Page 99 of Stalking Ginevra

Without warning, Benito scoops me into his arms. The world shifts on its axis like I’ve stepped into another dimension. Breath catching, I dig my fingers into his lapels.

As he carries me toward the chapel doors, my gut twists with a knot of dread. When we were together, Benito was always so gentlemanly when we kissed. I never once felt a trace of any erection. Today, he made me feel the full extent of his passion.

It was long and thick, surpassing the dildos Samson forced me to fuck. Maybe even bigger than Bob Brisket. The thought of that psychopath makes me shudder.

Placing a hand on Benito’s chest, I whisper, “What are you going to do about my stalker?”

“He won’t bother you anymore,” Benito growls.

“Do you know him?”

“He won’t be difficult to weed out.”

“And Bossanova?”

“I won’t let that bastard near your mother.”

My throat tightens. “And the loan sharks?”

“I’ll pay them off in the morning.”

Exhaling, I force myself to relax, but my muscles remain taut. My body can’t forget the press of Benito’s penis. I can’t let this go any further—I have to say something, anything to stop him from taking me to bed.

“It’s been a traumatic day. I’m too exhausted to consummate this marriage.”

He doesn’t slow, doesn’t even acknowledge my plea. His face remains set in stone, his focus on the path ahead. When he turns away from the casino and through a staff hallway, my chest seizes.

“Just give me time, Benito. Please.”

His jaw tightens, but his pace remains steady. I may as well plead with a marble statue.

Before I can protest further, Benito shoves open a heavy door, releasing a rush of cool air. He steps inside a concrete room almost identical to the one from before. Without a word, he deposits me onto the floor.

“Benito?” I scramble to sit up, my fingers splaying against the cold tiles.

He walks out, slams the door shut, encasing me in the dark.

FORTY-FOUR

BENITO

The next morning, I stand in the hallway outside the honeymoon suite, my nerves snapping with impatience. Roman and his new wife have finally vacated it, but Housekeeping is dragging their feet.

It doesn’t help that my surveillance team spent an hour installing cameras to capture every corner. Ginevra’s new cell must be perfect. Every angle must be visible, every inch inescapable.

Last night, I watched her cry herself to sleep on the concrete floor, feeling only a fraction of my five years of anguish. Now, it’s time for her to learn her place.

Malfi shifts his bulk from side to side, twitching at these new arrangements. My security chief should have saved that discomfort for when his predecessor flooded the casino with chips. Wringing her hands beside him is the cocktail waitress I installed to watch the casino.

“Carla, you’re on room service. Be there to provide my wife with anything she needs except clothes and her freedom.” I flick my head to the room opposite. “Malfi, you’re across the hall. Iwant you in the corridors, doing whatever’s needed to scare her out of escaping.”

The man’s frown deepens, the doubt in his eyes making me itch.

“Something wrong?” I snarl, daring him to utter a word in defiance.

He snatches away his gaze. “No, sir.”

“Good.” I glare into his face a beat longer, daring him to question me again. When he doesn’t, I turn to Carla. “Get changed. Both of you. Be in place within ten minutes.”

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