Page 79 of Stalking Ginevra

My mind races. The thought of losing him terrifies me more than the knife.

“No, I swear, it was a mistake,” I blurt, my voice trembling. The words spill out faster than I can control my thoughts. “It was for knife play... In case you forgot yours. Don’t you think it’s pretty? I’m sorry, Mr. Brisket. Can we start again?”

I close the distance between us, my steps driven by raw desperation. This isn’t just about Mom. I’ve grown fond of his attentiveness. Even the silly gifts. No man has ever combined sexiness with such raw devotion.

Memories of our encounters flash through my mind, focusing on our time at the strip club. He forced me into submission, made me enjoy things I didn’t know were possible. The darkest parts of me enjoy his visits. Craves the power he holds over me, just as much as the dangerous thrills.

I force down my thoughts, trying to focus on the immediate threat: Brisket standing over me, still clutching the knife.

“The truth is that I’ve grown to look forward to your visits,” I add, my voice a breathy whisper. “You’re the most exciting thing that’s ever happened in my life.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, doesn’t even flinch. The visor hides his face, leaving me wondering how he’s reacting. I can’t tell if he believes me, if he’s amused or enraged, and the uncertainty is suffocating.

“Punish me, Bob. But please… don’t leave.”

I drop to my knees in front of him, clutching at his legs.

“Can we start again?” I ask. “I mean, have a real relationship? I need you so much.”

I stare at the cold, reflective surface of his visor, meeting a mirror of my own desperation.

The silence between us stretches, thick and suffocating. Then Brisket steps back, pulling away from my grasp. I freeze, mybreath catching, trying to understand what’s happening. His shoulders tense, and his broad chest heaves.

My throat tightens. Is this anger or excitement?

“You need me?” His voice simmers with rage.

Flinching, I shuffle back, but he follows, looming over me like a specter. There’s a dangerous energy to him now, a dark fury that seeps into the room, making the air so thick I can barely breathe.

His breath hisses between clenched teeth, the only sound breaking the heavy silence. He lifts the knife, the blade catching the light as he steps closer.

My stomach plummets to the floorboards. I’ve crossed a line, and now I’m at his mercy.

Brisket waves the knife in my face.

“Get on the bed,” he growls. “I’m going to slice you into sashimi.”

THIRTY-FOUR

BENITO

I’ve faced down enemies, survived betrayals, navigated the treacherous waters of family loyalty. But nothing feels as convoluted as this spate of murders.

Allegra Reggio’s death shouldn’t matter to me, but it reeks of Cesare.

The photo Gil sent sears into my memory—her lifeless body lying in the back seat, covered in blood and puncture wounds. And that goddamn knife left in her was unmistakable. I’ve seen Cesare brandish it countless times.

I close my eyes, trying to force my mind into clarity, but the images keep returning. My gut churns to think of how she suffered, but more disturbing is the gnawing suspicion that my brother is responsible.

Cesare claims the Galliano family murdered his ex, which makes no sense. They stole our meth lab, and Tommy Galliano stole our mother, but why would they kill Allegra? Why now? And how the hell would they have gotten their hands on Cesare’s knife?

My fists clench at my sides, frustration and doubt swirling together into a potent mix of anger. Cesare’s story doesn’t add up, not with the way he’s been spiraling out of control. He’s always been reckless, but this is different. It feels deliberate, like he’s testing the limits of our loyalty, seeing how far he can push before something snaps.

I can’t turn a blind eye.

Not this time.

Allegra is the second of Cesare’s ex-girlfriends to die since the night Galliano met with Roman, but I can’t see why he would frame my youngest brother.

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