Page 51 of Stalking Ginevra

I step out of the truck with the briefcase, cutting through the crowd of men. The Mortis House boys part to let me through, their gazes fixed forward, not daring to make eye contact. It’s not their fault my cousin won’t let them access the crematorium, but they’ve been trained to resent failure.

As I approach the entrance, the crematorium’s doors swing open. Elania steps out, dressed like a gothic queen in something far too tight and low-cut for a tense standoff.

Her gaze drops to the case. “Is it all there?”

“Count it.” I thrust it into her arms, making her stagger under the weight.

The door behind her opens, and she disappears. I grind my teeth, wanting to wring her scrawny neck. A side door opens. Aria steps out dressed in the blue overalls of the crematorium’s head cremator, Marco. His name is stitched in neat letters over her chest, but her scowl is pure Aria.

“Come on in, guys,” she says with a grimace.

Her lackeys swing open both doors, and Aria steps aside, prompting my boys to disperse. They return to their trucks, unloading them with dozens of familiar faces. Men and women, once loyal to Dad, who helped Capello steal his empire.

I walk around to the side, where my cousin offers me an apologetic smile. “Sorry about Elania. That was strictly business.”

My brows rise. “Does she know you’re letting us in?”

“She ain’t the boss. We own this place fifty-fifty. If it were up to me, I’d burn those motherfuckers for free.”

I’m about to answer when my phone rings. “It’s Rimaldo,” says a voice on the other end of the line. “We’ve found the leak. Giovanni Romano’s cousin told him to call in sick tonight because something big would go down at the casino.”

“His name?” I ask.

“Leo Salvatore.”

Shit.

That’s one of Roman’s men. Time to drag big brother out from between Capello’s daughter’s legs.

TWENTY-ONE

GINEVRA

I was ready to maim him, but he didn’t come.

Instead, I spent the night lying awake, with one hand beneath my pillow gripping the knife, the other drifting between my legs while I imagined overpowering my masked molester.

That’s why I look like shit. My skin is so pale and thin that the vessels beneath them stand out like veins in blue cheese. Dark circles ring my eyes, and my hair lies flat against my sallow features like melted wax.

Fuck my life.

I can’t believe Benito proposed. As if I’d be stupid enough to marry a man Dad forced me to stab through the heart.

Just when I’m free from one abusive relationship, I’m not about to stumble into another. Samson had no reason to treat me like shit, other than his sexual hangups. Benito, however, has several.

I knew at the time that breaking our engagement would ruin his family, yet I did it anyway because Dad threatened Mom’s life. That decision to protect her meant that I failed to warnBenito and his family that one of their most trusted lieutenants was plotting their demise.

With a sigh, I loosen my robe and prepare myself for another day of work. My life feels like thatShirley Templemovie where her dad died and couldn’t pay the boarding school fees, so she was forced to scrub the floors.

A crack of gunfire jolts me out of my self pity, turning my blood to ice. At the second shot, I’m racing down the stairs, reaching the bottom before the echoes die. Blood roars between my ears, drowning out the frantic beat of my heart. I burst through the front door, my lungs burning.

The morning air hits me like a slap. Mom stands frozen in the courtyard, surrounded by men who look like they’ve crawled out of the gutter. They crowd around her like wolves surrounding a trembling cat. She’s barefoot and clad in a dress that’s slipping down her cleavage.

Bossanova slopes behind her, squirming like someone set fire to his crabs. The old bastard looks like he’s hiding something—or maybe just trying to disappear.

The leader steps out of the throng of thugs, all broad shoulders and dead eyes. He’s a brick shithouse of a man who looks fresh from a cage fight.

“Where’s the money, Mrs. Di Marco?” His voice is a low growl.

---