Stalking Ginevra (Morally Black Book 4)

Hours later, I sit in my office, perched high above the casino’s VIP section. Below, the floor is alive with activity—gamblers huddling around poker tables, while others hover over roulette wheels and blackjack games.

The constant murmur of voices and clinking of chips rises like a chorus, layered with the soft hum of slot machines and the distant sound of laughter. Cocktail waitresses glide between the tables, balancing trays of top-shelf liquor, their smiles calculated to loosen wallets.

From up here, I see everything. And everything is mine.

A smirk pulls at my lips as I lean back in my leather chair, savoring the afterglow of my date with Ginevra. The footage from the cameras I installed at the stage plays on my phone, capturing every twitch of her body, every gasp and moan.

I rewind to the moment she came undone, her body arching off the stage. A wave of satisfaction surges straight to my core, my cock stirring at the memory. My first attempt at eating pussy was a success. All that time spent watching porn, studying every move, every technique, paid off.

My hand drifts toward my belt, ready to indulge in a replay of the pleasure I took in marking her as mine. Next time, I’ll make her suck me off while I drown in her juices, time our climaxes so we both come in a simultaneous rush. I make a mental note to buy a set of orange paws to match her ears and tail.

A sharp knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts. My smirk fades, replaced by a scowl. Who the hell would dare interrupt my private time with Ginevra?

Forcing back a surge of annoyance, I pause the video.

“What?” I bark.

The door opens, and Enzo Vitale steps inside, carrying a thick folder. He’s one of the more promising boys from Mortis House, with a knack for spotting patterns others miss.

Sitting straighter, I smooth out my features. He wouldn’t interrupt unless it was important.

“We’ve got a problem,” he says with a gulp.

I lean forward, all thoughts of Ginevra receding. The boys have spent the entire morning performing audits on the departments. We already analyzed the data our hackers extracted from the casino’s financial systems months before the raid. This has to be something new.

“What is it?” I demand.

Vitale drops the folder onto my desk. “Counterfeit chips. It’s the biggest financial drain on the casino. They’re flooding the floor.”

Cold fury explodes in my gut. I rise, pushing the chair back with enough force to make it squeal against the floor. “Show me.”

Nodding, Vitale turns on his heel, leading the way out of the office. As we walk, Franco Lorenzo joins us. Lorenzo is another from Mortis House, also majoring in accountancy.

We descend from my office, taking the private elevator that drops us onto the ground floor. The noise and lights hit like a wall, but I push through, my focus honed on the financial drain.

Lorenzo outlines how the counterfeit chips have slipped past our security checks. “They’ve been mixed in with the legitimate ones, swapped during busy hours when the floor is packed. We traced the flow, and it’s been happening for months, maybe years.”

The more he talks, the colder my rage burns. Every time a scammer cashes one of those chips, the casino bleeds cash. What I don’t understand is how Capello allowed that to happen. Or was the theft his way of rewarding those who defected from Dad?

We exit the staff door and step into the public area, steeped in the clamor of the casino, but I’m only focused on finding the source of this theft.

We pass the main bar, and I spot Carla Romano, a cocktail waitress on my personal payroll. Reaper planted her here years ago to keep an eye on the casino. She’s a petite brunette, whose sharp eyes miss nothing, and has a way of blending in that makes her invisible to the untrained eye.

I signal for Carla to follow, leading us to a quieter corner away from prying ears, and more importantly, the cameras.

“What do you know about counterfeit chips?” I ask.

Carla hesitates, her eyes flicking between me and the boys. “The old head of security knew about them. From the way he talked, it was just a few thousand bucks leaving the casino. He said it was under investigation.”

I scoff.

Her brows furrow. “That was a lie?”

The boys flanking me both nod.

She rubs her chin. “I didn’t realize it was this big. I guess he was hiding his scam in plain sight.”

Eyes narrowing, I turn my thoughts to the arrogant fucker I had to subdue. “And the new guy?”

She shifts on her feet, her gaze dropping to the floor. “Malfi? He worked closely with the old boss. He had to know.”

I nod. “Back to work.”

Carla deflates with relief and scurries away. But this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Hours later, after gathering more intel, we head out to the home of Albert Malfi, a modest apartment a mile away from the casino. The four of us—Vitale, Lorenzo, and two others from Mortis House—approach the building in a bulletproof vehicle. I still need to take precautions, since Cesare and Roman still haven’t resolved that bullshit with the assassins.

The street is quiet, but my mind is a storm. If I don’t fix this shit with the chips, I may as well hand the casino back to Roman.

Breaking in is easy. The door barely creaks as Vitale jimmies open the lock. Malfi’s apartment is small, cluttered with cheap furniture and the smell of stale cigarettes. We move through the narrow hallway, finding him passed out in bed, his mouth open, his stubbled chin glistening with drool.

With the stuffed animal cradled in his arms, he looks nothing like this morning’s cocky bastard.

I press the barrel of my gun against his temple and cock the hammer. At the sound, his eyes snap open, and he sucks in a terrified gasp.

“Boss… I⁠—”

“Quiet.”

He clamps his mouth shut, his breath quickening. Sweat beads on his forehead, and his gaze darts around the room like a trapped animal searching for an escape.

“Tell me everything you know about the counterfeit chips,” I growl.

Panic flashes across his features as his lips flap, scrambling for a response. “I was just following orders. My old boss was the one running the operation from the inside. I swear, I didn’t make a dime of profit!”

“Prove it.”

Lorenzo steps forward, snatching Malfi’s phone from the bedside table. He thrusts it in front of his face. “Unlock it.”

Shivering, Malfi swipes his fingers across the screen. Lorenzo digs through the apps, using his Mortis House training to track any trace of offshore accounts or hidden assets. While he runs through emails, messaging apps, and whatever else he can find, the other boys search the apartment.

Minutes pass, and tension mounts as we wait. I glare at Malfi, daring him to move. He’s clever enough to remain silent, yet sweat rolls down his face in rivulets.

Finally, Lorenzo breaks the silence. “All I’m seeing is his personal account. Nine hundred bucks and change. No offshore holdings, no big transfers.”

Malfi collapses, his fear morphing into relief. “I would have said something, but I didn’t want to be a snitch. That sort of talk can get a man killed.”

“Who else was involved?” I demand.

He rattles off a list of names, his gaze locked on mine, too terrified to look away. Vitale makes notes with the occasional question.

When he’s finished, I ask, “Anything else?”

The man hesitates, his eyes darting to the stuffed bear beside him before he blurts, “My old boss had a contact at BV Holdings. Maybe he knows something about the chips.”

BV Holdings. The name rings through my mind like a warning bell. Salvatore Bellavista’s company. If he’s involved, this scam is much bigger than I thought.

I motion to Vitale. “Dig into the Bellavista family tree. I want to know if any of their members are employed at the casino.”

Nodding, Vitale jots down my command. I spare the stuffed animal a glance before turning to leave the room.

“What about me?” Malfi asks.

I pause, my lips tightening. Contrary to my actions, I’m not a monster. I understand how power works in this world. Going against one’s boss might get a person killed. I should have set up one-to-one meetings with every department head. Given them the opportunity to inform me of the corruption within their ranks.

But I’m the last person to trust what anyone says. Two people I loved and trusted the most, Ginevra and Mother, said they loved me one day and were gone the next. Despite this lack of trust, I regret skipping the private sessions. Maybe we could have sifted through the bullshit faster.

“You’ll submit to a beating. If you survive, you can keep your job.”

He nods, his face streaming with tears. “When?”

I smirk. “At a time of my choosing.”

“Thank you, boss.” He exhales a shuddering breath. “I swear, I’ll be loyal.”

Leaving him alive might be a mistake, but the casino is already desperately short-staffed. Its entire management team are now ashes scraped off the corners of my cousins’ cremators. Besides, I have more pressing concerns than Albert Malfi.noveldrama

Salvatore Bellavista is powerful and connected to families across the United States. If he’s involved in this counterfeiting ring, it could be the tip of a festering pile of shit.