Page 231 of Stalking Ginevra

“Where?”

He crosses the room, stopping at the window and points down at the casino floor. “Baccarat table seven. Some asshole is on a winning streak.”

Frowning, I stare down at the table from behind the glass. A man in a tailored suit dominates the space, raking in piles of chips. He’s at least sixty, with a curled black mustache and silver hair slicked back in a ponytail. It’s Franco Scali, a notorious cardshark who’s been banned from every casino in New Alderney for his scams.

But I’m more concerned about his companion, a middle-aged woman whose red gown is slipping down her ample cleavage. She slumps at his side, barely holding herself upright. I’d recognize that auburn hair anywhere. It’s Losanna Fucking Di Marco.

Scali is practically humping her, his greasy lips trailing across her jaw. My stomach clenches. I might despise the woman, but no one takes advantage of Ginevra’s mother.

His kisses travel down her neckline, making my gut flare with fury. This idiot trying to scam my casino has a bounty on his head. Anyone watching would think they’re working together, but I’m not about to let him drag Losanna to the grave.

“Put them both into separate interrogation rooms,” I snap.

The team scrambles to obey. I stand at the window, grinding my teeth, wondering if this is my excuse to call Ginevra. She’d rush over in an instant, thank me profusely for rescuing her mother, and maybe she’ll remember I’m not all bad.

No.

I will not manipulate Ginevra. She and I both know I’m no fucking knight in bullet proof armor.

I’ll handle the situation, secure Losanna’s safety, and let Ginevra enjoy her freedom.

Turning away from the window, I stalk across the office and out through the hallway. Heat simmers under my skin as I make my way down the elevator and through the casino’s back corridors, preparing myself for a confrontation.

Losanna is Ginevra’s weakest link. Her vulnerability and drunken antics were what held Ginevra back from coming to us for protection when Joseph Di Marco ordered her to break our engagement.

By the time I enter the interrogation room, Losanna is slumped on the table, her auburn hair serving as a makeshift pillow. She raises her head at my entrance, her eyes widening.

“Oh, it’s you,” she slurs, pushing her carcass upright.

She’s a mess of smeared lipstick and smudged mascara. If I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook, she’d probably crumble into pieces.

“What the hell are you doing?” I snarl.

“Where’s my friend?” she asks, blinking up at me through bleary eyes.

“That man you were with is marked for death.”

Frowning, she sways in her seat. “What are you talking about?”

“Scali has a hundred-grand bounty on his head. The people about to pick him up and execute him are more likely to torture you to make him pay his debts,” I say. “A weasel like him will leave you to die without a second thought.”

The color drains from her face. Her mouth moves, but she makes no sound. “No, he wouldn’t?—”

“You criticize Ginevra for getting involved with me, yet you’re no better,” I snap.

She squares her shoulders, trying to muster the last dregs of her pride. “And Ginny’s still waiting for you to sign the divorce papers.”

The barb doesn’t land with the intended blow. My therapy sessions now center on coming to terms with the fact that she doesn’t want or need me, and letting her go. Anyone who said the opposite of love is hate was wrong. It’s indifference.

Ginevra hasn’t even filed for a default judgment, because doing so will bring us back into contact. She just wants to pretend I never even existed.

Crossing the distance, I place my palms on the table. “Here’s what will happen if I set you free. Whatever enforcers, trackers,or manhunters sent after Scali will scoop you up and tell their boss to use you as collateral.”

Her lips pinch.

“They won’t care that you’re just a reckless drunk chasing a cheap thrill. To them, you’re something to use as leverage over him. Don’t think for a second Scali won’t let you be tortured to save his worthless hide.”

“Fine,” she says through clenched teeth. “Then call me a cab.”

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