Stalking Ginevra (Morally Black Book 4)

When Carla knocks on the office door to take me to lunch, I wonder if Benito assigned her to be my guard. Vitale and Lorenzo join us on the walk through the casino’s back hallways until we reach a private dining room near the kitchens.

The chef brings us a vibrant panzanella, brimming with onions, tomatoes, cucumbers, basil, and toasted ciabatta soaked in olive oil and vinegar. When I find capers and anchovies in my salad, my breath catches. This is so typical of the old Benito—always remembering my favorites, always paying close attention to detail to make me happy.

I glance across the table, finding Carla staring at the salad with a frown. “Everything okay?”

“It’s my dad.” She shakes her head and sighs. “He won’t eat, won’t get dressed, won’t leave the house. He’s depressed.”

“Has he seen a doctor?”

Her mouth twists. “I’ve set up appointments, but he’s too stubborn to go.”

“Keep working on him.” I place a hand on her arm. “Men are like boulders. You need to wear them down, little by little. One day, you’ll break through, and they’ll listen.”

She gives me an absent nod. “Maybe that only applies to the younger ones.

My thoughts drift to Dad and how he forced me to end my engagement to Benito with his fists, and I shudder. For five years, he did nothing—said nothing—while I suffered under Samson’s abuse. He could have intervened, but his association with the Capello family was too lucrative.

It still stings, the way Dad treated me like an asset—something to be bartered and leveraged. Carla has a point. Just because Benito has stopped treating me like a caged bird, it doesn’t mean all men are malleable.

Shoulders sagging, I drop my gaze to the salad. “You could be right.”

We continue eating in silence, my mind still circling back to thoughts of Dad’s betrayal. Later, the chef returns with a vanilla panna cotta topped with a raspberry coulis. He hovers by the door, clasping his hand, his eyes fixed on me like he’s waiting for the final judgment.

I take a bite, and hum. The panna cotta melts on my tongue, a perfect contrast of silky sweetness against the tart sharpness of the raspberries.

“It’s wonderful,” I say with a smile.

“Thank you, Mrs. Montesano. I’m glad the dish was a success.” With a quiet bow, he slips from the room, leaving behind the warm, lingering scent of vanilla and fruit.

As we continue our lunch, I wonder if this is the start of my new reality: being escorted by bodyguards, protected in even the most mundane activities.

Samson had his men, but he allowed me to go to work unaccompanied. Back then, I thought it was freedom, a twisted gesture of trust. Maybe he didn’t care if I was abducted. Maybe Benito thinks I’m worth protecting. After all, he brought me to dinner with men like Emmanuel and Marcello Demartini—something Samson would never have allowed.

After lunch, Carla leaves to perform her other duties, and Lorenzo and Vitale escort me back to the office. I continue unpicking the tangle of business entities until I find a shell company with a single shareholder named Vittorio Pizzica.

Interesting.

Setting those documents aside, I wonder if this Vittorio is the same Victor who’s been stealing from the casinos. A strange sense of excitement bubbles up in my chest, the kind of thrill I haven’t felt in years.

I sift through more documents, my mind racing, pushing aside the haze of exhaustion. Carla breaks up the frenzy with deliveries of water, juice, and fresh coffee, helping me stay hydrated.

Hours pass. I glance through the floor-to-ceiling window at the gambling tables below. The hum of chatter and the clinking of slot machines drift up through the glass, stirring a pang of nostalgia. Benito and I used to be obsessed with this place, and now I work here with him. The casino is alive with energy, so different from the structured chaos of my old job.

I can’t believe this all belongs to Benito. And more than that, I can’t believe Benito belongs to me.

The door opens, and I turn to find him striding in, clad in a black suit and matching shirt. A familiar ache settles in my chest—he looks both exhausted and powerful, his hair still damp from a shower, his features set in a hard mask.

“Where have you been?” I ask.

“Cracking Bellavista heads.” He walks over and presses a kiss on my temple. Instead of moving to his desk, he lingers, his arm slipping around my shoulder, pulling me into his warmth.

“Find anything?” I ask.

“My men are following a few leads,” he murmurs into my ear. “How was your day?”

“Thanks to the documents you sent over, I’ve traced large amounts of money from Bellavista’s side operations in the U.S. to offshore shell companies. It’s a complex network, but I’m starting to piece it together.”

“Good work,” he says, his lips brushing my ear, sending a thrill down my spine. “How much are we talking about?”

“I’ve found twenty million so far, but I haven’t finished.”

He leans down, his lips ghosting over mine, his breath warm against my skin. “You’re amazing.”

Then his mouth claims mine in a slow, deliberate kiss. He slides his hand to the nape of my neck, his fingers curling in my hair. I gasp, my nipples tightening as he pulls me closer.

The kiss deepens, his lips moving with a controlled desperation that sends heat pooling in my core. His touch is both familiar and electrifying, and I lose myself in the moment. When he groans, the sound goes straight to my clit, but then my mind dredges up the name Vittorio Pizzica.

“Wait,” I murmur into the kiss, my hands on his shoulders. “I might have another lead toward Victor.”

Benito pulls away, his gaze sharpening. “Explain.”

My heart is still racing from the kiss, and my thoughts stumble over one another as I stutter out an explanation. I tell him everything I discovered about the shell company and the assets Bellavista’s operations funneled into its accounts.

He cups my face, his lips curving into a smile. There’s something in his eyes I haven’t seen for half a decade—pride. Genuine admiration.

“You’re brilliant,” he says.

I lower my lashes, not feeling worthy of his praise.

“Look at me.”

I raise my gaze to meet his eyes. Eyes that soften only for me. Eyes framed by thick lashes, sharp cheekbones, and a strong brow. Eyes I could look into for the rest of my life and still find some new, fascinating depth.

“What?” I ask.

“I underestimated you, and I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“For not realizing what I had sooner. For not appreciating your genius earlier.” Lowering his lashes, he leans in for another kiss, but I place my fingers on his lips.

“Not sorry for anything else?” My voice trembles, bracing for an apology.

His gaze hardens. “When your heart walks out on you and leaves for five years, the first thing you’re going to do when it returns is put it in a cage.”

A lump forms in my throat, the weight of his words pressing down on my chest. “You’re comparing me to an organ?”

“You’re more to me than my beating heart. More to me than the blood that runs through my veins. You’re the spark that gives me life. Without you, I’m just a shell.”

Emotion clogs my throat, making each breath a struggle. Tears prick my eyes, threatening to spill. I blink, forcing down a surge of guilt. I wasn’t prepared for this—his vulnerability, the way he’s laid everything bare. I knew leaving would make Benito miserable, but I’d selfishly hoped the hurt would fade.

“Don’t tell me you were pining for me the entire time we were apart,” I whisper, my voice breaking.

“Every single day.” His voice is rough, the words almost strangled.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, my heart lurching. “If I’d been thinking straight⁠—”

“It’s alright. You’ve explained yourself so many times I almost have the visuals.”

A bitter laugh escapes my chest, and I rest my head against his. Every breeding session was a chance to tell my side of the story. I recounted the events of our breakup from my point of view over and over. It’s a surprise he could even maintain an erection.

“I understand why you kept me imprisoned,” I murmur against his lips. “But you need to understand I was also miserable.”

His body tenses. “What do you mean?”

“Samson isn’t anything like you.”

Benito pulls back, his features creasing with concern. His eyes grow frantic, searching my face for answers. “Tell me.”

I glance around the office, my gaze landing over the bustling casino below. It’s too busy, too vibrant, too inappropriate for a confession of this magnitude. If he wants the sordid details, I’ll need to be grounded to open up about my five years of hell.

“Can we go somewhere else?” I ask. “This isn’t the sort of conversation I want to have in a casino.”noveldrama

He nods. “Let’s leave.”