99 Percent Mine: A Novel

I didn’t follow Cesare’s advice right away—I sought a second opinion from Leroi, whose relationship with Seraphine seemed idyllic until he confessed that she’d stabbed him in the gut for withholding information.

Rosalind also shot Cesare in the chest and stayed, but Ginevra left without so much as slapping me across the face. Based on the small sample of men I consulted, it looks like a woman’s level of violence is directly related to the depth of her love.

So what does that say about us?

Divorce papers arrived the morning the Salentino twins visited. Ginevra already signed on the dotted line. Painkillers numbed the ache on my neck but did nothing to ease the sensation of being stabbed in the heart.

I asked them for advice. Elania laughed, saying Ginevra should have cut off my balls. Aria took my hand and said I was the most twisted bastard she’d ever met and told me to seek psychological help.

So, that’s how I find myself standing in front of Dr. Monica Saint’s office. It’s a glass front with a view of the reception area, and only a few doors down from Cesare’s sex shop.

I have nerve damage, trauma to the muscles in my neck, and a reduced range of motion, but nothing means more to me than restoring my marriage.

Casting a glance over my shoulder toward the Phoenix, I check that the coast is clear before stepping inside. The receptionist’s desk is vacant, but the door at the end is ajar.

My pulse quickens, but I force my features into a tight mask. Talking about what’s in my heart shouldn’t be so nerve-wracking, but my ears still ring with Elania’s mocking laughter. I should have spoken to Aria alone, but the sisters are inseparable.

When I step inside, the smell of leather and old books hits like a slap. The office is more like a living room with its shelves, low lighting and plush velvet chairs, but the desk is set suspiciously close to the door.

Dr. Monica Saint sashays into the room, gazing up at me through her square glasses. She’s tall, about the twins’ age, with dark hair falling loose around her shoulders.

“Benito Montesano,” she says with a sharp nod. “Have a seat.”

I sit without a word, already feeling like I’m under the microscope, my fingers gripping the arms of the chair. Talking to strangers about my failed marriage is insane. I solve my problems with bullets, blackmail, or bribes. But none of that works when the problem is rooted in my psyche.

Dr. Saint moves around her desk and sits. “What can I do for you?”

“How do I make my wife come back?” I ask, the words scraping my raw throat.

“Why don’t you start with why she left.”

I clench my fists. “Aren’t you the one supposed to give me tactics?”

Dr. Saint’s patient nod grates on my last nerve. She’s already dissecting me without a scalpel. “Therapy isn’t about tactics. I’m here to help you understand why she left. What made her feel that staying with you wasn’t an option?”

My chest tightens, and the weight of her words press down on my lungs, forcing out a response. “I thought I knew better than her. I thought I could fix what went wrong the first time she left by fixing her.”

She nods. “So, the question isn’t how to make her come back. It’s whether you’re willing to change for yourself.”

The words echo Aria and Cesare’s advice, tightening my gut. All this time, I’ve been thinking of Ginevra as something to win back, a prize I could reclaim by pushing the right levers.

That’s the entire reason why she left. I’m the one who’s broken, and no scheme or show of strength can salvage the side of me she finds so sickening.

“I thought I could control everything,” I admit. “Even my wife.”

The doctor’s features soften. “That’s where we start—by accepting that she isn’t yours to command. Real change comes from understanding that you can’t dictate her choices, but you can decide to become someone better for yourself.”

A knot forms in my gut, but I force a nod. “I can change… for her.”

She studies me for a moment, then shakes her head. “You need to change for you.”

I slump against the seat. This is going to be one long, brutal process.noveldrama

Days pass, and I’m still not medically fit to return to work. Reaper and the Mortis House boys take care of the casino while I recover. With both men behind Victor Bellavista dead and no longer posing a threat, they’ve weeded out every two-faced bastard lining their pockets with my money.

At least the casino is in safe hands.

My marriage, however, still flounders. Ginevra’s silence continues to stretch. Thanks to a cash settlement from the Di Marco Law Group, she now has enough to move out from her mother’s house and get her own apartment.

Nick Terranova didn’t hesitate when I suggested she deserved a generous severance package. He even forwarded me a job listing at a small law firm looking for someone with Ginevra’s exact skills.

I went one step further, setting up a meeting with the firm’s partners and making a substantial offer: if Ginevra was the right fit, I’d pay whatever it took to secure her a place as a partner. Naturally, they’d be sworn to secrecy. She wouldn’t even know she owned a portion of the firm until the timing felt natural, so as not to raise suspicions.

That was my last attempt to insert myself into her life, but I still need to keep her safe. As my wife, she remains a target for abduction, and we still haven’t tracked down Tommy Galliano.

Rotations of boys from Mortis House keep a constant watch on her apartment. They have orders not to interfere in her daily life but remain close enough to intervene if necessary. I’ve even stationed someone to watch over her mother.

Days without Ginevra turn to weeks, and it’s like going cold turkey. I resist the urge to demand footage or information on her movements. Reaper acts as go-between, relaying updates. He’s cautious not to reveal too much, only verifying that she’s safe.

Two months pass, and I get a message from Emmanuel Demartini, thanking me for resolving the situation with Victor Bellavista. After the prison break and before the shootout, Roman managed to convince Gianni Bossanova to refund the hundred million ransom in exchange for not returning him to death row. Thanks to Ginevra’s research, we’ve clawed twice the amount of losses from the counterfeit chip scam.

When Demartini invites me to his establishment to ask for help with a team of lowlives running a credit scam at his tables, I bring Reaper. Mortis House is proving to be a success. We’re planning on opening a sorority, where we can train young women to join the fold.

As we walk through the Demartini Casino’s glittering halls, the last person I expect to find outside the meeting room is my wife.

She’s standing among a group of people but there’s no mistaking the way her auburn hair catches the chandeliers’ low lights. It casts a glow around her like a halo, making her stand out. The black business suit she wears accentuates her curves, and my cock comes alive in the presence of his master.

Steps faltering, my heart slams against my chest.

She turns, meets my gaze, her eyes widening.

Neither of us move.

I don’t step forward, don’t smile, don’t cross the hallway to talk. The impulse driving me to take control of her roars within its cage, but I curl my hands into fists.

If she walks over, that’s her choice.

She doesn’t.

But she also doesn’t turn away.

“You okay?” Reaper asks.

“Did you know she’d be here?” I ask back.

“Who?” When he glances at where I’m looking, she’s already disappeared inside.

“Mr. Montesano?” says a deep voice from behind.

I turn to lock gazes with a man dressed in the casino’s uniform, a variation of the Demartini butler’s navy jacket and epaulets.

“The Padrone will see you now.”

Every urge screams at me to cross that hallway, throw open the door, and speak to my wife, but regular sessions with Dr. Saint have taught me restraint.

Swallowing back the lump in my throat, I nod to the man and turn away from my reason for living. I follow him toward the old man’s office, each step dragging like lead.

But just before I disappear from the hallway, I steal another glance, wondering if she’s noticed that I’ve changed.