Page 227 of Stalking Ginevra

I clench my fists. “Aren’t you the one supposed to give me tactics?”

Dr. Saint’s patient nod grates on my last nerve. She’s already dissecting me without a scalpel. “Therapy isn’t about tactics. I’m here to help you understand why she left. What made her feel that staying with you wasn’t an option?”

My chest tightens, and the weight of her words press down on my lungs, forcing out a response. “I thought I knew better than her. I thought I could fix what went wrong the first time she left by fixing her.”

She nods. “So, the question isn’t how to make her come back. It’s whether you’re willing to change for yourself.”

The words echo Aria and Cesare’s advice, tightening my gut. All this time, I’ve been thinking of Ginevra as something to win back, a prize I could reclaim by pushing the right levers.

That’s the entire reason why she left. I’m the one who’s broken, and no scheme or show of strength can salvage the side of me she finds so sickening.

“I thought I could control everything,” I admit. “Even my wife.”

The doctor’s features soften. “That’s where we start—by accepting that she isn’t yours to command. Real change comes from understanding that you can’t dictate her choices, but you can decide to become someone better for yourself.”

A knot forms in my gut, but I force a nod. “I can change… for her.”

She studies me for a moment, then shakes her head. “You need to change for you.”

I slump against the seat. This is going to be one long, brutal process.

Days pass, and I’m still not medically fit to return to work. Reaper and the Mortis House boys take care of the casino while I recover. With both men behind Victor Bellavista dead and no longer posing a threat, they’ve weeded out every two-faced bastard lining their pockets with my money.

At least the casino is in safe hands.

My marriage, however, still flounders. Ginevra’s silence continues to stretch. Thanks to a cash settlement from the Di Marco Law Group, she now has enough to move out from her mother’s house and get her own apartment.

Nick Terranova didn’t hesitate when I suggested she deserved a generous severance package. He even forwarded me a job listing at a small law firm looking for someone with Ginevra’s exact skills.

I went one step further, setting up a meeting with the firm’s partners and making a substantial offer: if Ginevra was the right fit, I’d pay whatever it took to secure her a place as a partner. Naturally, they’d be sworn to secrecy. She wouldn’t even know she owned a portion of the firm until the timing felt natural, so as not to raise suspicions.

That was my last attempt to insert myself into her life, but I still need to keep her safe. As my wife, she remains a target for abduction, and we still haven’t tracked down Tommy Galliano.

Rotations of boys from Mortis House keep a constant watch on her apartment. They have orders not to interfere in her daily life but remain close enough to intervene if necessary. I’ve even stationed someone to watch over her mother.

Days without Ginevra turn to weeks, and it’s like going cold turkey. I resist the urge to demand footage or information on hermovements. Reaper acts as go-between, relaying updates. He’s cautious not to reveal too much, only verifying that she’s safe.

Two months pass, and I get a message from Emmanuel Demartini, thanking me for resolving the situation with Victor Bellavista. After the prison break and before the shootout, Roman managed to convince Gianni Bossanova to refund the hundred million ransom in exchange for not returning him to death row. Thanks to Ginevra’s research, we’ve clawed twice the amount of losses from the counterfeit chip scam.

When Demartini invites me to his establishment to ask for help with a team of lowlives running a credit scam at his tables, I bring Reaper. Mortis House is proving to be a success. We’re planning on opening a sorority, where we can train young women to join the fold.

As we walk through the Demartini Casino’s glittering halls, the last person I expect to find outside the meeting room is my wife.

She’s standing among a group of people but there’s no mistaking the way her auburn hair catches the chandeliers’ low lights. It casts a glow around her like a halo, making her stand out. The black business suit she wears accentuates her curves, and my cock comes alive in the presence of his master.

Steps faltering, my heart slams against my chest.

She turns, meets my gaze, her eyes widening.

Neither of us move.

I don’t step forward, don’t smile, don’t cross the hallway to talk. The impulse driving me to take control of her roars within its cage, but I curl my hands into fists.

If she walks over, that’s her choice.

She doesn’t.

But she also doesn’t turn away.

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