Page 50 of Stalking Ginevra

We take the elevator down to the basement. At my side, Reaper checks his rifle. We’ve trained for this—every move, every shot. Beneath the parking garage lies a lower level, connecting the apartment building directly to our target. Our great-grandfather built hidden passageways during Prohibition when it was the Salerno Casino. His son made sure to connect them during the construction of these condos, continuing the tradition.

Contrary to the movies, the leadership team isn’t always located in the basement. The managers we’re after—Esposito, De Luca, Napolitano, and Delucci—have their offices upstairs, giving them a clear view and easy access to the gaming floors.

They won’t leave the casino until they see flames. I hope to resolve that by the end of the night.

We continue in silence through the dim corridor, the distant rumble of fountains above barely masking our footsteps. If we had all the Montesano men at our disposal, I would have managed the hostile takeover from the penthouse. But our ongoing issues with the assassins have turned that plan to shit. With our forces stretched thin, we have to rely on precision, strategy, and the boys of Mortis House.

The hallway widens as we approach a steel door with a glowing keypad. Reaper enters the code, and it slides open with a soft hiss.

We grab our rifles from the lockers hidden in the walls. The boys I sent to watch over the Di Marco Law Group are already armed, waiting at the security hub—a setup of monitors patched into the casino’s system. The screens flicker with live feeds showing each part of the building: lobbies, gaming floors, emergency exits—every possible escape route under surveillance.

Most patrons and staff have evacuated to the fire assembly points, leaving behind only the die-hards and security forces—those too stubborn to abandon their posts.

Before I can issue the next order, an alert flashes on the central monitor: security forces are moving, not toward the fire exits but deeper into the casino.

“Benito,” says a voice through the Bluetooth. “We’ve got a situation. Looks like the security teams got tipped off about the plan. They’re not evacuating. They’re preparing for a fight.”

“Don’t tell me we have a mole,” Reaper snarls.

I grind my teeth. Every organization has its betrayers, especially the one Dad ran when he was alive. Capello was his most loyal enforcer until he poured poison into the men’s ears and convinced a large proportion of them to defect.

This is why I wanted to recruit them young. Train them in discipline, loyalty, and ruthlessness, so they were too committed to their brothers-in-arms and accustomed to our ways to be anything but loyal.

“We’ll soon find out,” I growl. “Rimaldo, Capri. You’re with us.”

The pair snap to attention, grabbing their rifles from the racks. We move toward the service passages and enter the casino through an old security door, making our way up through narrow, dimly lit corridors that still carry the scent of cleaning chemicals.

Tension thickens as we approach the doors. The familiar scent of the casino hangs in the air—stale smoke, spilled spirits, and sin. We burst through, tossing smoke bombs onto the main floor.

Thick, gray plumes swallow the flashing lights and chaos. Alarms blare, lights flicker, and the distant crack of gunfire echoes from deeper in the casino.

We storm through the smoke-filled room and open fire on the security forces in our way. The main gaming floor is a battlefield of overturned tables, shattered glass, and fallen bodies. I move through it with Rimaldo and Capri, cutting down anyone in our path.

“Benito,” says another voice in the Bluetooth headset. “We’ve captured the management team.”

Relief floods my system, but that doesn’t mean we won’t stop until every last one of these bastards is in chains.

Reaper returns, hauling an injured guard by the collar. Streams of blood trail from his shattered leg, and his face contorts with agony. Reaper slams him against the wall, making his head hit the brick with a satisfying thud.

“Who warned you?” Reaper growls.

The guard trembles, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. “Giovanni Romano,” he chokes out. “He sent a text... warned us about the attack.”

I turn to Reaper. “Send some boys to Romano’s house. Find out who the hell leaked the raid.”

“Consider it done,” Reaper replies.

Another voice fills the Bluetooth. “Boss, we’ve got a problem. The woman at Newtown Crematorium is refusing to allow any of our men inside without full payment upfront.”

“Fuck,” I hiss through gritted teeth.

Several minutes later, the casino is locked down. No one gets in or out. Reinforcements arrive, securing the perimeter while I leave Reaper in charge of finishing the raid. I should be inside, overseeing the final sweep, but instead, I’m in the front seat ofa bulletproof truck with a briefcase full of cash, heading to the crematorium.

I can’t believe Elania Salentino would hold up such an important operation over money. That’s why I wanted to deal with Aria—she’s the more reasonable twin. While Aria will punch a man in the face for disrespect, Elania once took a hatchet to a man’s balls without warning.

Newtown Crematorium is a simple brick building that backs onto the Parisii Cemetery flower gardens. Its architecture is more like a modernist mausoleum than a place for the dead, with tall chimneys rising to the sky.

The parking lot is filled with trucks. My Mortis House boys stand scattered around the lot in tense clusters, their hands hovering near their weapons. They’ve formed a loose perimeter around the building, facing down the crematorium’s guards at the entrances. The air is thick with anticipation, every man here knowing that this standoff could erupt into violence.

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