Stalking Ginevra (Morally Black Book 4)

I’m still erect as a dog from my encounter with Ginevra. My cock won’t stop raging until I’m watching her through those cameras, fucking my hand as she strokes her ginger pussy.

The elevator hums in sync with the thrum of my blood, a low mechanical whir that aggravates my shaft. Need coils tighter with each passing second, every floor dragging me closer to the breaking point.

My phone vibrates, snapping my focus. I pull it out, finding a message from Malfi:

Your wife is on the move.

Adrenaline spikes. Nostrils flaring, my fingers fly across the screen, firing off instructions to Carla. She needs to be in position, ready to escalate the upcoming confrontation between my security chief and my wife.

The elevator reaches the ground floor. Before its doors even think of opening, I slam my thumb against the panel, sending it back to the top. Impatience gnaws at my gut as the metallic bastard takes its sweet time ascending.

All traces of arousal escape my cock, morphing into impending dread. The ride feels like an eternity, each second a slow torture.

Malfi had better not hurt Ginevra. He’s an arrogant asshole, but how much damage can a man really do who sleeps alone with a stuffed animal? The thought would be amusing if the woman I love wasn’t at stake.

My fists clench, and I glare at the polished chrome walls, which reflect a distorted image. I’ve never looked so feral with these sharp eyes, clenched jaw, and prominent veins.

As the elevator inches upward, my thoughts churn. What the hell am I thinking? I’ve been without Ginevra for five years, and now I’ll resort to any method—no matter how depraved or cruel—to make her mine. Malfi’s frustration has to go somewhere. He might tear her apart.

Even thinking about that bastard burns through my veins like acid. I make a mental note to myself to stop using third parties to keep her in line. No men can be trusted around her but me.

Finally, the elevator dings its arrival. The doors slide open, and I explode into the hallway in a sprint. Doors whizz past in a desperate blur. My pulse hammers, anticipation tightening every muscle.

Halfway down the corridor, the sharp crack of a gunshot shatters the air. Panic freezes my blood, making my steps falter.

Ginevra.

I charge the rest of the way, my mind a blur of worst-case scenarios. What if she’s shot? What if she’s dead? My entire life isn’t worth living without the woman I love. With a burst of adrenaline, I slam into the door of Malfi’s suite.

Ginevra stands in the middle of the room, clutching a gun. Her face is pale, her eyes wide with shock. Malfi, the dumb bastard, holds Carla’s limp body in front of him like a shield.

My gaze snaps back to my wife. Her robe hangs off one shoulder, exposing darkening bruises. The hand gripping the gun shakes so hard, her fingers are at risk of pulling the trigger once more.

The sight of her beaten down, vulnerable, yet still standing, makes my heart twist. I turn to Malfi and snarl, “Nobody touches my wife!”

He drops Carla’s limp body. “Boss⁠—“

My fist connects with his mouth before he can finish that sentence. Rage explodes in my chest, burning away any semblance of control.

Malfi was supposed to be a random creep, someone Ginevra could dismiss. But the bastard just called me boss. My fists land blow after blow, fueled by the fear that everything I’ve worked for is about to unravel.

I can’t let her see me as a puppet master pulling strings. I need her to view me as her savior.

Each punch drives that desperation deeper, my knuckles splitting as they collide with his face. Blood spatters, but I don’t care. Malfi just jeopardized Ginevra’s trust in me, my plans, our future. He needs to die.

A voice screams at the edge of my consciousness, but I’m too deep in the rhythm of violence to care. The impact of the blows sends shockwaves up my arms, and my knuckles become slick with blood. The pain only fuels my anger. I pour everything into each punch—the frustration, the fear, the panic when I heard that gunshot.

“Benito!” The voice screams my name again, louder, cutting through the haze of my rage.

I freeze mid-swing, my breath ragged. Blinking through the haze of fury, I glance up to find Ginevra standing close, her pretty face streaked with tears.noveldrama

“Benito, stop it. You’re killing him!”

Her anguish cuts through the remnants of my anger. I stagger back, my chest heaving. Did she hear Malfi’s slip up?

I stare into those wide, gray eyes, forgetting how to breathe. My mind clears, leaving only gut-churning dread. Breath hitching, I freeze, wondering if this is the moment she asks if Malfi was a plant to keep her under my control.

My eyes snap to the pistol she’s still holding, its barrel pointing down at my feet.

“Give me the gun,” I say, keeping my voice steady.

She hesitates, her eyes flickering between Malfi’s fallen body and my bloody fists. “You can’t…” Her voice trembles. “Don’t kill him.”

Relief surges through my system, and I exhale lungfuls of tension. Holding my features into a mask of impatience, I stretch out a palm. “Death is too good for this bastard. He needs to go to jail.”

Her shoulders sag, and she steps forward, finally handing me the gun. Then she collapses against my chest. I wrap my arms around her shoulders, pulling her close. Honeysuckle invades my senses, reminding me of better days, when she was my sun, and I was her most ardent acolyte.

She sobs against my chest, trembling, and I hold her tighter, murmuring vague reassurances. Congratulating myself, I rock her from side to side, luxuriating in the moment I’ve orchestrated.

Ginevra now knows I’m nothing like Brisket, who would carve through a man’s insides to extract his heart. I’m the man who stopped. The man she can cling to when everything falls apart.

As she cries, I allow myself a small, inward smile. Finally, I’m the hero she needs.

Just as I’m about to scoop her off her feet, she pulls back and points to Carla, who lies unmoving on the floor.

“She tried to save me,” she whispers, her voice still trembling. “Please, help her.”

My brows rise. This isn’t the self-absorbed goddess I once knew. She’s just been through hell, but her first thought is for the woman from room service?

Masking my reaction, I nod and slide the key card from my pocket.

“Go to our suite.” I press it into her hand. “Get cleaned up.”

She hesitates, searching my eyes. For what, I’m unsure. I offer a kind smile, the sort that conveys that I still have a heart.

“Go, so I can call the police. We don’t want your name mixed up in this mess.”

Features relaxing, she gives me a trusting smile before drawing back. I watch her disappear through the exit and wait until I hear the click of the suite door.

Once she’s gone, I drop my mask, secure the door, pull out my phone, and dial Officer Rizzo.

He picks up on the second ring. “Benito?”

“Where are you?” I ask.

“Precinct.”

“Bring Barzelli. Get a team to the Hotel Montesano. I want the police swarming the upstairs hallway.”

“For what?” Rizzo asks.

“Put my head of security in handcuffs, knock on the honeymoon suite door, and demand to see Mrs. Montesano.”

“Your mom?” Rizzo asks.

“Don’t ask dumb questions,” I snarl. “Just do it.”

I hang up, shoving the phone back into my pocket just as Carla rises off the floor and scowls.

“You okay?” I ask.

She rubs her throat with one hand and crosses the fingers of another. “After this, she and I will be inseparable.”

I nod. “Good work.”

My gaze shifts to Malfi, still crumpled on the floor. Blood trickles from his split lip, which only ignites my fury.

“Get the fuck up,” I growl.

Wincing, Malfi struggles to his feet. That beat-down is only the beginning. He’s going to pay for almost jeopardizing my plans.