Stalking Ginevra (Morally Black Book 4)

Hours later, I’m crouched behind an abandoned brick building, hidden in the dark. Larry Zambino is pacing beneath a flickering streetlight at the other end of the alley. The slot-machine-tampering bastard is waiting for Victor Bellavista.noveldrama

Reaper kneels at my side, scanning the street. The rest of the crew is scattered, tucked away behind dumpsters, corners, and abandoned cars, waiting for the moment to strike.

So far, Victor Bellavista has been a ghost. Counterfeit chips, rigged slots, and a host of scams we’ve yet to uncover. The man has had his hands in my business for too long, and I’ll make him bleed out every stolen cent.

Despite the urgency of tonight, I can’t stop thinking about Ginevra, and how she lured me into that ambush. She kept me hostage with her tight cunt, squeezing the life out of my cock while she filled my ears with honeyed words. Words I’ve longed to hear the entire time we were apart. Words that went straight to my heart.

By the time I climaxed, I was ready to fall to my knees and beg for her forgiveness. My jaw tightens. I’m powerless against that wretched woman.

Reaper claps a hand on my shoulder, breaking me out of my thoughts. “Married life getting to you?”

“Not now,” I snap.

He snorts, but the fact he noticed means I’m already slipping. “Zambino looks like he’s about to piss his pants.”

I grunt, my hand tightening on my pistol. It’s not just Zambino’s nerves—it’s the whole setup. The air feels too still, too quiet, like the city is holding its breath.

A car rumbles, and I turn just in time to see headlights slicing through the darkness. It pulls up to Zambino, the low hum of the engine growing louder, more menacing. Relaxing, Zambino steps toward the passenger window.

As it rolls down, his features slacken with shock. Before he can even utter a word, gunfire erupts, filling the street with a staccato crack of bullets. Zambino drops to the pavement, bleeding through multiple wounds.

“Shit!” I sprint to my car, my boots slamming against the pavement as I bark orders into my earpiece. “After them! Don’t let that car leave the city.”

I slide behind the wheel as Reaper dives into the passenger seat. The engine snarls awake, and my men emerge from the shadows, their tires screaming as they tear through the alley. I hit the gas, reveling in the surge of power. That bastard isn’t escaping. Not tonight.

My grip tightens on the wheel as I give chase, navigating each turn, my tires spitting sparks on the asphalt. Adrenaline hums through my system, but it’s the cold burn of rage that keeps me focused.

The flash of confusion in Zambino’s eyes tells me Victor sent someone else. Someone who wasn’t planning on Zambino the rendezvous leaving alive.

I yank the wheel hard, swerving the car around a corner, narrowly missing a heap of trash. The car ahead fishtails, clipping a dumpster, sending out explosions of debris. They’re panicking. But every wild swerve, every mistake, only brings me closer. The noose is tightening.

Reaper pulls out a control pad and taps on its screen. “Deploying drones,” he says. Seconds later, I catch sight of the aerial hunters pursuing the fleeing car. “They’re ready to fire on your command.”

The killer’s vehicle takes another sharp turn, scraping against a brick wall with a metallic squeal. Jaw clenching, I lean forward. They’re getting reckless. Desperate.

On the next bend, the driver’s tires screech against wet asphalt. The car fishtails before slamming into a wall with a satisfying crunch. Its hood crumples like an accordion, billowing clouds of steam.

I slam on the brakes. Before the engine stops sputtering, I’m out, gun drawn, and heading to the wreckage. Heart pounding, I approach the car, my boots crunching over the broken glass, my eyes locked on the driver’s door.

“Secure the area!” I snap, gesturing at my men to fan out and cover every angle.

Reaper moves in first, yanking open the driver’s door. A middle-aged woman collapses onto the pavement, her bruised face hitting the ground with a thud.

Not what I expected.

Reaper crouches down to check her pulse. “She’s alive.”

“Who the fuck is she?” I mutter, my gaze flicking to a half-packed duffle bag on the front passenger seat.

“Makes no sense,” Reaper mutters.

I clench my jaw, my patience close to snapping. This wasn’t the plan. Victor was supposed to be here, and now we’re left with a half-dead woman and no answers.

“Get her in a van,” I snap and step back to scan the area for any more surprises. “Search every inch of that car. I don’t care if it’s a gum wrapper. I want to know everything.”

As my men move in to lift the woman, a streetwalker steps out from around the corner. Clad in a leopard-print mini skirt and a fake fur jacket, her heels click against the pavement, and her hips sway like she’s still on the clock. Her sharp eyes flick between the wrecked car and the unconscious woman.

“Rough night, huh?” she says with a sly grin. “I could call the cops, or you could make it worth my time to forget what I saw.”

“Get the hell out of here,” I snap.

Her gaze flickers to my chest as if she can see through the armor. Before I can deal with her, Reaper staggers backward with a shout.

“We’ve got a problem!”

I turn just in time to see him pull a digital device out of the woman’s purse, resembling a bomb. The countdown is already ticking with thirty seconds left on the clock.

“Everyone, move!” I yell. “Reaper, get her out of here!”

Reaper scoops up the unconscious woman and runs with the other men. The streetwalker stands rooted to the spot, her eyes wide and paralyzed with fear.

“Move!” I grab her arm, but she’s frozen.

With a curse, I throw her over my shoulder and charge to the end of the alley. She screams, but it’s drowned out by the roar of the explosion.

We barely make it to safety when another blast tears through the night like it’s Armageddon. Flames and debris rain down, lighting up the sky. I duck behind a wall, releasing the streetwalker who gasps and tries to escape.

“Stay down,” I growl, stopping her from scrambling back toward danger.

Her earlier confidence is gone, replaced with wide-eyed terror. She says nothing—just nods, her knees buckling, her chest heaving like she’s about to give birth.

I pull out a handful of bills from my pocket and shove them into her trembling hands. “Breathe a word about this and I’ll blow you to pieces. Now, get the fuck out of here.”

She sprints around the corner like there’s another explosion on her back. Smart woman.

By the time I reach Reaper and the others, the wreckage is still burning in the distance, casting an eerie glow over the street. The middle-aged woman Reaper rescued is laid out on a stretcher, unconscious but breathing, her clothes stained with blood. Medics work on stabilizing her under his supervision.

This is no contract killer. Every assassin I know has mastered the fine art of escape. I turn to the medic. “Can you wake her?”

“This stimulant will do it.” He pulls out a syringe and injects clear fluid into her arm.

A few tense seconds pass before she stirs, her face contorting with agony. Her eyes flutter open, and she stares up at us, confused and disoriented.

Reaper holds her steady as she tries to sit up, and I crouch down, forcing our gazes to meet.

“Who are you? Why the hell was there a bomb in your car?”

Blinking rapidly, she breathes hard. Fear flashes across her eyes, which only sharpens when she sees my gun.

“Victor Bellavista took my daughter.” She chokes out a sob. “He said if I didn’t do what he asked, he’d kill her.”

I signal to Reaper. “See if she can identify him.”

Reaper digs into his jacket pocket, pulling out a tablet. He swipes until a photo of Salvatore Bellavista fills the screen and turns it toward her.

She shakes her head. “I’ve never met Victor. He’s just a voice on a phone who orders me about.”

“You’re sure?” I ask, my voice tight.

She squeezes her eyes shut, loosening tears. “Yes, I swear.”

I grit my teeth. Victor’s been one step ahead the whole time, and we’re still no closer to uncovering his identity.

“Get her out of here,” I growl.

As my men move into action, I pace outside a triage truck, my fists clenched, my veins coursing with fury. Victor Bellavista is a coward operating from the shadows, using regular people to do his bidding. Tonight’s bomb tells me how far he’s willing to go to conceal his identity.

Reaper joins me, his features grim. “What’s next?”

“We pay Salvatore another visit. If he’s protecting Victor, I’ll burn his entire empire to the ground.”

Reaper grunts. “You still think he’s hiding the man?”

“He’s hiding something.” I mutter.

I stride toward the car, my mind already working through the next move. It’s time to take a tougher approach—both with the bastards threatening my casino, and with my wife.