Stalking Ginevra (Morally Black Book 4)

I pull up at the casino. Its neon lights illuminate the street, casting an unforgiving glow on my reflection. Panic claws at my insides. My hair’s a mess, my makeup’s smudged, and my clothes are smeared with fuck knows what.

God, I look like I’ve crawled out of hell.

The thought of Benito seeing me like this makes my intestines twist into painful knots, but there’s no time to fix my appearance. No point. Not when my insides are shredded. Not when every vein courses with hopelessness. Not when sharks are circling me like I’m filling the water with blood.

I drag myself out of the car and force each trembling step toward the entrance.

Inside, the noise hits me like a tsunami—clinking chips, murmured voices, bursts of laughter. It’s all too loud, too bright. I want to curl up and die. Instead, I push through the unease because I need Benito more than I need to breathe.

The air here is thick with the scent of expensive cologne and desperation, and not just mine. It’s the kind that clings to the gamblers hunched over slot machines, hoping for a miracle. I weave through a crowd of sharp suits and glittering gowns to reach the reception desk.

The woman behind it looks up from her computer, her cold gaze sweeping over the suspicious stains on my clothes. Her lips curl into a sneer but she doesn’t voice her contempt.

“I need to see Mr. Montesano,” I rasp.

She arches a brow. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but⁠—”

“Call in the morning,” she snaps, dismissing me to turn her attention to a man on my left.

Humiliation burns under my skin like firecrackers, and desperation claws at my throat. The sensation tightens with each second I’m kept away from Benito.

But I can’t back down. I can’t wait. After all the shit I’ve escaped, this woman doesn’t get to brush me off. As the crowd closes in around my personal space, the words burst from my chest. “I’m Benito Montesano’s fiancée!”

Heads turn, eyes narrow. Whispers rise like a hiss.

The receptionist’s smile falters, and her fingers freeze above the keyboard. She sweeps her gaze down my disheveled form, her lips tightening with disbelief.

“Excuse me?” she says.

“You heard me.” I raise my chin. “Now, get my fiancé.”

The reception falls into a hush, and eyes bore into my skin like blunt daggers. My stomach twists, and every instinct screams to crawl into a ball, but I straighten my spine.

The woman picks up the phone, her gaze never leaving mine, and whispers something into the receiver. Seconds drag until a security guard appears at my side. He grips my arm like I’ve been caught counting cards.

Hope flickers in my chest as we thread through the casino, passing the glittering lights and glamorous patrons. The further we go, the dimmer the atmosphere, the more the plush carpets give way to cold tile.

My pulse quickens, unease gnawing at the edges of my mind. I stare at the man’s profile. “Where are you taking me?”

“Waiting room,” he mutters, not meeting my eyes.

We reach an unmarked door at the end of a narrow hallway. He opens it and shoves me inside. I stumble forward, catching myself on the edge of a metal table. Then the door slams shut, sealing my fate.noveldrama

Turning, I take in my surroundings—bare walls, no windows, a single chair, and a table bolted to the floor. This isn’t a waiting room. It’s a cell.

I rush back to the door and pound my fist against the cold metal. “Let me out! I need to see Benito!”

Silence answers. No footsteps, no voices—just the suffocating quiet and the thunder of my pulse.

I slump into the chair, my mind reeling. It’s all too much—Mom marrying a murderer, the cold detachment Benito showed me at the boutique, getting fired, Julian’s grabbing hands, Brisket ripping him into bloody shreds. My stomach churns at the memory of his lifeless eyes, his blood pooling across the floor.

Then there’s those fucking sharks.

Tears burn behind my eyelids, threatening to blur my vision. I’m in the worst trouble of my life, utterly alone, and it’s entirely my fault. I walked away from Benito to avoid pain, but all I found was trauma.

Chest tightening, the fear, the regret, the horror of today bubbles from the pit of my stomach until I can no longer hold back. Wet trails streak down my face, but I don’t bother to wipe them away. For the first time in years, I let myself break.

My chest heaves with sobs I can’t control. I’ve lost everything—my job, my dignity, and now, my last shred of hope. The pain is too much, the regret too sharp.

Benito used to make me French toast and strawberries every morning before class. He’d carry my books, take my notes, and draw lavender-scented baths every night. I can’t believe I allowed Dad to tear us apart.

Now, I’d give my soul to be his again. To be safe in the warmth of his love.

My sobs turn into wails, and I collapse to the table, wishing I could disappear. Every breath hurts, every thought is a knife twisting in my gut.

This is what I deserve for betraying him.

As if summoned by my guilt, the door creaks open. Benito stands in the doorway, looking like a Roman god. I scramble to my knees, every instinct driving me to beg for forgiveness.

But my words come as sobbing gibberish. I can’t form a coherent sentence, but I tell him about everything that’s happened since someone murdered Dad in his bed. The words spill out in a mad rush. How I met Bob Brisket, his late night visits, Valentino Bossanova’s plan to murder Mom for the insurance money.

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.