Chapter 3: My Stalker Is Watching

 

Katarina POV - The Morning After

"Shit" The morning after the club, I woke up with my cheek glued to a textbook.

9:15 AM.

I'd overslept by two hours. Madame was going to murder me.

I shot up from my desk, my neck screaming in protest. The nursing exam notes were still scattered across my bedroom floor—I'd studied until 4 AM, trying to scrub the memory of green eyes and rough hands from my mind.

It hadn't worked.

I could still taste him. Still feel the ghost of his thumb on my nipple.

Stop it, Kat. Focus.

I grabbed my jacket and keys, shoving my feet into worn sneakers. My phone buzzed—three missed calls from Selena and one angry text:

Sel: WHERE ARE YOU?? Madame is asking questions!!

I texted back while rushing to the door:

Me: On my way. Cover for me. Please.

The apartment was silent. Too silent.

"Mom?" I called out, knowing I wouldn't get an answer.

I found her on the couch, passed out. An empty vodka bottle lay on its side on the coffee table. Next to it, a syringe.

My stomach turned.

"Mom." I shook her shoulder gently. Nothing. Her chest rose and fell—at least she was breathing.

This was the third time this week.

I grabbed a blanket from the hallway closet and draped it over her. There was nothing else I could do. I'd tried everything—begging, threatening, crying. She always promised to stop. She never did.

I locked the door behind me and ran down the stairs.

Outside, the cold October air slapped me awake. The bus stop was two blocks away, but when I got there, the bus was already pulling away from the curb.

"Damn it!"

I flagged down a cab instead, sliding into the backseat.

"Fifth and Maple," I told the driver. "The bookstore."

He grunted and pulled into traffic.

I counted the crumpled bills in my pocket. Twelve dollars. The fare would be at least fifteen.

Great. Just great.

I leaned my head against the window, watching the city blur past. Naples in the morning—gray buildings, cracked sidewalks, people rushing to jobs they hated. This place swallowed dreams whole.

But not mine. Not if I passed those nursing exams. Selena and I had been studying for months. If we both got into the university program, we could leave this city behind. Start fresh somewhere new.

Somewhere far away from drug-addicted mothers and mafia bosses with green eyes.

The cab pulled up in front of the bookstore.

"Fifteen-fifty," the driver said.

I handed him the twelve dollars. "I'm sorry. This is all I have right now. I can bring you the rest tomorrow—"

"Get out." His voice was flat, annoyed.

"Please, I work right here. I can—"

"I said get out."

My face burned with shame as I climbed out. He sped off before I could even close the door properly, shouting something in Italian that I was glad I didn't understand.

I stood on the sidewalk, humiliation sitting heavy in my chest and started walking .

Just get inside. Apologize to Madame. Get through the day.

That's when I noticed the car a black sedan following me

It hadn't been there when the cab dropped me off.

I turned and hurried toward the bookstore entrance.

But the car kept pace with me, crawling along the curb.

Then the passenger window rolled down.

A man leaned out…neck covered in tattoos, silver piercings glinting in the morning light. 

"Katarina Delgado?"

I stopped walking, my blood freezing.

He knew my name. My full name. "Who are you?" I managed, my voice barely steady.

The man in the backseat leaned forward, grinning wide. Gold teeth. Scars crisscrossing his knuckles.

"Damn," he whistled low, looking me up and down like I was meat at a market. "Boss is gonna love you. Look at that body."

Panic exploded in my chest.

"I don't know what you want, but you've got the wrong person—"

"Oh, we've got the right person, sweetheart." The tattooed man's smile widened. "Don't worry. You'll understand everything real soon."

The driver revved the engine. "See you soon, Katarina."

The car peeled off, tires screeching, leaving me standing alone on the empty street

They were looking for me specifically.

But why? How?

My mind raced back to last night—the club, the kiss, the Don watching me leave with that satisfied smile.

Was this him? Had he sent them?

No. That didn't make sense. These men were different—rougher, cruder. Not the polished criminals from the club.

So who were they?

I forced my legs to move running towards the bookstore.

By the time I burst through the door, I was shaking, gasping for air.

Selena looked up from behind the counter, eyes widening in alarm. "Kat! What.."

She quickly shoved a pair of rubber gloves into my hands. "Here. Put these on and look busy. Madame's in the back."

I fumbled the gloves on with trembling fingers, grabbing the nearest book and pretending to organize the shelf.

But I couldn't stop shaking.

"Kat." Selena leaned closer, voice low. "What happened? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"There was a car," I whispered. "Following me. The men inside... they knew my name, Selena. My full name."

Her face went pale. "What?"

"I don't know who they are or what they want, but"

"Katarina!"

Madame's sharp voice cut through the store like a whip. She emerged from the back office, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Where have you been?"

"Restroom," I lied quickly, keeping my voice steady despite my pounding heart. "Sorry, Madame."

Selena jumped in without missing a beat. "Yeah, she's been helping me sort inventory. We've been working all morning."

Madame studied me for a long moment, clearly skeptical. Then she huffed and retreated back to her office.

The second she was gone, Selena gripped my arm. "Kat, this isn't normal. Men following you, knowing your name? You need to call the police."

"And tell them what? That a car followed me for one block? They'll think I'm crazy."

"Then at least stay with me tonight. Don't go home alone."

I nodded, grateful. "Okay. Yeah. Thanks, Sel."

I tried to focus on work, but my eyes kept drifting to the front window.

And that's when I saw it.

A different car…Parked directly across the street. This one was Red 

 It was personal unlike the thugs…..The owner was watching me …I blinked again and then it was gone…whoever it was drove off

Giordano's  POV- Earlier That Morning

I sat behind my desk, the red glow of Naples' city lights filtering through the blinds. My cigarette burned slow..

Two of my girls were counting money at the corner table—crumpled bills from last night's work at the strip club. Tips from men who'd spent the evening with their hands on my property.

The girls knew better than to speak unless spoken to. They counted in silence.

Three days ago, a man stumbled into my office.

Ricardo Delgado. Reeking of cheap whiskey and failure.

He'd collapsed into the chair across from my desk, hands shaking, eyes bloodshot.

"I got something for you," he'd slurred. "Something valuable."

I'd almost shot him right there. I don't do business with drunks.

But then he pulled out a photo.

Crumpled. Stained. But the image was clear enough.

A girl. Young. Curves that could stop traffic. Innocent face with wide, doe-like eyes.

"My daughter," he said, tapping the photo with a dirty fingernail. "Nineteen. Virgin. Beautiful. She's worth more than anything I owe you."

I leaned back in my chair, studying the photo. "You're offering me your daughter?"

"I'm offering you an investment," he corrected, like he was some kind of businessman. "Pure. Untouched. You know what virgins go for. You could make a fortune."

He wasn't wrong.

But I wasn't planning to sell her.

I wanted her for myself.

"How much?" I asked.

His eyes lit up like I'd just thrown him a lifeline. "Fifty thousand."

I laughed—cold, harsh. "You're delusional."

"Forty! Forty and she's yours."

"Thirty. Final offer."

"Deal!" He practically shouted it.

Idiot. He would've taken ten.

But I wanted him to have enough money to live with what he'd done. Enough to drink himself to death thinking about it.

I'd sent my men to confirm the girl existed. To make sure she matched the photo. To verify she was really untouched.

The door to my office opened now, and Scarface walked in with Mikey the Hammer close behind.

"Well?" I didn't look up from my cigarette.

Mikey dropped a new photo on my desk. "It's her. Katarina Delgado. Even better in person, boss."

I picked up the photo. Taken from a distance—the girl walking down the street, completely unaware she was being hunted.

Perfect.

"Confirmed virgin?" I asked.

Scarface nodded. "Our sources checked everything. No boyfriend. Works at a bookstore. Quiet girl. Lives with her drug-addict mother and older brother."

"Does she know?" I asked.

Scarface shook his head. "About her father selling her? No. We followed her this morning, let her see us. Wanted to gauge her reaction."

"And?"

"Terrified. Ran straight to work. She's got no idea what's coming."

I stubbed out my cigarette. "Bring her to me. Tonight."

Mikey raised an eyebrow. "Tonight? Boss, we could wait a few days, let the father prep her—"

"Tonight," I repeated, my voice dropping to ice. "I don't wait for what's already mine."

They nodded and turned to leave.

"One more thing," I called after them.

They stopped.

"Pay the father. All thirty thousand."

Scarface looked confused. "Boss, he'd take half that—"

I smiled slowly. "I want him to have that money. I want him to hold those bills in his hands and imagine what I'm doing to his daughter every single night."

Understanding dawned on Scarface's face. He grinned. "You're a twisted bastard, boss."

"That's why I run this city better than Vittorio."

I stared at Katarina's photo again, tracing her face with one finger.

Pretty. Innocent. Untouched.

Not for long.

In a few hours, she'd be in my bed.

And once I claimed something…I never let it go.

Ever.