Page 216 of Stalking Ginevra

I don’t say that, of course, because I want to hurt Bossanova with more than just words. When I’ve finished with him, his whole world will crumble.

“Of course, your mother didn’t make the grade,” he continues. “Nice looking enough, but penniless.”

I tune him out. This is going to be a long, hellacious drive.

We spend the rest of the day traveling through swathes of countryside, with Valentino answering the phone to give Benito updates on our progress. The old man is in unusually good spirits, even though I suspect he’s walking into a trap. It’s probably because he keeps stopping every couple of hours to snort cocaine.

By the time the sun dips toward the horizon, casting long shadows across dilapidated buildings on the outskirts of New Alderney, I’m so hungry, thirsty, and exhausted that I can barely keep my eyes open.

My stomach gnaws at its own walls, the membranes of my throat scrape together like sandpaper, and my head lolls back against the leather headrest.

“Wake up,” he snaps.

I turn my head toward the driver’s seat. “Why?”

“Because we’re ten minutes away from the drop-off point. If Montesano sees you looking like the walking dead, he’ll put a bullet through my brother’s skull.”

“You should have thought about that before starving and beating me, then,” I say before I can stop myself.

His hand whips out, and he grabs my hair, sending an explosion of pain across my scalp. Screaming, I slap him away, but he shoves me to the other side of the car.

“Worthless bitch,” he hisses. “I should have disposed of you alongside the other one.”

“And lose your hundred-million-dollar bargaining chip?” I reply.

He returns to the steering wheel and chuckles. “That’s what I like about you. Always got an answer.”

My jaw clenches. He doesn’t like me at all.

Ten minutes later, we approach an abandoned parking lot close to Alderney Hill. Bossanova refused to drive up to the Montesano Mansion gates because there’s only one way out. Anyone with even half a brain would predict Benito’s men would block the road and rain gunfire until Valentino no longer poses a threat.

Forest land surrounds the patch of land on three sides, with the trees casting ominous shadows over a derelict truck covered in rust. We pass a few abandoned cars, stripped of their useful parts, and I wonder if this is the right place.

Bossanova parks beside the truck, using its frame as a shield. Up ahead is an exit leading to a path that cuts into the forest. He’s probably positioning the car for a fast getaway.

“What now?” I rasp.

“We’re thirty minutes early,” he mutters, taking a flask from the glove compartment and twisting off its cap. After a long swig of its contents, he slumps back in his seat and sighs. “Montesano will bring my brother, then we’ll make the swap.”

I glare into the side of his face, wanting to savor his last moment of hope. “Then what?”

He smiles, revealing a mouthful of brilliant white dentures. “Then my brother and I will start a new life outside New Alderney.”

Questions float to the top of my mind. Does he think Benito will let him leave this parking lot alive? Has he forgotten all the crimes he committed against the casino as Victor Bellavista? From his wistful smile, it looks like he’s trapped in delusions.

I sit back, letting him enjoy this final moment of peace before everything turns to shit.

Moments later, a quartet of trucks rumble into the lot. One of them cuts off the lane ahead of the Bentley, blocking Valentino’s potential escape.

“Shit,” he hisses. “I told Benito to come alone.”

The lining of my stomach trembles, but I don’t think the sensation is connected to my hunger. My pulse quickens, and a lump forms in my throat.

“But you came back,” I say.

“What the hell does that mean?” he snaps.

“You’ve just told Benito how much you want your brother.”

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