Page 229 of Stalking Ginevra

It’s what I asked for, so why am I complaining?

The meeting ends, and I shove my notebook into my bag, needing space to breathe. Rising off my seat, I follow my colleagues to the door, wondering if I’ll find Benito waiting in the hallway.

“Ginevra, wait.”

I glance over my shoulder, meeting Mars’s handsome features. “Hey, what’s up? Got time for a drink?”

My gaze darts to an empty hallway devoid of Benito. Stomach plummeting, I turn back to Mars. Concern etches his brow, his dark eyes searching mine.

“Sure.” I choke out the words, forcing a smile to hide my disappointment. “That sounds nice.”

Mars’s office is nothing like Benito’s. This room has a view of the tropical gardens, while Benito liked to oversee the gambling tables.

I drop onto one of the many cream leather couches, smoothing my skirt with sweaty palms. Mars saunters to a mahogany cabinet displaying crystal decanters filled with liquor. It’s a stark contrast to Benito’s cold, metallic minimalism.

After fixing us each a gin and tonic, he takes a seat across from me and leans forward. “You seemed distracted earlier. What’s troubling you?”

I glance away, focusing on a painting hanging above his leather couch. It’s a muscular male form, backlit in an explosion of vivid flowers.

Swallowing hard, I choose my words, not wanting to admit any part of me is pining. “Benito was here.”

“Yikes…” Mars grimaces. “Dad must have called him about the trouble we’re having at the tables. He hasn’t stopped talking about Benito since he got rid of the Bossanova problem.”

“Of course.”

The response comes out flat. Of course, it’s business. Did I think Benito came here to make a grand gesture? I don’t know what I wanted—maybe just proof that I still mattered to him. But then direct confrontations aren’t Benito’s style. He works in the shadows, manipulating everything to get what he wants.

But why does my stomach twist at the thought that it doesn’t include me?

Mars doesn’t push for answers, he just raises a crystal tumbler to his lips. I take a sip of my drink, the bitterness of the gin mirroring my inner turmoil.

Silence stretches between us for several heartbeats, accentuated by the distant clamor of the casino. I already toldMars the whole story, apart from Julian’s murder. We’ve spent months exchanging traumas. Mars shared the hair raising truth about his marriage to the son of New Jersey’s most powerful gangster. We’re both determined not to return to our toxic relationships.

“Seeing him again brings up emotions I tried to bury,” I say with a sigh. “Sometimes, all I remember are the high points, but then I think about how Victor Bellavista murdered Carla. What if she thought things would improve?”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them back, refusing to let them fall. I’ve cried enough over Benito. Even if he’s making changes, it’s time to move forward.

Mars reaches across the low table and squeezes my shoulder. “I get it. He took that bullet, and you’re wondering if it makes up for all his bullshit.”

I release a harsh laugh. “His sacrifice complicates everything.”

He releases my shoulder, reclines and swirls his gin. “That and the hundred million dollar ransom he paid to get you back.”

“Whose side are you on?” I mutter.

He smirks. “Yours.”

“Good, because for a minute, it sounded like you were defending him.” I take a swallow of my drink, letting the alcohol burn my throat, but it does little to relieve my frustration.

“I’m the worst person to give advice,” he murmurs. “The toxicity in me sees him as a morally gray hero.”

“In a minute, you’ll tell me he’s a good man, or something.”

Mars snickers. “How’s it going with the self-defense classes?”

“It’s good for working through my frustrations.” I shake my head. “But you’d think a new place, new job, and a new bestie would make me stronger, but seeing him only brings back old feelings.”

“Healing takes time.”

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