Page 190 of Stalking Ginevra

Fingers tighten around my arm. “Montesano used me, just like he’s using you. But I can stick it to him and set you free.”

I frown, my gaze dropping to Bossanova’s hand. Help me? He can’t help himself. “Let go of me.”

“Dad, what are you doing?” Carla says from the living room.

My gaze meets Bossanova’s, whose expression hardens. “Leave this house, and he’ll hunt you down with a crack team of thugs. If you haven’t already noticed, Benito Montesano is the second-in-command of the most powerful crime family in the state of New Alderney.”

A lump forms in my throat. “Why are you telling me this? I thought you ordered me to leave.”

“Benito Montesano will pay for what he did to us.”

My stomach twists. “What are you talking about?”

“Stay here, where I can keep you safe. In seven days, I’ll get you enough money to start a new life with your mother wherever you want in the world.”

“If this is another of your insurance scams?—”

“He’ll pay anything to get you back,” he snaps. “I’ll ask for a hundred million dollars.”

His words land like a punch to the liver, sending up a wave of bile. “You want to hold me hostage?”

Valentino grins. “How else are we going to get a hundred million?”

I shake my head, my nostrils flaring. “Forget it. I’m not a bargaining chip. Let go of my arm, and I’ll leave?—“

A punch lands on my temple before I can wriggle free. Pain explodes across my skull, and I drop to the floorboards.

Bossanova’s unfocused face swims into view, his broken teeth bared in a snarl. “You’re going nowhere.”

“Dad!” Carla pushes past him and rushes to my side. “I’m so sorry, Ginevra. Can you stand?”

I try to push myself to my feet, but my arms collapse under my weight. She grabs my bicep, helping me up. Legs wobbling, I rise to a half-crouch, then stand fully upright. The hallway spins, and I swear that every dust mote in the house is circling my head.

Bossanova disappears into the living room, and Carla helps me down the hallway. “I’m so sorry. I thought he was a safe space.”

If I could speak over the pounding in my head and the pure, white-hot rage coursing through my veins, I would ask her whether she looked him up online. Instead all I can manage is a weak nod as we shuffle toward the exit.

Rapid footsteps creak after us. I glance over my shoulder to find Bossanova holding a hammer.

“Carla,” I rasp.

She whirls around. “Dad!”

The hammer swings down, striking her head with a sickening crack. “I told you to stop fucking calling me that. It’s Victor.”

She collapses, her weight knocking me back onto the floor. The name hangs in the air, heavy and ominous, and my mind spins, connecting rotating dots.

I never understood why the Di Marco Law Group would help lowlives like the Bossanova brothers. Dad said they were well-connected and relatives of a valued client, Salvatore Bellavista.

If his name is really Victor, and he’s connected to BV Holdings, then what if he’s?—

“You’re Victor Bellavista,” I whisper.

Bossanova raises his chin, his good eye gleaming with a sick sort of triumph. “Benito Montesano beat me like a dog, broke my counterfeit chips racket, my slot machine scam, and he’s siphoning money from my offshore accounts. I finally have a way to hurt that arrogant little bastard.”

EIGHTY-SEVEN

BENITO

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