the weight of his fury. Strangely, his rage is a comfort—a sign that I deserved to be treated better.

“I fell… Hit my head,” I stammer, my words halting. My body shudders at the memory, the metallic taste of blood rising again in my throat. I can still feel the air freezing my sweat-dampened skin and shiver at the remembered snickering. “Vito picked up the toy… He tried shoving it inside me…”

Benito tenses, his heart pounding so hard that I feel the rhythm reverberate through my chest. He pulls me closer, tighter, as if shielding me from the ghosts of the past.

“And Samson let him?” he asks, the words strangled.

“No.” I shake my head as the shame pours out in ragged gasps. “Samson took that as an insult and beat Vito half to death for touching his property.”

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