Page 188 of Stalking Ginevra

“I’m on my way,” she replies, her voice tight.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I inhale lungfuls of courage. Tonight might be my last chance. If Carla can’t get me out, there won’t be another.

Dread winds around my chest like a constrictor, tightening with every thought of what will happen if I fail. I don’t know if I can survive falling into the clutches of yet another psychopath.

EIGHTY-SIX

GINEVRA

Carla drives in silence through a derelict district on the outskirts of town. Streetlights are less than plentiful here, and the few that work cast a sickly yellow glow on the cracked pavements and graffitied buildings.

I thought leaving the penthouse would be tricky, but I hid in the room service trolley, which she covered with a stained tablecloth.

Betrayal pulses through my veins like acid, along with the bitter sting of humiliation. I groveled, apologized, debased myself to earn Benito’s forgiveness for… sleeping with Benito wearing a disguise?

Five years of resentment isn’t something that vanishes with a few apologies. I knew I hurt him, knew what I did was unforgivable, knew he would make me pay. That’s why it took so long for me to ask him for help. I knew Benito would be determined to make me suffer.

The car rumbles to a stop in front of a house that looks like Norman Bates’ motel. Most pillars of its veranda are smashed,and curling strips of paint peel away from the weather-worn exterior, while the front yard has turned into a jungle of weeds.

Carla cuts the engine and spares me a nervous glance. “I know it’s not much, but you’ll be safe at my dad’s place.”

It’s hard to believe this dilapidated wreck belongs to the woman who’s been my closest ally. But that’s exactly why Benito would never think to look for me here.

“Thank you for your help,” I rasp.

We step out, the car door shutting behind us with an echoing clunk. A chill cuts through my borrowed room service uniform, making me shiver as I follow Carla towards the house.

Each step on the rickety wooden porch creaks under our weight, as if we’re disturbing the worms feeding on the timber. I try not to make comparisons with the treehouse because I’m determined not to think about Benito.

Carla pulls out a rusty key from her pocket and struggles with the stubborn lock. “I’ve got to warn you that my dad looks messed up.”

My brow creases. “You said he wasn’t well.”

“Car accident,” she replies with a grimace. “Broken nose, fractured eye socket, missing teeth, and cracked ribs. He’s in a lot of pain, so he gets cranky.”

Nodding, I brace myself for what might be awaiting us inside. Carla pushes open the door, making its hinges wail in protest. Musty air wafts out from the darkened interior, carrying with it the faint scent of antiseptic and unwashed sheets.

Squaring my shoulders, I follow her into a narrow hallway, which echoes with the sound of a TV laughter track. Faded paper peels away from the walls, revealing glimpses of crumbling plaster.

At the end of the hallway, we reach a living room crammed with old furniture. I hesitate at the threshold, my breath catching as I take in the scene.

A thin man slouches in an armchair clad in striped pajamas, his features lost in the shadows. But as he turns his head towards us, the dim light from the TV illuminates a bruised face with one good eye glinting with malice.

Carla’s dad bares a mouthful of broken teeth. “What the fuck is she doing here?”

I cock my head. That voice might sound familiar if it wasn’t so pained. The old man places a bandaged hand on his armrest and rises off his seat with a stiffness that speaks of acute pain.

“Dad,” Carla says, her voice quivering. “This is?—”

“Ginevra Di Marco,” he hisses.

The man approaching us is as tall as a scarecrow with a face like a smashed pumpkin. It’s bruised, with one eye swollen shut, yet he moves with the unnatural determination of the living dead.

“I’m sorry… Have we met before?” I ask.

A sneer twists his lips, and I feel his disdain like a physical blow. “You don’t recognize me, girl?”

My gaze darts to Carla, who rushes forward with her arms outstretched, trying to catch her father before he falls. I step backward, wondering how the hell this man could hold so much resentment toward a stranger.

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