Page 187 of Stalking Ginevra

A few drops of liquid spill on my blouse, so I take the mug into a bedroom in search of a change of clothes. The first one I find looks like a spare, but the second is filled with the earthy scent of Benito’s cologne. I step into a room decorated with ebony wood and heavy black drapes that reminds me of his bedroom at the Montesano mansion.

I slip off my blouse, letting it fall to the floor, and move toward the dresser. The drawer slides open, and I pull out a pajama top, then hold it to my nose. When all I smell is detergent, I place it back, needing something that carries his scent. Giggling at my own ridiculousness, I move to his laundry basket, and rummage through its contents for an old T-shirt.

My fingers brush against something hard, and I pull out a groin protector with thick straps. It’s identical to the type Bob Brisket used to wear. Brow furrowing, I step back, wondering why Benito would possess something so specific.

I scan the room, half-expecting Brisket to emerge from the shadows. But that’s ridiculous. This penthouse is secure.Benito’s guards wouldn’t allow an intruder to infiltrate the building.

“Then why is his codpiece in Benito’s laundry basket?” I mutter under my breath.

A shiver runs down my spine, telling me the answer might be more simple than Brisket sending me cryptic messages. Ignoring every instinct screaming at me to call Benito, I walk to his closet, slide open the door to reveal rows of suits, blazers, and behind them, an identical set of body armor to Brisket’s.

Stomach churning, I stagger back, my mind running in circles.

I crouch before his bedside table, searching through his books and finding everything I expect of Benito:The Art of Warby Sun Tsu,The Princeby Machiavelli,Meditationsby Marcus Aurelius, andOn Warby Carl von Clausewitz.

Beside those books is a volume of manga about catgirls. I pull open a drawer, finding a small box containing orange cat ears, fluffy orange paws, and an orange tail attached to a butt plug.

My breath hitches. This can’t be real.

I fall on my ass, sending a rush of pain up my tailbone. My head spins, pieces clicking into place with a clarity that makes my heart lurch.

Benito can’t be Bob Brisket.

The brutal games. The humiliation. The degradation. The carnage. Benito wouldn’t… He couldn’t… could he?

My gaze lands on a tablet charging on the dresser. I stumble to my feet and stagger across the room. With trembling fingers, I try password after password, until I enter my birthday, when it unlocks. I fire up the photos app, finding it filled with hundreds of video thumbnails.

The first one I tap is footage of me on my knees, gazing up as I suck off Bob Brisket.

A lump forms in my throat. This doesn’t prove anything. Benito could have found these if he raided Brisket’s home.

Exhaling a shuddering breath, I scroll through the list, stopping at videos of the strip club. It’s the one time Brisket might have taken off his visor, because he placed a blindfold over my eyes to eat my pussy.

I swipe past footage of my awkward strip tease to the part where he lays me on the stage and spreads my legs. When he removes the helmet, I pause the screen to catch a glimpse of Benito’s face.

Benito. The man I married. The man who made me earn his forgiveness. The man who turned out to be the psychopath I was desperate to escape.

Realization hits like a punch to the gut, my insides screaming with cold horror. The tablet slips from my fingers and drops to the floor with a clatter. Bile rises in my throat, and I want to gag.

Benito is Brisket.

Brisket is Benito.

“What the hell am I going to do?” I whisper.

Benito murdered Julian, staged my terror, orchestrated every twisted scene to drive me to my knees. To make me desperate. To bend me to his will. To force me back into his arms.

If I run, he won’t just find me. He’ll revert into the monster who carves out men’s hearts. If I leave, I need to be clever about it, and I can’t involve Mom.

Carla’s note floats to the top of my mind. She said she would help if I ever needed it, and even gave me a code word. Benito also said I could order room service. If I’m going to run, it has to be tonight, while he’s distracted with Victor Bellavista, and before he returns to find I’ve discovered the truth.

My gaze darts to two phones on the dresser. I scramble to my feet, pick up the one markedCasino, and dial room service.

“Mr. Montesano, how may I be of assistance?” Carla’s voice answers.

“It’s Ginevra,” I whisper. “I’m at the penthouse, and I need whatever’s on the dinner menu and a pack of ultra glide tampons.”

There’s a pause, then a faint rustle on the other end.

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