Page 90 of Stalking Ginevra

I turn back to his corpse, this time looking directly into the face frozen with terror. “Idiot,” I hiss, my voice thick with disgust. “You would still be alive if you’d taken a fucking hint. Not even a hundred million dollars would make me give you the time of day. Go straight to hell.”

Tossing the papers aside, I crouch beside Julian’s corpse and search his pockets. My fingers close around a small key. “What kind of man traps a woman who doesn’t want him?”

I unlock the elevator and step inside, my mind racing with a single, urgent thought: escape. The ride down feels endless, the walls closing in with the weight of Brisket’s parting words.

He thinks the man I wanted dead was Julian. With this murder, he thinks he’s bought my soul. What if he turns that deadly violence toward me? Or Mom?

The second the doors open, I rush out through the building and to my car, and check the back seat before starting the engine.

My drive home is tense, every shadow on the road twisting into the shape of Brisket and the way he tore through another human’s insides like a butcher. His words continue to resound in my mind, a constant reminder that he thinks I’m his property.

Gripping the wheel, I force myself to stay alert. To plan how I’ll protect my hide.

But I can’t do this alone. As much as my dignity protests at the thought, I might need Benito. The bitterness of his rejection claws at my chest, and my pride screams at me to leave him alone. He could help, but would he even care? He was so cold and dismissive at the boutique, having moved onto the type of woman who wouldn’t stab him in the back.

But does that matter if Brisket comes after me tonight?

I pull into my driveway, still debating whether to call Benito, when headlights flood my rearview mirror. It’s a truck pulling in from behind.

Men pour out of its doors, circling my car like predators. My stomach twists into painful knots. I already know who they are—the loan sharks.

The leader, the same bastard from before, strides toward the driver’s side door with a broad grin. Breath catching, I tighten my fingers into fists.

My body tenses, my mind races for a way out, but I’m trapped.

His eyes rake over the car, like he’s already decided I’m his. Negotiation isn’t on the table.

I keep my eyes forward, not wanting to meet his gaze. He taps on the glass, daring me to face him.

“Guess what, sweetheart? Turns out Benito Montesano isn’t engaged, so you’re not under his protection.”

A chill runs down my spine. I hoped to have resolved the situation with the loan sharks before they returned.

“Open up. We need to have a little chat.”

My heart slams against its cage. I force myself to breathe, but my chest tightens with rising panic. The doors are locked. They can say whatever the hell they want then leave.

When I don’t answer his attempts to get my attention, the leader draws back his fist and slams it into the window, shattering my hopes of survival. Flinching, I scoot to the other side, but another man is already in place, smashing his fist into the front passenger window.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit!

Fractures spread across the glass. These bastards aren’t playing around. I glance from side to side, the beginnings of a heart attack twisting every muscle in my chest.

Before I can grab the phone and call 911, the leader punches through the cracked window, sending cubes of glass flying across my lap. His hand snakes in and yanks the door open.

The next thing I know, he’s grabbing my arm and dragging me out of the car.

A cold breeze swirls around my damp skin, its bite seeping through to my bones. Eyes fixed on his leering face, I pull my body into the car’s frame as if trying to vanish into the metal.

He looms over me, flanked by at least a dozen goons whose bulks form a wall. My nostrils fill with the mingled scents of spirits and sweat and semen, making my stomach lurch.

“Twenty-four hours, princess.” He slams my back against the side of the car, the force tearing my blouse.

Pain explodes across my spine, making me wince.

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