Page 225 of Stalking Ginevra

“No,” he snaps. “What kind of woman watches a man sacrifice his life to save her scrawny ass, only to leave him at his most vulnerable?”

“Stop,” I rasp.

Cesare glances from Roman to me. “What’s wrong with you both? Someone needs to talk sense into Ginevra. She should be on her knees, kissing your feet. She can’t walk out on you again!”

“It’s complicated.”

His eyes narrow. “How?”

I glance at Roman, who grimaces. He’s the only man in the world who could understand even a fraction of my fuck up. Emberly left him because she uncovered his lies. What I did to Ginevra was far worse than taking away a stolen inheritance.

Clearing my throat, I force down the knot in my chest. “How did you make Rosalind stay?”

Cesare’s eyebrow lifts. “What do you mean?”

I sit up straighter, meeting his gaze. “You’re a master with women. After everything you did to her, she still hasn’t left. How did you make the Stockholm syndrome stick?”

Cesare’s smirks. “Sure you want my advice?”

Desperation surges in my gut. I need those secrets more than ever. “Yes.”

He pushes off the wall, stepping closer to the bedside. “Abduct someone they love. That’s how I got Rosalind to come back the first time she ran.”

Heat ignites behind my eyes. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he says with a shrug. “The only thing Rosalind cared about was Miranda. Every time I stole her, it brought Rosalind closer.”

My jaw clenches. “I don’t want to be a psychopath.”

All traces of amusement vanish, leaving behind a scowl. “Strange how you’re asking this psychopath for advice.” he says, his voice lowering. “What the hell did you do that made her leave?”

I shift on the bed, trying not to flinch at the accusation.

Roman steps closer, his brow furrowed. “Don’t give Benito a hard time?—”

“No,” I rasp. “It’s okay. Just give me a minute.”

My brothers pull up seats and settle at the bedside, both wearing identical scowls. I lean back against the pillows, my gaze fixed on the ceiling, and I spill my guts.

I tell them about taking advantage of Ginevra when I found her tied up in a closet, about climbing into her house disguised as a sexual predator. I tell them about how I interfered with her job, got her fired, set up phony loan sharks, and the shit show with her mother and Valentino Bossanova.

The part about Julian is easy. That bastard deserved worse than evisceration. But my words falter at the wedding, and the days after when I kept her imprisoned and without clothes. Then tears of shame roll down my cheeks when I confess to the fake adultery and subsequent breeding.

When I finish, Cesare whistles. “Forget what I said about her earlier.”

Roman clears his throat. “I can’t exactly judge since I tampered with Emberly’s birth control.”

“There’s something I don’t understand,” Cesare says.

“What?” I rasp, still staring at the ceiling.

“Why didn’t you just show up at her doorstep with flowers?”

I jerk my head to the side, igniting an explosion of pain that makes me wince. Instead of the mockery I expect to find on his features, Cesare’s blue eyes are earnest.

Frustration claws at my chest, but I don’t have an answer. All the constructions I had in my head about Ginevra rejecting me for being weak crumble into dust in the light of the truth. Cesare is right, and that realization twists like a knife in my gut.

“It was a mistake.”

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