Page 30 of Stalking Ginevra

“Thank you,” I reply, already turning to leave. At the door, I point at Bossanova. “Ditch her again, and I’ll break your fingers.”

By the time I return to the hallway, the crowd has thinned. Our men march unfamiliar guests toward a holding room, having bound their arms with zip ties and duct tape. Everyone remains a suspect until we identify the assassin’s accomplices.

I walk around the house’s perimeter, pull out my phone, and tap on Reaper’s name, needing reassurance that our boys are in position. No bastard should be able to fuck with the Montesano family. Not during what was supposed to be our biggest high point since Dad died. Not when we’re on the verge of restoring our empire.

“Benito,” Reaper’s voice fills my bluetooth.

“What’s the situation?”

“We caught two gunmen trying to escape through the trees, but there’s more,” he replies.

“How many?”

“Hard to say. These guys are pros.”

I grind my teeth. “Sweep the entire hill. Detain or eliminate anyone suspicious.”

“Understood.”

I hang up, and a security alert flashes on my screen—grainy footage of someone slipping through a hatch connecting our basement distillery to an abandoned property at the bottom of the hill. She’s blonde, dressed in black, and probably one of the assassins. My gut tightens. How the hell did she manage to escape our guards and Reaper’s men?

Another call comes through. It’s Gil, my older brother’s right hand. He’s our highest-ranking enforcer, loyal as hell, and a former boxer who once took a bullet for Dad.

“We’ve got a situation,” he starts. “The society editor for the Times is leaving the grounds with a guest not on the list. The men at the gate want to take her in for questioning, but he’s crying false imprisonment.”

“Where are you?”

“Downstairs storage room, securing the detainees,” he replies.

“All the more reason to drag his date in for questioning,” I snarl. “If he doesn’t like it, he can spend the night being interrogated for any connection with the shooting.”

“Sure thing,” Gil replies before the line goes dead.

My phone buzzes with more updates, each one demanding my attention. I spend the next half hour in an observation truck, where some Mortis House boys supervise the surveillance of the wooded areas around our property with drones.

The blonde from earlier managed to disappear into another house at the bottom of the hill. By the time we pinpointed her exact location, she’d already escaped on the back of a motorbike. We retrace her steps and discover she entered the party with the caterer, disguised as staff.

White-hot fury ignites in my chest. Somehow, the assassins know the layout of our house better than its occupants.

Later, I spot Gil by the entrance, watching over the valets helping guests into their vehicles.

“Where’s Roman?” I ask.

He flicks his head toward the upper floor. “In his room with Miss Kay. A waiter tried to abduct her during the panic. She said he had a cop tattoo.”

My jaw clenches at the prospect of someone stealing Capello’s daughter before we claw back our assets. “So, we were infiltrated by the police, too?”

Gil shrugs. “The shooter isn’t any kind of cop.”

“Where’s Cesare?”

“He dumped his little assassin with the guards, telling them to watch over her with the other detainees. From the looks of things, she tried to leave through the distillery.”

“No doubt with that blonde who escaped,” I mutter. “Where is he now?”

“Roman sent him to the basement to interrogate the shooter.”

I nod. “Valentino Bossanova and Mrs. Di Marco are in a downstairs guest room. Don’t allow them to leave until the morning.”

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