Page 95 of Stalking Ginevra

Between wracking sobs, I confess my stupid plan to manipulate Brisket into murdering Bossanova. And how it backfired. I tell him about the sharks who will return tomorrow to collect me as payment for their debt.

Throughout this, Benito remains quiet. I don’t know if he’s processing my words or is too horrified to speak.

All I can do is look up at him, hoping for a flicker of something in those dead eyes.

But there’s nothing.

“Benito,” I wail, my fingers tightening around the fabric of his tailored pants. “Say something.”

The man I once knew would demand to know who dared hurt his Ginevra and swear bloody vengeance. He would gather me into his arms, pull me onto his lap and rock me until I slept. Instead, he gazes down at me with a face carved from stone, unreadable and unmoved.

My heart shatters all over again, and I cry, “Didn’t you hear me?”

There’s still no response—no anger, no pity, no disgust—just cold.

The last thread of my strength snaps. This is it. He’s going to cast me out, leave me to the sharks. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let them drag Mom into this mess.

I cling to his muscular thigh, rest my head against his hip, and gibber out a string of pleas. Eventually, he places a hand on my head, pulling me out of my spiral.

“You know my terms.” His words slice through my haze, cold and sharp as ice.

I blink up at him, the words barely sinking through my skull. “What?”

“This isn’t the kind of mess I can clear up in a night. The cost of rescuing you and your mother will be steep.”

“Please, Benito…” I exhale a shuddering breath. “I’ll do anything. Just save us. Please.”

His eyes narrow, and for a moment, I’m sure I see emotion flicker in them, but it’s gone before I can grasp it. With a nod, he pulls his gaze toward the door.

“An assistant will bring a dress. He will escort you to the casino chapel for an immediate ceremony.”

Dread coils in my gut. I swallow, trying to digest his words. Marrying a man I’ve wronged is like begging for punishment, but I nod, the motion jerky, robotic. It’s not like I have any other choice.

My life in exchange for him to clear ten million dollars in debt, the threat of Valentino Bossanova, Julian’s dead body, and Bob Brisket.

FORTY-TWO

BENITO

Striding through the casino, I pull out my phone and call Reaper, adrenaline spiking with the thrill of victory. Lights flash off polished floors, catching on the high-rollers drifting from table to table, but none of it registers. My mind is already on the chapel, and on the moment I finally claim what’s mine.

When he picks up on the second ring, I say, “Get your ass to the casino. You’re going to be my best man.”

There’s a beat of silence, then he splutters, “What? You’re kidding.”

“You heard me.” I let out a low chuckle, imagining his shock.

I hang up before he can respond and tuck the phone into my pocket. Each step toward the chapel heightens my anticipation. It’s finally happening, just as I intended.

My plans have come together, all the pieces falling into place. Before the hour is up, Ginevra will be mine.

She looked so beautiful, offering me the raw desperation she only reserved for Brisket. This is the Ginevra I’ve craved. Primal. Submissive. Needing only me. She’s no longer the austeregoddess who dismissed my offerings, but exactly where I want her. Groveling to me on her pretty little knees.

The casino fades into a blur. I push open the doors to the chapel, ready to seal the deal. But the room is empty—no Reverend Johnson, no witnesses, just rows of empty pews.

My nostrils flare. That old bastard was supposed to be on standby.

An assistant rushes in, tripping over his own feet. His borrowed Elvis wig slips over his brow, breaking away from the painted-on sideburns.

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