99 Percent Mine: A Novel

Reaper rolls me onto my back, pressing down on my neck. Sharp, burning pain flares across my throat, and I swear I feel my life slipping between his fingers.

I blink up at the twilight sky, seeing nothing but a canvas of stars. Then my vision blurs, with black creeping in the edges, dragging me toward unconsciousness.

Gunshots tear overhead, cutting through the echo of my pulse. Reaper’s lips move, but I hear nothing. The sound has become distant, a dull thudding in my ears, drowned out by the rapid, weakening beat of my heart.

We were stationed in the rusty truck, using it as a hiding spot for when Valentino arrived with Ginevra. The plan was to capture him before putting a bullet through his brother’s skull.

Hours after extracting Gianni Bossanova from Alderney State penitentiary, Roman’s pet prison officer called. There was a sweep of his room, and inside she found documents linking Gianni to a number of scams executed at our casino.

Gianni explained that he’d only stolen from our casino after it had fallen into Capello’s hands, but the evidence Officer McMurphy handed us said otherwise.

So our plan was to play along with the Bossanova brothers until Ginevra was safe. Then they would pay for their crimes in blood.

But then Ginevra stabbed Gianni, unleashing chaos.

I moved without thinking, already knowing where Valentino’s gun would strike. The bullet missed my kevlar vest and lodged in the base of my throat, but I would do it again in a heartbeat.

“Benito?” Ginevra’s voice cuts through the haze, bringing me back to the present.

I try to rise, but my limbs are heavy, my body sinking deeper into the ground. Blinking the world back to focus, I meet her beautiful gray eyes. She’s wearing thick makeup to cover her bruises, and her auburn hair is styled into a strange bouffant, but she’s still the most beautiful woman in the world.

“Why?” she cries.

“Because I’ll go to any length to keep you safe,” I say, my throat burning, my eyelids heavy. “Even if it means my death.”

She grabs the lapels of my shirt. “Don’t you fucking dare,” she growls. “You’re going to stay awake. You’re going to live.”

“I’ve always loved you, Ginevra.” Each word scrapes against the raw pain. “From the very start.”

Her tears splatter on my face, warming my heart. If life were a fairytale, her love would be enough to bring me back. But Ginevra despises Bob Brisket, and therefore despises me. In the time she’s spent with Bossanova, he’ll have already told her I was behind the loan sharks, the law firm, and that scheme to endanger her mother.

I won’t fool myself into believing those tears are out of love or longing or loss. They’re pure, unadulterated rage.

Cold sets in my bones, spreading from my neck down into my chest. My heart sinks. This is it. I’m about to die and I didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye.

Just as the edges of my vision go black, the crowd parts, and Cesare shoves his way to my side. Relief sweeps over my senses, and I exhale a rattling breath. My little brother is the patron saint of reviving torture victims from the brink of death. Maybe I’ll survive this long enough to tell Ginevra I’m sorry.

When I regain consciousness, it’s to the sound of beeping hospital monitors and not to the snap, crackle, and pop of hellfire. I inhale, filling my nostrils with the sterile scent of antiseptics, mingled with the sweet scent of honeysuckle.

The air reaching my throat is cold and sharp, each breath aggravating the dull ache radiating from the base of my neck.

I knew Cesare wouldn’t let me die.

Moving my arms is a struggle, as if my body has been fused together with lead. A persistent, throbbing pain, hard to pinpoint, beats in time with my pulse. I shift on the bed, my stiff muscles protesting, and the slight movement sends a wave of soreness across my chest and shoulders.

“He’s awake,” Cesare says.

I crack open an eye. Light sears into my retinas, sharp and unforgiving. I squint against the glare, my vision blurring as if I’m still stuck halfway between dreams and reality.

Cesare hovers beside the bed, staring down at me like a puzzle he’s still piecing together. Disheveled hair frames his bloodshot eyes, the look of someone who hasn’t left my side. If the night’s sky in the window behind him is any indication, then the entire day has passed.

“We almost lost you,” he says, his voice tight with emotion. “The bullet lodged just below your throat, nicking the carotid artery. You were bleeding out fast. I had to clamp it myself.”

“That bad?” I rasp. The words scrape out of my throat, rough and raw, like I’m trying to talk through sandpaper.

He nods. “By the time we got you on the operating table, you were seconds away from joining Dad. I had to take over and stop the surgeons from ending you with their textbook bullshit. There’s no way I’d let them kill my big brother.”

Heart twisting, I imagine everything he did to keep me alive. For the first time in forever, I meet his eyes, the same color as Mom’s, my chest clogged with gratitude. “Thank you, Cesare,’ I say, the words rough in my throat. ‘I never doubted your talent for doing the impossible.”

He blinks, exhaustion giving way to a flicker of shock, then delight. Cheeks darkening, he mutters, “The bullet did a lot of damage. You’re going to be sore for a while, and your voice might never sound the same again.”

A knot forms in what’s left of my throat, but I manage a faint grin. “I’m just glad to be alive. Guess you didn’t need that medical degree after all.”

He chuckles. “Maybe not. We’ve got you on a lower dose of meds to avoid complications, but if the pain’s too much, just say the word.”

“Next time you run into a bullet, I’ll shoot you myself.” Roman appears from the other side of the room, his jaw tight.

“What happened with the Bossanova brothers?” I rasp.

“Filled with lead,” Cesare mutters, his glare flicking to our brother.

Roman shakes his head, his lips pinching. “He wanted them for his table.”

I laugh, setting off an explosion of agony that has me wincing. My big brother has snapped out of the depressed fugue that’s plagued him since his wife left and now carries himself like a mafia boss.

On the subject of wives…

“Where’s Ginevra?” My voice scrapes out, each syllable coated in raw fire.

Roman’s features harden. “We left her in the hallway.”

My heart jolts, sending a sudden spike of adrenaline that shoots pain up my neck. I grit my teeth against the sharp throb.

“What?” I hiss.

“It’s her fault you got shot,” Cesare snaps. “We had a plan to subdue both Bossanova bastards and keep them in the basement, but Ginevra ruined it by stabbing Gianni.”

“Is she still out there?” I ask.

He glances toward the door. “Probably.”

“Bring her in.”

“Why?”

“I still love my wife,” I grind out.

Eyes widening, his mouth falls slack with disbelief. “The same wife who got herself kidnapped, cost you a hundred million, then nearly got you killed?”

I clench my teeth, ready with a reminder of how his own woman came to our home as an assassin. Before I can muster up a retort, Roman places a hand on Cesare’s shoulder.

“Let her in,” he rumbles.

Cesare’s features twist with fury, but I grab his wrist. “You have no idea the depths I sank to for Ginevra. What I did to her… how I broke her… makes what you put Rosalind through look like a first date.”

Curiosity gleams across his pale eyes, but he has the good sense not to ask for details. Instead, he nods and walks to the door.

Roman cups my cheek. “Don’t let her slip from your fingers.”

I swallow down a painful lump. “It’s no longer up to me.”

He nods. “Focus on getting better. Reaper and the boys are watching over the casino. Leroi, Seraphine, and Rosalind are following Bossanova’s trail to take out his accomplices.”

“Thanks.”

He ruffles my hair, something he hasn’t done since we were kids, then smooths it down when he realizes I’m about to see my wife. With a tight smile, he leaves the room.

Moments later, the door swings open, and my breath catches before I even see who’s about to enter. Ginevra walks in, still clad in the same safari jumpsuit as before, stained with my blood. Her auburn hair hangs limp around her pale features, shadowed by dark circles.

Our gazes lock, and a knot forms in my gut. The relentless pull toward her amplifies every beat of my heart, every raw throb in my throat. It’s as if her presence alone is a new kind of wound.noveldrama

She stops, her chest rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths. I hold mine, not knowing how she’ll react to my betrayal.

Her shoulders finally slump, her beautiful features falling with relief, and she looks at me like I’m a miracle. The raw emotion in her face chases away my doubts, and my heart soars with hope.

Maybe I haven’t completely shattered her love. Maybe—despite everything—we might be able to piece together our marriage.

“Are you alright?” I rasp.

Brow furrowing, she crosses the chasm between us and stops at my bedside. “You’re the one who got shot.”

“Bossanova hurt you.”

She stiffens, as if allergic to his name. “It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.”

The knot in my stomach twists tighter, making my pulse hammer. I need to know more—I need to know everything that bastard did to Ginevra while she was his captive. I part my lips to ask, but she places a hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t,” she says, her voice thick with an emotion I can almost taste. “Valentino Bossanova is dead. What I want to talk about is you.”

I gaze up at my woman—my wife. The anguish and fury tightening her features make my chest clench. Her storm-gray eyes blaze with a raw pain that cuts deeper than anything Bossanova could inflict. Somewhere in the pit of my conscience, I know his torture is nothing compared to the wound of my own deception.

“Tell me everything you did to manipulate my life,” she says, her voice trembling with restrained fury. “I want to understand how my favorite person in the world became such a despicable monster.”

Her words sink in through the fraying edges of my hope. Lying by omission is no longer an option. It’s already over, and she deserves the truth—even if it means she’ll walk out of my life forever.