Page 22 of Stalking Ginevra

I clutch my stomach, trying to hold back the sensation of sinking dread. “What happened to Jennifer?”

“She married Gianni.” Mom’s gaze bores into mine. “Gianni Bossanova.”

Shock hits me in the gut, making me suck in a sharp breath through my teeth. My insides twist into icy knots, as if the coldness of realization is freezing me from the inside out. Gianni Bossanova is the brother on death row, who was jailed for pushing his wife down the stairs on camera.

“She was murdered,” I whisper.

Mom nods.

“And you’re marrying his brother for revenge?” My voice rises several octaves.

“Do you know what these loan sharks will do if I don’t pay your father’s debt?” Mom asks.

“Kill us?”

“They might kill me, maybe harvest my organs. A beautiful girl like you will stay alive and earn that money. I don’t want you to fall into the hands of traffickers.”

A heavy silence falls between us, thick with the gravity of her words. My heart races, and I force myself to think. As much as I want to scream at her, to pull her out of this twisted scheme, I know she’s right. The world we live in doesn’t allow or forgive mistakes. This can’t be the only way to keep us both alive. There has to be another way.

Mom wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Don’t interfere with Valentino. He’s our only route out of this mess.”

“What about the law firm?”

She chuckles, the sound bitter. “Your grandfather owned ten percent of the equity until he sold it back to the Terranova family to cover your father’s gambling debts. Joseph Di Marcodied worse than penniless, leaving us with nothing but a trail of liabilities and at the mercy of loan sharks.”

“So, Nick Terranova was telling the truth about dad stealing his firm,” I mutter.

Mom’s grip on my shoulder tightens. “If he’s returned, then you should update your resumé. What your father did to that man was unforgivable. I don’t want you bearing the brunt of his vengeance.”

NINE

BENITO

Last night was exactly what I needed to relieve the tension. Spraying cum over Ginevra’s face is just as satisfying as coming down her throat.

I lean against the wall of Dad’s old study, tuning out Roman’s conversation with Nick Terranova. They’re talking about the finer details of a convoluted plan to claw back Dad’s assets. My attention is fixated on my screen, where Ginevra sits on the stairs with her drunken mother. They’re having a heart-to-heart. I don’t need to hear the audio to know Losanna Di Marco is falling under Bossanova’s spell.

The man is a wonder with women, capable of weaving wefts of bullshit, blinding them to his obvious faults. Any quick search online will show the number of wives he and his brothers have murdered, yet this aging Casanova is as popular as ever with the ladies.

Why must a man be a sadistic asshole to gain their respect? All I ever showed Ginevra was affection, and she left our family to rot. Mother said Ginevra was the daughter she always wanted,yet she threw away years of our love and care to join forces with psychopaths.

They both did.

Mother’s betrayal cuts too deep to contemplate. Roman was already arrested for a crime he didn’t commit when she left us for Tommy Galliano. Because of her, Cesare fell into addiction. With one brother incarcerated and the other a junkie, someone had to be strong.

“You with us?” Roman’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

I glance up from the phone, ask Nick a few pertinent questions about the contract before turning my attention back to Ginevra. She’s risen from the top of the stairs and is hugging her mother as if she isn’t a burdensome drunk.

Ginevra’s weakness for Losanna will be her downfall.

Roman rises from behind his desk and exits through the patio doors. Now that we have the contracts to swindle his captive out of the assets she inherited from Capello, he’s eager to trick her into completing a portrait of him, which he will purchase using a rigged agreement.

Thanks to Nick, we’ve clawed back over thirty million dollars of Dad’s cash from Capello’s estate. It’s only a matter of days before Roman gets that woman to sign over ownership of the casino.

The older man closes his briefcase, rises off his seat, and adjusts his jacket.

As he strides to the door, I slip the phone back in my pocket and ask, “How’s it going with the firm?”

---