Page 71 of Stalking Ginevra

Her face hardens, her breath hitching as Terranova continues his ruthless pace. “Not everyone… Aaah!”

“What?” I snap.

“Not everyone has a life handed to them by rich daddies.” She pauses, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. “Oh, fuck… Rich dads and even richer fiancés,” she says through heavy, panting breaths. “Some of us… Oooh… Some. Of. Us. Have. To work. For a living.”

The venom in her words slashes through my last defense, ripping open fresh wounds. I stare at her, disbelief mingling with hurt. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“You stupid bitch,” she screeches. “Why didn’t you notice?”

Terranova reaches beneath her and does something to cut off her rant with a moan.

“Nick,” she says through a gasp. “I’m coming.”

“Good girl.”

This time, when I try the door, it opens. I rush through the office, my vision blinded with tears. How is every secret rising tothe surface? How could I have never noticed Martina’s burning resentment?

I run to the elevator, ignoring Julian’s cries for me to stop. Only one person can straighten things out, and it’s time to speak to Mom.

THIRTY

BENITO

I bring only two boys to the breakfast meeting with Salvatore Bellavista because any more would be a declaration of war. He lives in a mansion within a walled compound, its smaller buildings housing his extended family. It may as well be a fortress.

A butler leads us through a marble hallway and out through patio doors into a lush garden, where Bellavista lounges in a gazebo.

He’s grown fat over the years, his gut spilling over his belt. His hair, once thick and dark, is now a thinning silver, slicked to the side to hide a retreating hairline. His face is rounder, with sagging jowls, but his eyes remain predatory and calculating, like a wolf who’s learned to enjoy the comforts of an easy life.

Two young women in skimpy maid outfits fawn over him, dropping sugar cubes into his coffee with silver tongs. One of them giggles as he slides his hand down her back and cups her ass with a self-congratulatory chuckle.

Disgust curdles in my gut. Forcing my expression to remain neutral, I step into the gazebo, flanked by Vitale and Lorenzo.

“Benito,” Bellavista says, reclining in his seat with a smirk. “Condolences about your father. Such a tragedy. And your mother... Lucia was a fine woman.”

My jaw tightens, but I keep my voice steady. “I’m not here to reminisce.”

Smirk fading, he gulps down the contents of his cup. “Of course. So, what’s the reason for this morning’s visit?”

I let the silence hang, watching the maids top up his coffee, adding another two sugar cubes. The way they linger, their fingers brushing against his, makes me want to put a bullet through his head. Bellavista never took sides during our family’s downfall, but he didn’t hesitate to supply Capello with everything he needed to expand his empire while ours crumbled.

He’s like Switzerland during World War Two—ever neutral, loyal only to himself.

“Duplicates of the chips your company makes for us are flooding my casino. How is that possible?” I slide the counterfeit chip across the table toward Bellavista.

His fingers close around it, turning it over, inspecting it like it’s a diamond riddled with flaws. “How do you know it’s counterfeit?”

Vitale steps forward. “Each chip has an embedded RFID tag with a unique encrypted ID number for authenticity. When a chip is issued by the casino’s cashier, the ID is logged in the system. RFID tags allow us to track every movement while they’re used for play and when cashed out?—”

“I’ve been in the casino business longer than your parents have been alive,” Bellavista snarls with a wave of his hand. Get to the point.”

Vitale sniffs. “The counterfeit chips are perfect duplicates, mimicking the originals down to the RFID tags. Someone’s been cashing them while the originals are still in play. It’s a large-scale operation.”

Bellavista’s expression darkens. “That’s impossible. No one could replicate our chips without access to the molds or the codes.”

“Someone did,” I snarl. “And it’s happening right under your nose.”

Bellavista falls silent, turning the chip over again in his hand, as though the answer might reveal itself in the details.

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