Page 59 of Stalking Ginevra

The head of hospitality’s eyes widen. He glances at the pistol, then back at me. The flush in his features pales, losing all traces of righteous anger.

“What do you know about seppuku?” I ask, keeping my voice light.

He shakes his head, his jowls quivering.

“Seppuku is a ritual suicide.” I lean in, resting my weight on my arms. “An honorable death for those who’ve failed in their duties. Since you’re so concerned about your honor, show it in a blaze of gunfire. Alternatively, sit the fuck down and listen.”

Knees buckling, he drops back into his chair, his features slack. The others glance at him, then at me, but maintain their silence.

I turn my gaze across the table, locking eyes with each employee. “I don’t expect perfection, but I demand honesty. Loyalty. Dedication. If you can’t give me that, you are free to leave.”

They nod, their earlier defiance snuffed out.

“Starting today, my interns will be auditing your departments,” I say. “Cooperate with them fully or there will be consequences.”

Still silent, the department heads nod, their expressions set in stone. I take in each of their faces, noting the tension in their jaws, the flicker of unease in their eyes.

Good. They’re starting to understand what’s at stake.

I push back my chair and stand, reveling in the way they shift under my gaze. If they’re intelligent, they’ll know who holds the power. Not Capello. Not Dad. Not Roman.

Me.

Without another word, I walk around the table and leave the room. My Mortis House boys stay behind, already moving in to set up appointments to review each department. I know I’ve asserted my authority, but I also know this is just the beginning.

Fear alone won’t keep them in line forever. I’ll need to employ every method at my disposal to keep ahead of these bastards.

But first, I have an appointment with Ginevra at the Meat Show.

TWENTY-FIVE

GINEVRA

I pull up to The Meat Show and cut the engine. Buildings loom ahead, their neon signs flickering in the overcast daylight. Thick clouds hang low, muting the sun and draping the area in a somber gray. The air is heavy, thick with the stench of rot and grease, clinging to my clothes as I step out onto the cracked pavement.

The street is unnaturally still. No cars, no people—just the distant hum of traffic. I glance around, my skin prickling with unease. The Meat Show squats at the edge of a deserted block, its windows dark with walls streaked with grime.

If my job wasn’t dependent on impressing Mr. Brisket, I would turn back and arrange to meet him in the office.

Tightening my grip on my bag, I head for the entrance. The door is old, covered in peeling paint, with a tarnished handle. I hesitate, wondering if Terranova has sent me to the right place, but then press the doorbell anyway.

The buzz is loud, cutting through the silence like a blade.

I wait with my ear close to the wood surface, straining to hear any sign of life behind those dark windows. But there’s nothing.

Frustration simmers beneath my unease. I step back, glance up at The Meat Show’s blinking sign, just to make sure I’m in the right place.

When I press the bell again, harder this time, nobody answers.

My pulse quickens, a dull throb that echoes in my chest. Something isn’t right. I should return to the car. But what if this is a set up? Terranova is looking for any excuse to put me out on the street.

I pull out my phone and dial the office. It rings twice before Pamela’s voice cuts through. “What now, Ginny?”

I swallow down a surge of bitterness, refusing to let her hear how much she’s gotten under my skin. “Can I speak to Mr. Terranova? He sent me out to meet a client but no one’s answering. ”

“After what you did today, you should be the last person making demands,” she snaps. “Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for me? Getting insulted like that in front of the entire office?”

My patience frays, each word grating against my nerves. “I don’t have time for this. I’m in the middle of nowhere. Get him on the line. Now.”

---