99 Percent Mine: A Novel

Benito stares up at me like he’s on his deathbed, his dark eyes drinking me in with the same intensity as when we first met. That gaze never fails to make me feel like the center of his universe, even though it’s now etched with fear. Despite his raw vulnerability, I barely recognize what he’s become.

I first noticed him hiding behind the kitchen pillar while Sofia taught me to make cookies. Back then, I had no use for boys. They were loud, annoying creatures only capable of destruction.

But Benito was different. He watched with quiet curiosity, kept his distance, never charging in with demands like Roman. Before I knew it, I was drawn to this quiet, olive-skinned boy who once said my cookies tasted like heaven. That memory feels so far away, tainted by every terrible act he’s committed to keep me under his control.

We grew up together, yet I still can’t understand how the hell he strayed so far from the adoring young man who once held my hands as we slept beneath the stars.

“Where do I even begin?” he rasps.

“What’s the first thing you did to get me back?” I ask.

When his gaze darts to the door, I lower myself into the seat at his bedside, sensing he’s about to confess something incriminating. His tongue flicks over his dry lips, and the bandages around his throat shift. I hesitate, then crack open a water bottle and bring it to his mouth.

“It was years in the making.” He takes a long sip. “Dad was dead, Roman was on death row, Mom was in the clutches of Tommy Galliano. And then there was you.”

I gulp, my breath shallowing. He doesn’t need to elaborate, since we both know Dad forced me to be with Samson.

“We all had our reasons for taking out the entire Capello family. Mine was to get you back.”

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” I say through clenched teeth. “That night you stormed Samson’s hideout and found me in the closet, you could have taken off your visor and offered me a hand. But you didn’t.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling a breath so labored that I shiver. My fingers twitch toward the call button, but I resist the urge to summon help. Instead, I open the water again and give him another sip.

“Continue,” I say. “Don’t gloss over your actions.”

Nodding, he meets my eyes again. “I hated you for leaving. I hated you for moving on with another man. I hated you for being the only woman in existence I found even remotely attractive⁠—”

“Stop exaggerating.”

“It’s only ever been you,” he snarls. “If I’d found a way to forget about you, I’d have taken it, but no other woman held my interest. They might as well be black-and-white cut-outs because you’re the only one who’s real.”

My chest tightens, and his words stir up memories of when I thought he was the only man I’d ever love. No matter how much I push them down, they still flood back, bringing with them a slew of happy moments. Cooking together in our student apartment, nights we spent talking about our future until sunrise, late afternoons frolicking in the treehouse.

I was his entire world and he was mine. But our time apart turned that sweet, adorable man into a Machiavellian monster. Tears sting my eyes. I glance away, my pulse quickening with a familiar ache, but then my gaze lands on the blood staining his hands.

And just like that, reality sharpens the edges of every memory—reminding me that Benito is capable of ripping out a man’s heart.

Shit. At this rate, he’ll weave a tale of an antihero driven mad with obsession, resorting to any means necessary to win back his beloved.

“Stop seeding your actions with grandiose declarations,” I say from between clenched teeth. “Give me the unvarnished truth.”

A muscle in his jaw clenches. “Alright.”

Then he tells me how he installed four men at the law firm to help Nick Terranova take control. They spread rumors, making it look like I knew Dad had embezzled the money. They withheld my payroll and froze my company credit cards to make sure I was penniless.

“What else?” I whisper.

“Your father didn’t owe money to loan sharks,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to his hands. “You were supposed to come running to me when I sent those men to your house, but you were stubborn.”

“So, it’s my fault?”

He turns away, sighs, then shakes his head. “When you ask why I went so hard, this is the reason why. I needed you to come to me for help, but you didn’t. Everything I did backfired.”

“What does that mean?”

“You told the sharks we were together, so they retreated. You were supposed to come to me for help about Bossanova, but you went to him,” he spits.

My jaw clenches. “By him, you mean Brisket?”

He nods.

“Who was, in fact, you.”

“I couldn’t have you falling in love with a masked bastard who treated you like shit.”

“Because you wanted me to fall for an unmasked bastard who treated me like a pawn instead?”

His features pinch. “There’s no excuse for what I did. I was insane.”

“No.”

He turns to meet my eyes. “What?”

“You were just being Benito,” I say, my throat thickening. “The grudges, the pride, the convoluted plots. That’s all you. After Samson died, going back to you wasn’t an option. We’ve known each other for decades. You never leave a slight unpunished.”

His nostrils flare, but he doesn’t reply because he knows I’m right. I glare at his handsome profile, waiting for him to deny it, but he sighs.

“When I lost you, I lost my humanity,” he murmurs. “Loving you was the only thing that tethered my soul.”

I shake my head. “So why didn’t you fight for me? You had so many chances to reconnect. That night in the closet, you could have taken me home. I would have given you anything.”

He meets my eyes again for a heartbeat before exhaling another sigh. “I wanted you humbled.”

“Why?”

“To punish you for leaving,” he says through clenched teeth. “To redress the balance for catering to your every whim while we were together, only for you to walk away.”

My ears ring with disbelief, fuelling my mounting fury. “Let me get this straight. You stripped away everything that mattered to me during the day, and at night came to me as a stalker who coerced me into sexual depravity?”

Breath quickening, he swallows like he’s trying to hold back a confession. “It was insanity. After an entire life of celibacy⁠—”

“Don’t blame this on blue balls,” I hiss, already exhausted with his excuses. “You had the chance to consummate our wedding, but you wanted everything on your terms. The moment I failed to be your obedient little toy, you manufactured my adultery just so you could trap me with breeding.”

“Ginevra,” he says with a sigh.

“I’m not finished,” I snarl. “You made me feel like a shameless slut, while setting yourself up as a benevolent husband, for what? Having sex with my own husband?”

“There’s no excuse.”

“Did you ever respect me?”

He jerks his head in my direction and winces. “More than anything,” he says, the words breathy. “That was my trouble. I put you on a pedestal. You were my goddess. The only woman in existence. If I took you back, I’d become that hopeless simp again, then you’d get bored with me and leave.”

“What’s wrong with us?” I dip my head and stare at the blood splatters on my lap.

“Ginevra?”

“This relationship is toxic.”

“But we connected at the treehouse,” he says, his voice imploring. “And there were moments when it felt like time had never passed.”

“Don’t—”

“I would die for you. Kill for you. Get on my knees for you. You want me to admit I was wrong? One hundred percent. This is all absolutely, irrevocably my fault. But I was driven by love. A twisted, unhealthy love, but I can change. We can move past it.”

“Our love is a prison,” I whisper, my shoulders sagging.

“It won’t be like that anymore,” he replies, his voice choked. “I know the truth now, and you know all my secrets⁠—”

“Who killed my dad?” I ask.

“The same assassin who killed the Capello family,” he replies without missing a beat. “He was hunting Samson.”

“So it wasn’t you?”

“No.”

“Alright.”

“Ginevra?”

“While I was in captivity, I got an up-close look at an abusive relationship. Valentino Bossanova was screwing his own daughter, beating the shit out of her, and brainwashed her into believing it was love.”

He swallows. “What are you saying?”noveldrama

“She was trapped in a cycle of affection and abuse, pain and empty promises.” My chest tightens, making me force back a wave of grief. “I saw it from the outside, and when I tried to intervene, it got her killed.”

His face pales. “You can’t compare us⁠—”

“Why not?” I shoot back, my chest heaving. “Because the pain you inflict isn’t physical?”

Flinching, he glances away, the sight of his agony making my chest ache.

“I’ll change,” he rasps.

My gaze rakes over his handsome features. Features I’ve loved half my childhood and my entire adult life. Despite everything, my heart still flutters at his dark brow, molten eyes, perfectly straight nose, and luxurious lips. He’s perfection, the epitome of masculine beauty, the only man I’ve ever wanted.

The gaze boring through mine is earnest—he means every word about wanting to change. Because the Benito I know never pleaded. Hope warms my chest for a heartbeat, bringing up the future we carved for each other in the tree house.

But how can one man profess such love while ruining my life and Mom’s from the shadows? Benito set all our troubles in motion to manipulate me into coming back. He’s the reason we got involved with Valentino Bossanova.

I think of Mom suffering everything I endured with that crazy old bastard and shudder. Then I dredge up the horror and terror and disgust from when Brisket tore through Julian’s entrails and cornered me in the bathroom.

Fingers twitching, I close my digits around an imaginary heart, still warm, still wet, still beating. My stomach lurches, and I stare into those pain-filled eyes, knowing I’m looking into the face of a monster.

“I loved you with all my heart,” My voice wavers, the words both a confession and a farewell. “But the man I fell for no longer exists.” Rising off my seat, I place a hand on his shoulder and gaze into that face once more, memorizing every line, every shadow. “Thank you for taking that bullet for me, but I need to end this cycle of abuse.”

His lips tremble, his eyes searching mine with a desperate, pleading look I refuse to mistake for love. “Ginevra, please⁠—”

“Goodbye, Benito,” I say, the words splintering my heart. Pulling away my hand, I turn on my heel and walk toward freedom without a backward glance.