99 Percent Mine: A Novel

I need air.

The meeting drones on, voices swirling around my head, but all I can feel is the sharp thrum of my pulse pounding at the base of my neck.

Looking at my notebook is pointless as my sight is blurred. My pen floats just above the paper, and the bullet points I scribbled down earlier might as well be hieroglyphics. I haven’t taken in a single word since I saw Benito.

It’s been months since I left him at the hospital. He didn’t acknowledge the divorce papers I signed, instead responding via my old boss with a ridiculously generous severance package.

The sensible thing to do would have been to refuse the money, but living with Mom became unbearable. She blames herself for what happened with the Bossanova brothers. The new man she was dating wasn’t much better and was always at the house. I had to get out, so I rented a studio by the park.

I could have gotten something bigger, but I’ve invested a large chunk of the settlement on therapy, self-defense classes, and an emergency fund. Three times a week, I see someone to process the trauma of being held captive and watching Carla die, my dysfunctional family, and everything leading up to my marriage. All conversations inevitably lead to Benito and how I’m not ready to confront him, let alone move on.

Then an email arrived in my inbox saying Maurier and Co were hiring new attorneys. I thought it was too good to be true. But the interview was a breeze, and I was hired on the spot.

Its biggest client is the Demartini family, and the managing partner put me on the account. It means regular visits to their casino, and I’ve gotten close to Mr. Demartini’s eldest son. Mars and I have bonded because he’s also estranged from his husband.

But talking about Benito is one thing. Seeing him is another.

He looked different. Not in the way you expect after weeks apart, but his presence burned the air between us like an unspoken challenge. My traitorous heart skittered, tripped over my feet, and now won’t stop racing. It presses against my ribs, wanting to connect with Benito.

I force my attention back to Mars at the head of the table, but his voice blends with the murmurs of my colleagues. My body thrums, every muscle pulled tight, my skin buzzing with a strange sense of need.

Mars catches my eye. Brow furrowing, he casts me a meaningful look. I give him a tight nod and what I hope is a reassuring smile. When he turns his attention back to the discussion, I exhale.

The meeting drags, and all I want to do is tear off my skin that craves his touch. My body aches for Benito, and not just sexually. I miss his scent, I miss his hugs, I miss the sound of his voice. But I promised not to fall back into a cycle of abuse.

Promises are slippery things, especially when it comes to him. I can’t let myself forget how it felt to be shattered—not just by his actions, but by my own willingness to bend for him. That kind of love is dangerous.

“Ginevra?” A voice pulls me back to the meeting. My colleague wants an analysis of the contracts.

I stutter out a reply, but my thoughts are stuck in the hallway, tangled up in Benito’s dark gaze.

The discussion lurches forward, and I let my mind drift. He was in the papers yesterday for changing the name of the second hotel attached to the casino from Marisol to Lucia. The article said he’d been involved in a lot of charitable endeavors and had even set up a new scholarship, sponsoring young women to study at Alderney State University.

He’s changing. I can see that, even from a distance. But every step he takes toward redemption feels like he’s moving on with his life, while I’m still stuck on him.

It’s funny, since the Benito I used to know would have showered me with gifts, sent flowers, cards, apologies or commands. Instead, he’s left me the hell alone. When our gazes met, I expected him to walk over. Half of me still expects him to storm inside the meeting room, demanding to speak to his wife, but one glance at the door says he’s not coming.

It’s what I asked for, so why am I complaining?

The meeting ends, and I shove my notebook into my bag, needing space to breathe. Rising off my seat, I follow my colleagues to the door, wondering if I’ll find Benito waiting in the hallway.

“Ginevra, wait.”

I glance over my shoulder, meeting Mars’s handsome features. “Hey, what’s up? Got time for a drink?”

My gaze darts to an empty hallway devoid of Benito. Stomach plummeting, I turn back to Mars. Concern etches his brow, his dark eyes searching mine.

“Sure.” I choke out the words, forcing a smile to hide my disappointment. “That sounds nice.”

Mars’s office is nothing like Benito’s. This room has a view of the tropical gardens, while Benito liked to oversee the gambling tables.

I drop onto one of the many cream leather couches, smoothing my skirt with sweaty palms. Mars saunters to a mahogany cabinet displaying crystal decanters filled with liquor. It’s a stark contrast to Benito’s cold, metallic minimalism.

After fixing us each a gin and tonic, he takes a seat across from me and leans forward. “You seemed distracted earlier. What’s troubling you?”

I glance away, focusing on a painting hanging above his leather couch. It’s a muscular male form, backlit in an explosion of vivid flowers.

Swallowing hard, I choose my words, not wanting to admit any part of me is pining. “Benito was here.”

“Yikes…” Mars grimaces. “Dad must have called him about the trouble we’re having at the tables. He hasn’t stopped talking about Benito since he got rid of the Bossanova problem.”

“Of course.”

The response comes out flat. Of course, it’s business. Did I think Benito came here to make a grand gesture? I don’t know what I wanted—maybe just proof that I still mattered to him. But then direct confrontations aren’t Benito’s style. He works in the shadows, manipulating everything to get what he wants.

But why does my stomach twist at the thought that it doesn’t include me?

Mars doesn’t push for answers, he just raises a crystal tumbler to his lips. I take a sip of my drink, the bitterness of the gin mirroring my inner turmoil.

Silence stretches between us for several heartbeats, accentuated by the distant clamor of the casino. I already told Mars the whole story, apart from Julian’s murder. We’ve spent months exchanging traumas. Mars shared the hair raising truth about his marriage to the son of New Jersey’s most powerful gangster. We’re both determined not to return to our toxic relationships.

“Seeing him again brings up emotions I tried to bury,” I say with a sigh. “Sometimes, all I remember are the high points, but then I think about how Victor Bellavista murdered Carla. What if she thought things would improve?”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them back, refusing to let them fall. I’ve cried enough over Benito. Even if he’s making changes, it’s time to move forward.

Mars reaches across the low table and squeezes my shoulder. “I get it. He took that bullet, and you’re wondering if it makes up for all his bullshit.”

I release a harsh laugh. “His sacrifice complicates everything.”

He releases my shoulder, reclines and swirls his gin. “That and the hundred million dollar ransom he paid to get you back.”

“Whose side are you on?” I mutter.

He smirks. “Yours.”

“Good, because for a minute, it sounded like you were defending him.” I take a swallow of my drink, letting the alcohol burn my throat, but it does little to relieve my frustration.

“I’m the worst person to give advice,” he murmurs. “The toxicity in me sees him as a morally gray hero.”

“In a minute, you’ll tell me he’s a good man, or something.”

Mars snickers. “How’s it going with the self-defense classes?”

“It’s good for working through my frustrations.” I shake my head. “But you’d think a new place, new job, and a new bestie would make me stronger, but seeing him only brings back old feelings.”

“Healing takes time.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Isn’t that the last line of the Rapunzelita trilogy?”

“You finished it?” he asks.

“It was so good.”

We talk about books for several minutes, in particular a deceased author with a suspiciously large back catalog. Mars thinks her agent hired a ghost writer to emulate her style, but I’m not convinced. Either way, we’re excited for her latest book about a woman who has an inappropriate relationship with a ghost.

Mars chuckles, the sound cutting through the weight in my chest. “Some women have all the luck. My ex sure as hell wouldn’t take a bullet for me.”

“Has he resurfaced?”

He shrugs, giving me a half-smile that freezes partway to his eyes. “I’m over that asshole. Dad says I should stop messing around with thugs, have a lavender marriage, and start a family.”noveldrama

“What did you say?”

“I haven’t given up on love. Neither should you.”

The weight of his words settle over my heart. It’s only ever beaten for one man, and part of me still pines for his toxic love. “Find me a man who isn’t a controlling, manipulative bastard, and I’ll consider it.”

Mars tilts his head back and laughs. “Get in line, girl.”

I force a smile, wishing my chest didn’t feel so hollow. Mars fills the gap Martina left when she revealed she hated me for most of our friendship, but no one can replace Benito.

No matter how much time we spend apart, or how deeply I immerse myself in distractions, my heart still aches for the only man I truly loved.