3. Ginevra
3
GINEVRA
T he morning sun spills into my penthouse, warming the hardwood floors as I glide through my yoga routine. I let out a contented breath as the cool morning air hits my sweat-soaked skin. It’s been a hectic few days, and I couldn’t be happier to finally have some peace. What better way to spend a lovely morning than with some yoga?
Soft music plays from the TV, a morning talk show featuring cheerful hosts discussing the latest beauty trends among women. One of the male guests on the show says something about how he didn’t know women had body hair because he’d never seen a woman with any before.
I roll my eyes, stretching my body into another pose as the show host laughs heartily. The annoying show continues, their conversation becoming louder and more obnoxious. They are now arguing about whether or not makeup is just a mask for ugly women and that women who know their true beauty don’t need it.
I try to tune them out by breathing deeply and slowly. But when the loud conversation continues, I sigh in irritation before breaking my pose and grabbing the TV remote off the coffee table before switching to the news.
As I prepare to return to my stretching, the headline on the screen grabs my attention:
“Shocking Murder: Mutilated Body Discovered in Abandoned Warehouse Linked to Organized Crime.”
My hands freeze over the remote, my entire body stiffening at the sight of the crime scene photos being shown on the screen. As I watch the news unfold, the anchor’s voice steadies, but the words send a chill down my spine.
“Authorities have identified the victim as Vincento Torres, a cousin of prominent businessman and millionaire Esteban Torres, known for his lucrative real estate investments in. The body was found in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city at early hours of the morning, prompting an investigation into possible organized crime involvement...”
I feel a pang in my chest as a clip of Esteban addressing the press appears on the screen. Esteban and my brother were business partners at some point, though they hardly talked much anymore.
“I will get to the bottom of this!” he exclaims in anger and pain. “I will get justice for my family!”
I turn the TV off, my morning already ruined. I can’t shake the feeling of dread that rolls through me knowing that Lorenzo is tangled in business dealings with the cartel. Everyone knows that the cartel runs this city like a well-oiled machine, their influence seeping into every corner of life. They control everything—from high-profile businesses to the underbelly of illegal activities that thrive out of plain sight.
I’ve heard stories of their hierarchies, with powerful figures pulling the strings in politics, business, import and export, illegal trading of drugs, and even the police force.
Everyone dances to their tune, and it’s terrifying how many wealthy men are likely part of this shadowy world. They wear their suits like armor, blending seamlessly into the upper echelons of society while participating in the darkest of operations. Investigations come and go, but nothing ever sticks. Their power is formidable.
And then there’s Dario.
I’ve seen the way people shift in their seats when Dario enters a room. There’s an undeniable chill that fills the air, a mix of fear and respect that commands attention. I can’t shake the feeling that he holds immense power, both in the legal world and in the realm of organized crime. Lorenzo doesn’t reveal a lot to me about stuff like this. He only tells me that Dario is an arrogant, conceited prick who thinks he’s hot shit because of his money.
But oh, hot he is.
My throat hitches at the memory of him looking at me across the ballroom two nights ago. I remember the way my body shivered at the way his gaze travelled from head to toe, drinking in my curves until I felt naked. My whole body burned from desire, and then mortification. I was in the arms of my fiancé while feeling hot and bothered by another man across the room.
He was not only hot. He was handsome in a way that made my heart flutter. I can’t help but remember the boy he used to be—the one who played basketball with my brother, the one I had a crush on when I was just a girl. Back then, I thought he was the most beautiful boy in the world. That opinion hasn’t changed much in over fifteen years.
My stomach drops as I recall the way his heated gaze hardened the moment his eyes met my brother’s. I wonder what exactly came in between them. They used to be inseparable when we were younger.
Back then, Dario was just the son of one of my Papa’s henchmen, not the powerful man he is today. My parents always disapproved of him, especially my mother. Yet Lorenzo kept hanging out with him. I wonder what changed.
The memory of Dario’s smile surfaces, and this time around, I push it away. He didn’t even recognize me when we spoke the other night. Although I don’t blame him. I was just a kid the last time he saw me, and I’ve changed so much since then—my hair color, my body, the fact that I’m no longer a fucking kid.
No longer motivated to continue my routine, I feel the need to go grab some coffee from my favorite cafe. Going on a short drive this morning would definitely brighten my mood.
Just as I’m about to head out of the door, the intercom on the wall buzzes.
“Ms. Ginny, you have a package waiting. Would you like us to bring it up?” the lobby attendant asks.
I’m already slipping into my shoes, so I wave them off. “Leave it by my car, please! I’ll grab it on my way out.”
I assume it’s the car seat covers I ordered two days ago, and I’m surprised at how fast it arrived. Usually, it takes me a couple of days to receive my deliveries, but I guess I’m just fortunate this time around.
Grabbing my car keys from the magnetic key holder on the wall, I leave my apartment and head for the elevator. The doors open with a soft ding, and I make my way to the outdoor parking lot where I left my car last night.
I step out of the building and walk towards my car. At a distance, I spot my package in a brown box beside the Porsche Macan Lorenzo got me for my twentieth birthday. It’s been two years, and yet it still looks brand new with its sleek exterior gleaming under the morning sun.
A small frown appears on my face as I see how small the box is. It’s much smaller than I expected, and confusion washes over me. Did I order something else? Or did the delivery driver mix up my order? A car seat surely wouldn’t fit in such a tiny box.
I feel myself getting pissed again. It’s too early in the day for this. I’m temporarily pulled from my anger as I bask in the sun, bright yet not too hot, against my skin. Ugh! What I wouldn’t give to lounge on a beach somewhere right now.
Speaking of beaches, I remember suggesting to Rinaldo that we go to Santorini, Greece, for our honeymoon. He dismissed the idea immediately, claiming that the term “honeymoon” was meaningless. According to him, every day of our marriage should be special, and we didn’t need any pointless vacations to mark our union.
I roll my eyes at the memory.
‘Way to ruin your entire day, Ginny,’ my inner voice mocks.
Just then, as if on cue, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see that it’s Rinaldo calling. I answer with a sigh.
“Did you not get my text?” he snaps as soon as I place the phone against my ear.
“No, I didn’t,” I sigh, already fed up before the conversation even unfolds. “I must have missed it.”
“What were you busy with this time around? Doing Yoga?” he taunts. He knows I do yoga almost every morning, and it’s another of my interest he thinks it’s pointless.
‘If you want to get some movement in your body, get a gym membership or something ,’ he’d said the last time he stayed over. He was irritated when he woke up expecting morning sex and found me doing yoga instead.
I feel my eyes twitch in irritation.
“I know you’re still mad about that night, but I don’t appreciate you talking to me like this,” I say, trying to stay calm. “I’ve apologized, and it’s been two days.”
“You apologized, yet there’s always something silly distracting you from more important matters,” he retorts. “Like, I don’t know, your fiancé’s texts and missed calls.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sigh.
“What did you want to talk about?”
“We’ve been engaged for two months, and you’re still not wearing my ring, Ginny. Do you know how that makes me look?”
I try not to dwell on how he’s more concerned about appearances than about genuinely claiming me as his fiancée. I nod along, half-listening as I continue walking towards my car.
“Fine, I messed up your ring size, but I’ve been asking you for weeks to find time for us to get it right. We should go ring-testing later this week. Please make the time. I’m a busy man with the elections coming up, and I want you by my side as we start the campaigns. Our wedding will be here before we know it…”
I tune him off as a chill runs down my spine. Something feels off. My heart races, but I push the feeling aside.
“So, what’s it going to be, Ginny? Will you be free, or does this clash with one of your...activities?”
“Yeah, I’ll call you back later,” I mumble distractedly before ending the call.
Just as I take another step forward, a blinding light erupts before me, followed by a deafening explosion. I’m thrown backward, and my body crashes against a far wall behind me. My mind is a mess, the world spinning, the ground shaking beneath me. My heart pounds in my chest as I fight to comprehend what just happened.
Smoke fills the air, and chaos erupts around me. I struggle to sit up as panic claws at my throat.
The package exploded on my car.
Someone just tried to kill me.