Page 87 of Stalking Ginevra

“You want proof?” he asks.

“Of course not,” I snap. “Why the hell would I want to see something like that?”

“Not about your dad and Martina. The accounts.”

When his voice drifts to the other side of the penthouse, I finally turn around. Julian walks over to the desk and pulls open a drawer. He extracts a file and waves it like a flag. “Do you want it?”

My breath catches. I want to snatch the papers, to end this nightmare, but I’m powerless against a man his size. Every instinct screams at me to keep pressing that damned button, to somehow override the lock, even though I know it’s futile.

“What do you want?” My voice trembles.

He grins. “Get on your knees and crawl for it.”

Disgust churns in my stomach. There’s no way I’m debasing myself again. It will only backfire like it did with Brisket.

“Do you even have the information?” I snap.

“It’s right here.”

“Then why didn’t you take it to Terranova?”

His eyes narrow. “I told you why.”

“Let me guess? You tried to claim the money for yourself, but you hit a dead end because you’re not my dad’s heir?”

He stiffens, his nostrils flaring, but he doesn’t reply. Because I’ve struck a nerve. He needs me to extract that money. Instead of telling me about it and demanding a finder’s fee, he wants to make me submit.

Because a cowed and humiliated Ginevra is more likely to share that ill-gotten wealth than one who’s stuck up.

“Release the lock on the elevator, then we’ll go to a coffee shop and talk.”

I have no intention of discussing anything with this asshole. Not when I finally have some leverage with the loan sharks. They can retrieve Dad’s stolen money and squabble over the rest with Terranova. All I care about is getting the hell out.

Julian walks around the desk with the files tucked under his arm. I don’t believe for a minute that they contain anything of substance. Anyone with a lick of sense wouldn’t keep that kind of information where Martina or Nick Terranova have their little trysts.

I step aside as he closes the distance between us, but he drops the files to the floor. Heart lurching, I stagger back, but he yanks me into his arms.

“Why do you only love violent lowlives like Benito Montesano and Samson Capello?” he asks, his breath hot against my ear. “Why not me? Am I too good for you? Too blond? Too clean-cut?”

His large hands close around my head in a vice-like grip, holding me in place. Panic punches me in the chest, making my body stiffen. Then he crushes his lips to mine, the kiss rough and forceful. Gagging, I struggle against his grip, but he’s too strong.

My heart pounds, pumping blood to my extremities. If I don’t get out of this, I’m screwed. I reach down between our bodies, take hold of the erection straining through his pants, and twist.

“Bitch!” he howls and stumbles to the side, only to backhand me across the face.

Stars explode in my eyes, the blow bringing with it the sharp taste of blood. I stumble, trying to recover, but he crashes into my side.

I topple to the carpeted floor, his weight on my back crushing all the air from my lungs. He grabs at the edge of my skirt, his erection digging into my back.

“Is this what you want, Ginny?” he sneers.

“Get off me,” I scream and elbow him in the gut.

Julian’s body goes rigid, and he hisses through his teeth. My breath quickens. Did I break a rib? He falls to the side, revealing a masked figure looming over us, holding a curved knife. Blood drips from its tip, answering a hundred unasked questions.

It’s Bob Brisket.

But is he here to kill us both?

---