Page 224 of Stalking Ginevra

Fingers twitching, I close my digits around an imaginary heart, still warm, still wet, still beating. My stomach lurches, and I stare into those pain-filled eyes, knowing I’m looking into the face of a monster.

“I loved you with all my heart,” My voice wavers, the words both a confession and a farewell. “But the man I fell for no longer exists.” Rising off my seat, I place a hand on his shoulder and gaze into that face once more, memorizing every line, every shadow. “Thank you for taking that bullet for me, but I need to end this cycle of abuse.”

His lips tremble, his eyes searching mine with a desperate, pleading look I refuse to mistake for love. “Ginevra, please?—”

“Goodbye, Benito,” I say, the words splintering my heart. Pulling away my hand, I turn on my heel and walk toward freedom without a backward glance.

ONE HUNDRED ONE

BENITO

The door closes with a soft click, but it might as well be a gunshot. I stare at the solid piece of wood, waiting for it to open again, waiting for Ginevra to return.

But she doesn’t.

Cold settles across the hospital room, the kind of chill that seeps past my chest cavity and into the chambers of my heart. I suck in a breath, but it’s sharp, thin, and may as well be a knife across my throat. My chest tightens, and I lean to the edge of the bed, wanting to bury my face in my hands, wanting to stop the cresting wave of grief, but the pressure mounts in my head, my chest, my heart.

Ginevra is gone.

I should stand up, rip the IV from my veins, and chase after my wife, but my body won’t move. My legs refuse to cooperate, weighed down by an unavoidable truth.

What I did was unforgivable. I broke Ginevra’s trust. Hurt and disrespected her in ways I can never take back. My sins against her can’t be fixed with flowers or apologies. This is the end.

Heat builds behind my eyes, threatening tears. I press my palms into my face, refusing to let them spill. Ginevra wouldn’t want a weak-willed man who cries when his world falls apart. But then, she just said our love was toxic.

The beeping monitors echo my faltering heartbeat, punctuating the silence with their merciless rhythm. They may as well flatline because without Ginevra, I may as well be dead.

She’s gone.

I can still hear her voice, the finality of her goodbye. Our love is a prison. The truth of it slices deeper than any bullet.

All this time, I thought I was breaking her to reform the pieces to fit my jagged edges. But Ginevra isn’t an object I can mold, or a doll I can manipulate. She’s my goddess, my reason for living, the air that I breathe.

I chained her down, suffocating her until she had to leave.

And now, I’m alone.

Pulling my hands away from my face, I stare down at the bandages wrapped around my neck. The bullet missed my artery, but it’s lodged in my heart. I survived the gunshot, but I don’t know if I’ll survive losing Ginevra.

A ragged breath shudders through my chest, and I let my head fall back against the pillow. I stare up at the ceiling, trying to focus on the sterile white tiles, and let my mind go blank. It’s as futile as trying to stop my own pulse.

Every thought running through my mind is in some way linked to Ginevra. Every inch of this room is filled with her absence. Every heartbeat is a reminder of what I’ve lost.

How do I get her back?

The door creaks open, and Roman steps inside with Cesare. At the sight of my little brother, an idea punches me in the gut. I try to ignore it, but it’s already taking form, becoming too irresistible to dismiss.

“How’d it go with Ginevra?” Roman asks, his voice cautious.

The words dry in my throat. Saying them out loud only makes the loss cut deeper.

Roman frowns. “She’s left you?”

My chest tightens. “She said our love was a prison.”

“But you took a bullet for her.” My little brother folds his arms, his eyes sharpening. “It’s a fucking miracle you’re not dead.”

“Cesare,” Roman says.

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