Page 228 of Stalking Ginevra

“You okay?” Reaper asks.

“Did you know she’d be here?” I ask back.

“Who?” When he glances at where I’m looking, she’s already disappeared inside.

“Mr. Montesano?” says a deep voice from behind.

I turn to lock gazes with a man dressed in the casino’s uniform, a variation of the Demartini butler’s navy jacket and epaulets.

“The Padrone will see you now.”

Every urge screams at me to cross that hallway, throw open the door, and speak to my wife, but regular sessions with Dr. Saint have taught me restraint.

Swallowing back the lump in my throat, I nod to the man and turn away from my reason for living. I follow him toward the old man’s office, each step dragging like lead.

But just before I disappear from the hallway, I steal another glance, wondering if she’s noticed that I’ve changed.

ONE HUNDRED THREE

GINEVRA

I need air.

The meeting drones on, voices swirling around my head, but all I can feel is the sharp thrum of my pulse pounding at the base of my neck.

Looking at my notebook is pointless as my sight is blurred. My pen floats just above the paper, and the bullet points I scribbled down earlier might as well be hieroglyphics. I haven’t taken in a single word since I saw Benito.

It’s been months since I left him at the hospital. He didn’t acknowledge the divorce papers I signed, instead responding via my old boss with a ridiculously generous severance package.

The sensible thing to do would have been to refuse the money, but living with Mom became unbearable. She blames herself for what happened with the Bossanova brothers. The new man she was dating wasn’t much better and was always at the house. I had to get out, so I rented a studio by the park.

I could have gotten something bigger, but I’ve invested a large chunk of the settlement on therapy, self-defense classes, and an emergency fund. Three times a week, I see someone toprocess the trauma of being held captive and watching Carla die, my dysfunctional family, and everything leading up to my marriage. All conversations inevitably lead to Benito and how I’m not ready to confront him, let alone move on.

Then an email arrived in my inbox saying Maurier and Co were hiring new attorneys. I thought it was too good to be true. But the interview was a breeze, and I was hired on the spot.

Its biggest client is the Demartini family, and the managing partner put me on the account. It means regular visits to their casino, and I’ve gotten close to Mr. Demartini’s eldest son. Mars and I have bonded because he’s also estranged from his husband.

But talking about Benito is one thing. Seeing him is another.

He looked different. Not in the way you expect after weeks apart, but his presence burned the air between us like an unspoken challenge. My traitorous heart skittered, tripped over my feet, and now won’t stop racing. It presses against my ribs, wanting to connect with Benito.

I force my attention back to Mars at the head of the table, but his voice blends with the murmurs of my colleagues. My body thrums, every muscle pulled tight, my skin buzzing with a strange sense of need.

Mars catches my eye. Brow furrowing, he casts me a meaningful look. I give him a tight nod and what I hope is a reassuring smile. When he turns his attention back to the discussion, I exhale.

The meeting drags, and all I want to do is tear off my skin that craves his touch. My body aches for Benito, and not just sexually. I miss his scent, I miss his hugs, I miss the sound of his voice. But I promised not to fall back into a cycle of abuse.

Promises are slippery things, especially when it comes to him. I can’t let myself forget how it felt to be shattered—not justby his actions, but by my own willingness to bend for him. That kind of love is dangerous.

“Ginevra?” A voice pulls me back to the meeting. My colleague wants an analysis of the contracts.

I stutter out a reply, but my thoughts are stuck in the hallway, tangled up in Benito’s dark gaze.

The discussion lurches forward, and I let my mind drift. He was in the papers yesterday for changing the name of the second hotel attached to the casino fromMarisoltoLucia. The article said he’d been involved in a lot of charitable endeavors and had even set up a new scholarship, sponsoring young women to study at Alderney State University.

He’s changing. I can see that, even from a distance. But every step he takes toward redemption feels like he’s moving on with his life, while I’m still stuck on him.

It’s funny, since the Benito I used to know would have showered me with gifts, sent flowers, cards, apologies or commands. Instead, he’s left me the hell alone. When our gazes met, I expected him to walk over. Half of me still expects him to storm inside the meeting room, demanding to speak to his wife, but one glance at the door says he’s not coming.

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