Page 80 of Stalking Ginevra

Every clue points to Cesare being the killer. He had the motive, the opportunity, and no alibi. But why the hell would he murder innocent women when he can play with three female assassins in the basement?

The questions gnaw at my conscience, the uncertainty biting deep. But it’s not just Cesare weighing on my mind tonight.

Ginevra kneels before me in her skimpy costume, cosplaying a catgirl maid, ready to submit to Brisket, rather than to me.

Seeing her like this, her defiance replaced with a willingness to play along with Brisket’s twisted games, ignites a fury in my chest that burns bright.

She’s supposed to resist, to fight, to be so desperate and broken that she has no choice but to run to me for help. Instead, she’s kneeling, ready to submit, and it feels like everything I’ve been working toward is falling down the toilet.

I want her needing Benito—not Brisket—to be her savior. Instead, she’s turning to my disrespectful alter ego for help.

With a snarl, I grab her by the throat. Anger surges through my veins, overpowering the frustration that’s been building all day. I lift her off her knees, walk her backward, and shove her down onto the bed.

She lands with a creak. I follow her down, pressing my weight against her body, pinning her to the mattress.

Eyes widening, she wriggles beneath me but doesn’t fight back. Her flushed, parted lips, and the lust shining in her eyes only fuels my anger.

She’s supposed to resist. To fight. To run to her brave Benito and beg for protection.

Frustration from Cesare’s murders and from my failure to herd this stubborn woman blends into impotent rage.

“You think I want you groveling like this?” I hiss.

Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t answer. I tighten my fingers around her throat, making her eyes flicker with panic.

Good. Let her feel a fraction of my exasperation.

“Why the sudden change?” I growl. “Why are you so eager to submit?”

Her lips part, but she makes no sound. I loosen my grip just enough for her to breathe.

“I want you,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

A fresh wave of fury crashes through my chest, knocking my heart from its resting place. She wants Brisket, not me? I can’t tell if she’s fucking around or truly broken.

I run the knife over her throat, letting the cold metal leave a trail of goosebumps on her unmarked skin. The little temptress shivers but doesn’t resist.

“You like cruelty, don’t you?” I hiss, bringing the blade up to her face. “The degradation?”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she nods.

No matter how much I hate this woman, I couldn’t mark her skin.

I need to push her further, to see if this desire to submit is real or an attempt at manipulation. I reach for the bottle of lube on the bedside table, and flip its lid with a click.

Her eyes snap open, her features flickering with panic. Through panting breaths, she asks, “What are you doing?”

Ignoring her, I squeeze a large quantity of lube onto my gloved fingers. “My little kitten has too much fur.”

When she tries to squirm away, I pin her with my forearm and smear the liquid over her pubic hair. She trembles beneath my touch, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

“Please…” she whispers, but I cut her off with a low growl.

“Please what, little Ginny? Use your words.”

She shivers, her body tensing under my hold. I bring the knife to her pussy and glide the blade at the base of her pubic hair, watching it fall away to reveal smooth skin. I shave away the last shreds of her dignity, wondering if this is what will break her spirit. Shuddering, she forces her body still.

Silence stretches out, broken by the rasp of her breathing and the scrape of my makeshift razor. Her fear, her humiliation, and her reluctant surrender stir my darker instincts.

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