Stalking Ginevra (Morally Black Book 4)

After the world’s most refreshing cold shower, my mind is cooler, calmer, clearer. Stabbing is too good a death for a depraved creature like Valentino Bossanova.

He’s responsible for the suffering and demise of more women than I can count. That old bastard deserves agony, and I know exactly how to deliver it.

I step out of the avocado-colored bathroom a new woman, bolstered by the shoulder pads on my safari jumpsuit and the thin covering of makeup over my bruises.

They used to call this power dressing, and I understand why: it feels like I’m channeling the strength of every 1980’s vixen. Even my hair is more voluminous.

And with the knife in my pocket, I no longer feel like such a victim.

A heavy fist pounds again on the bedroom door. “Time’s up,” he snaps. “We’re leaving.”

I walk across the room, turn the handle, and step out, nearly bumping into Bossanova. With a new dark rinse covering his gray hair and a thick layer of fake tan over his bruises, he looks more like the killer Casanova I’ve grown to despise.

“You clean up well.” He flashes his teeth, revealing a mouth full of dentures. His gaze travels down my jumpsuit, but he’s too busy staring at my cleavage to notice the knife-shaped bulge in my pocket. “Are you planning on giving me any trouble on the ride back?”

“No,” I rasp. “Just glad to be going home.”

He snorts. “Follow me. Try anything stupid and you’ll lose a kidney.”

That’s a bluff, but I’m not about to take any chances. I remember how he stormed the office years ago, crying tears of blood when his brother was sentenced to death. Dad told him there was nothing he could do this time because the evidence had been so damning, but Valentino swore revenge.

Maybe this is why he’s treating me so badly. Because he thinks Dad could have done more to save his murderous brother from the electric chair. Or maybe it’s because I looked down on him when he was pretending to be Mom’s fiancé. Either way, I hope his desire to be reunited with Gianni outweighs his grudge.

I follow him down the staircase, back into the glitzy living room, and out through another exit where a black Bentley awaits beneath covered parking. My heart pounds, my hands curl into fists, and every instinct screams at me to fight, flee, or find a way to take him out. I clench my teeth, forcing myself to move forward, and slide into the back passenger seat.

The car’s interior is as luxurious as it is suffocating, filled with the mingled scents of leather and expensive cologne. Nose wrinkling, I secure my seatbelt and try to stay small.

Bossanova casts me a filthy glance as he enters. “I’m not your fucking chauffeur. Sit in the front.”noveldrama

Grinding my teeth and unbuckling, I clamber over the console and deposit myself into the seat beside my enemy.

With a satisfied grunt, he starts the engine, making the Bentley roar to life. He pulls out from the car port and continues down a long driveway.

“I suppose you want to know why I have so many hideouts,” he says.

“Not really,” I mutter.

“My brother and I have specific tastes in women,” he replies as if I’m interested. “We only dabble with the most beautiful, stylish, and wealthy bitches.”

Is that why you fucked your own daughter?

I don’t say that, of course, because I want to hurt Bossanova with more than just words. When I’ve finished with him, his whole world will crumble.

“Of course, your mother didn’t make the grade,” he continues. “Nice looking enough, but penniless.”

I tune him out. This is going to be a long, hellacious drive.

We spend the rest of the day traveling through swathes of countryside, with Valentino answering the phone to give Benito updates on our progress. The old man is in unusually good spirits, even though I suspect he’s walking into a trap. It’s probably because he keeps stopping every couple of hours to snort cocaine.

By the time the sun dips toward the horizon, casting long shadows across dilapidated buildings on the outskirts of New Alderney, I’m so hungry, thirsty, and exhausted that I can barely keep my eyes open.

My stomach gnaws at its own walls, the membranes of my throat scrape together like sandpaper, and my head lolls back against the leather headrest.

“Wake up,” he snaps.

I turn my head toward the driver’s seat. “Why?”

“Because we’re ten minutes away from the drop-off point. If Montesano sees you looking like the walking dead, he’ll put a bullet through my brother’s skull.”

“You should have thought about that before starving and beating me, then,” I say before I can stop myself.

His hand whips out, and he grabs my hair, sending an explosion of pain across my scalp. Screaming, I slap him away, but he shoves me to the other side of the car.

“Worthless bitch,” he hisses. “I should have disposed of you alongside the other one.”

“And lose your hundred-million-dollar bargaining chip?” I reply.

He returns to the steering wheel and chuckles. “That’s what I like about you. Always got an answer.”

My jaw clenches. He doesn’t like me at all.

Ten minutes later, we approach an abandoned parking lot close to Alderney Hill. Bossanova refused to drive up to the Montesano Mansion gates because there’s only one way out. Anyone with even half a brain would predict Benito’s men would block the road and rain gunfire until Valentino no longer poses a threat.

Forest land surrounds the patch of land on three sides, with the trees casting ominous shadows over a derelict truck covered in rust. We pass a few abandoned cars, stripped of their useful parts, and I wonder if this is the right place.

Bossanova parks beside the truck, using its frame as a shield. Up ahead is an exit leading to a path that cuts into the forest. He’s probably positioning the car for a fast getaway.

“What now?” I rasp.

“We’re thirty minutes early,” he mutters, taking a flask from the glove compartment and twisting off its cap. After a long swig of its contents, he slumps back in his seat and sighs. “Montesano will bring my brother, then we’ll make the swap.”

I glare into the side of his face, wanting to savor his last moment of hope. “Then what?”

He smiles, revealing a mouthful of brilliant white dentures. “Then my brother and I will start a new life outside New Alderney.”

Questions float to the top of my mind. Does he think Benito will let him leave this parking lot alive? Has he forgotten all the crimes he committed against the casino as Victor Bellavista? From his wistful smile, it looks like he’s trapped in delusions.

I sit back, letting him enjoy this final moment of peace before everything turns to shit.

Moments later, a quartet of trucks rumble into the lot. One of them cuts off the lane ahead of the Bentley, blocking Valentino’s potential escape.

“Shit,” he hisses. “I told Benito to come alone.”

The lining of my stomach trembles, but I don’t think the sensation is connected to my hunger. My pulse quickens, and a lump forms in my throat.

“But you came back,” I say.

“What the hell does that mean?” he snaps.

“You’ve just told Benito how much you want your brother.”

“And?”

“That was a poor negotiation tactic.”

“What do I do?” he asks.

My brow pinches. Is he really asking me for advice? From the way those cold eyes bore into mine, the answer has to be yes.

“Demand a simultaneous release,” I reply with a sigh. “Your hostage in exchange for his.”

He gives me an eager nod then darts his gaze to the trucks blocking the exits. “And then what?”

“Are you really the genius who ran circles around Benito and everyone else?”

His throat bobs. “My brother helped.”

Translation: Gianni is the brains behind the operation. Valentino was just the front man.

“There’s only one way to get Benito off your back,” I say.

“What’s that?”

“Refund the hundred million⁠—”

“No.”

“Then you can take your chances.”

He pulls out a gun and points it at my head. “Or I can just kill you now.”

The threat falls flat, making me purse my lips. Ignoring the icy shiver snaking down my spine, I maintain eye contact, refusing to be intimidated by a maniac high on drugs.

“Killing me will only make things worse for Gianni,” I say. “I once saw Benito tear out a man’s heart for doing less.”

“Valentino,” an unfamiliar voice says through a bullhorn.

His face drops. “Gianni?”

“Val, it’s me,” the voice replies. “Let the girl go. Roman’s brother was good enough to send a chopper to the penitentiary this morning. We can be together, now. I’m free.”

My eyes narrow at the phrasing, but I shrug off my suspicions. Now isn’t the time for speculating.

Valentino winds down the window and yells, “Where are you, Gianni?”

A man steps out from behind the truck blocking the escape route. He’s what Valentino would have looked like without the hard living.

Vibrant, with salt-and-pepper hair swept behind a strong brow, and a trim beard accentuating classically handsome bone structure. He seems taller than his brother, and broader, with muscles bulging beneath his black-and-white prison uniform.

My breath catches, and strangely, so does Valentino’s.

“Gianni,” he whispers.

The brother raises his bullhorn. “Let the girl go, Val. I already negotiated our escape with the Montesano family.”

I sit straighter in my seat, my fingers hovering over the door handle.

“What do you think?” Valentino mutters. “Is he telling the truth?”

My jaw drops. Did that cocaine come from 1980 as well as the outfit? And why the hell is he asking me? Smoothing my features into a neutral mask, I nod.

“Wasn’t Roman on death row at the same time as your brother?” I ask.

He chuckles. “Of course. This is how it all began.”

I don’t have the mental bandwidth to ask him to explain. All I care about is leaving the car.

“Let’s do the simultaneous release,” I say. “Gianni walks forward at the same time. Once your brother is in the car, they’ll let you go.”

“They won’t.”

“He already secured your safety.” I gesture at Gianni.

Valentino raises the gun to his temple and scratches. “If you’re wrong⁠—”

“Then I’ll come back,” I lie.

“Come on, Val,” Gianni says. “Don’t piss off the Montesano family.”

He shakes his head. “Fine.”

I open the door, and with a trembling breath, step out into the twilight. Cool, juniper-scented air sweeps across my face, carrying the scent of freedom. My knees buckle, but I hold onto the side of the car, forcing my body upright.

Up ahead, Gianni takes a single step forward, his gaze fixed on mine. I mirror his movements, my heart pounding hard enough to broadcast my ill intentions.

He tilts his head, gazing down at me, his eyes calculating. I wonder if he’s assessing whether I’m worth the hundred million dollar ransom.

“So, you’re Ginevra,” he says, his voice seductively low.

“Recognize this face?” I ask with a soft smile.

His brows pinch. “Vaguely. Do I know you?”

The knife finds his gut before he can finish. “No. But you know Jennifer. I’m her daughter.”

Eyes widening, he grabs my shoulders, his fingers digging in like claws. “What the⁠—”

“That young woman you married then murdered for money.” I twist the blade free, then drive it up between his ribs.

He collapses, but before I can turn, Valentino’s voice booms from behind. “Gianni!”

I whirl around. Valentino is already out of the car, his pistol aimed at my head. A gunshot cracks through the night, then everything happens at once.

A blur of movement, then something slamming into my side. I fall, expecting the searing pain of the bullet, but all I feel is the crushing weight of a larger body pinning me to the ground.

Heat spreads across my chest, sticky and warm. It’s blood, but not mine.

Gunfire erupts. Feet pound the earth, dragging off the weight. I draw in a noisy breath, my vision swimming, and blink away the dark spots.

When I turn to look at the face of my savior, it’s Benito.

And he’s gushing blood.