Page 82 of Stalking Ginevra

She’s already tipsy. That leathery bastard is feeding her champagne, no doubt to make her pliable. Today, he’s dressed in a navy blue captain’s jacket, complete with a gold emblem on its chest. His gaze is flat, disinterested, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes when he sees me—a glint of calculation.

I cross the boutique, waving off the owner’s offer of champagne.

Bossanova leaps to his feet, his crocodile smile fading into something sour. “What are you doing here?”

“Mom invited me,” I say through clenched teeth.

He glances over at Mom, meeting her glassy smile. “I thought we were going to fuck in the fitting rooms,” he says, his words tight. “That’s going to be awkward with Ginny listening on the other side of the wall.”

My jaw drops.

Mom giggles, the high-pitched sound ridiculous and fake. “Stop making me blush.”

“Ladies, have fun,” he says, his voice slippery as slime. He strides past me, leaving a cloud of expensive cologne.

I glare at his back, wanting to fill him with bullets, especially as he pauses at the door, and turns back to spare Mom a mournful glance. “What a pity, baby. I would have taken you all day long.”

My stomach churns. I curl my lip, holding back a wave of disgust. The man is half-vulture, half-leech, all decrepit predator.

He gives her one last smile, all teeth and no warmth, before slipping out the door. As soon as he’s gone, Mom reaches for another glass, but I move faster, intercepting it before it touches her lips.

“Mom, we need to talk.” I pluck the flute from her fingers.

The sales assistants hover nearby, eager to push more alcohol— anything to keep the cash flowing. But this isn’t a conversation we can have in front of an audience. I need her sober, and I need her to listen.

I sit next to her and lean in close. “You need to push back this wedding.”

Mom’s hands curl into fists. “That’s impossible. We’ve already set a date and paid for the venue in full.”

“You’re walking into a death sentence,” I whisper. “If he doesn’t kill you, they’ll fry you for taking him out.”

Her gaze meets mine, losing all traces of drunkenness. “It’s him or us.”

My throat tightens, and I swallow hard. “There has to be another way. Give me time to find it. Please.”

She shakes her head. “Those sharks came knocking at Valentino’s penthouse. Marrying him is the only way to keep you safe.”

I grab her hand, my insides crawling with desperation. “But you’re going to die.”

She pulls me close and whispers, “Better me than you.”

The words slice through me like a bullet. I rear back, my mind reeling with a pulse of shock. It settles so deep in my gut that I suck in a shuddering breath. Before I can recover, the door swings open, activating a bell.

Benito steps in, dressed in a black suit and a shirt that skims the lines of his muscular physique.

The sight steals the breath I just managed to catch. He’s with that same stunning brunette who had him wrapped around her finger at the restaurant. She’s flawless, elegant, dressed in red. The kind of woman who wouldn’t let anyone, least of all her father, break off an engagement.

And she clings to him like they’ve just spent the night making love.

Our eyes meet, and something inside me tightens. Benito’s expression is unreadable, his eyes sliding past me like I’m insignificant.

The dismissal is a knife to my gut.

I snatch away my gaze. Seeing them so happy together makes me convinced Benito’s proposal was a twisted game. Why would he want me when he has her?

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the proprietor rushing up to them with a broad smile. Benito used to be a regular here—this was where he purchased me gifts.

I shut down that thought. He has someone else now. He’s happy. The only thing he wants from me is petty revenge.

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