Page 23 of Stalking Ginevra

He grins. “Taking back the corner office was a breeze, thanks to your interns.”

“Glad to be of service. How is Ginevra?”

“Quiet,” he replies. “She came in yesterday, demanding to know why I’d taken control of her father’s so-called empire.”

I shake my head. “Joseph Di Marco was a piece of work.”

“A piece of shit and the worst kind of grifter,” Nick replies, his lip curling. “His daughter seems the opposite. She spent the rest of yesterday poring over the partnership agreements and court documents. She thinks Di Marco’s claim on my firm is legit.”

“When are you going to fire her?” I ask.

“Want her out by close of business today?”

I rub my chin. “Keep her for longer, but make her employment at the firm intolerable. Give her the most demeaning work. I want her demoralized.”

“Sure thing, Benito,” Nick replies with a nod.

“Who’s your plus one for tonight’s party? I need to inform the guards at the gate.”

“It was going to be the best friend, Martina Mancini, but she’s already going with Ernest from the art gallery.”

I nod. Ernest Lubelli is an important part of Roman’s plan to swindle Capello’s daughter. She’s an impoverished artist who’s ignorant of her father’s identity and has no clue she’s inherited a billion dollar’s worth of assets.

“So, your wife?” I ask.

He flashes me a sheepish grin, implying he’s either started sleeping with Martina or plans to get her into bed. Sometimes, I envy other men’s ability to shrug off a woman like a worn sock and slip into another. I’m astounded at how men like the Bossanova brothers could go so far as to romance and murder them for money.

If I had even an iota of that callous indifference, then I wouldn’t be so obsessed with Ginevra. Intellectually, I know other women exist, but my heart only beats for one. It’s been like that since the beginning, which is why I want to see her broken.

As Nick leaves the study, Sofia enters with a tray laden with fresh coffee and a special selection of the bruttiboni she used to supply Roman on Death Row.

And she’s wearing red lipstick.

Valentino Bossanova steps into the room behind her, flashing our housekeeper his brilliant smile. Blushing, Sofia dips her head and scampers to the door. He makes a show of turning around to watch her ass as she exits before blowing out a low whistle.

“What are you doing?” I snap.

He turns to me, his brow furrowing. “Benito?”

“Sofia is off-limits,” I snarl. “Don’t talk to her, don’t whistle at her, and don’t ogle her. She’s ours.”

Bossanova flinches. “Sure thing, Benito.”

“It’s Mr. Montesano to you.”

Features hardening, he offers me a curt nod. This old bastard might be the same age as Dad, but he doesn’t command a fraction of his respect. His tan, greasy charm, and modus operandi makes him lower than any grifter.

I walk around the desk, lowering myself into the seat and take my sweet time leaning the phone against a stack of books. Onscreen, Ginevra has moved to the shower, looking like she’s scrubbing the cum that’s dried on her hair.

“Report,” I say.

“Losanna’s drinking problem makes her an easy target,” he replies, shifting on his feet. “She’s eager to be Mrs. Bossanova, and everything’s going to plan… More or less.”

My gaze flicks to the gray regrowth on his temples and the smeared product he uses to conceal pale skin dotted with liver spots. I make a mental note to age with dignity and not cling to my youth. “Tell me more about the less part.”

He sighs. “The daughter isn’t nearly as easy to fool. She cockblocks, makes barbed comments, and is overprotective of her mother. If you could just get that little bitch to?—”

I shoot out of my seat, making him step back with a gasp. Before I know it, I’m swinging at his tanned, leathery face, myknuckles hitting bone. Blood explodes from his nose. He spins into the wall, clutching his face with a groan.

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