Page 7 of Enzo's Vow
Did someone call an ambulance? Legs shaking, I stumbled off the bed, my gaze darting around the room. Not my hotel suite. The walk-in closet across from the king bed lay open, revealing men’s suits in a neat row, and several shoes on display behind downlit glass cabinets.
Maybe Willow plotted one of her childish pranks? No, she’d never dare take a prank this far. I stared down at my clothing, still in the same dress as last night. Expensive colognes sat atop the vanity, a black leather lounge perched in the far corner, and two glass balcony doors framed the majestic Tyrrhenian Sea.
My suitcase and the wedding gifts from my hotel room sat on the coffee table. How had they gotten here… inside a man’s bedroom? I lifted one silver-wrapped box and read the card:
Dear Gemma and Matthew,
We hope you honor the Lord with the sacred vows you’re about to enter into.
Love, Amy and Derek.
Matthew’s parents. I tore into the paper and held a hardcover marriage devotional Bible. What strange twilight zone had I plunged into? Blood rushed from my head to my toes, chilling me.
Get out of here. Find Papa.
Clutching the hardback in one hand, I stripped the bed, tossing pillows over my shoulder. My phone and purse… nowhere. A shuddering breath escaped. I bolted for the door, but the heavy wood wouldn’t budge. Locked. The Bible thudded to the floor as I fumbled with the handle, my jittery fingers hunting for a lock. “Hello? Anyone there?” Each desperate bang echoed; the wood vibrating against my palms. “Let me out! Now!”
My tired hands spanned the solid structure, forehead planted on the wood as my shoulders slouched from the wave of despair washing over me.
A resounding click vibrated against my splayed palms. Straightening, I snatched the bible, the first attainable item, trapping the book against my chest.
The door swung open.
Breath ceased in my lungs. “You.”
The stranger from the restaurant. His tall, wide frame dominated the doorway, and a flirtatious grin spread across his chiseled features. “Me.” He prowled into the room.
Instinct propelled me backward, mirroring each step he advanced, determined to keep my distance. “Why am I here? Is my father all right?” I swallowed, my gaze darting around for a heavier object to use in my defense.
His gaze lingered on my face. “Patience, Gemma. You’ll understand everything soon enough.” He grinned, the gesturea practiced display of casualness, as if we were out sharing a coffee. He held out bottled water in one hand and two pills in the other. “Here, take these. You look like you could use them.”
I should have seen it coming last night. The way he’d nonstop stared… sinister intent sparked in this man’s eyes the minute he set sights on our table. I inspected the pill and bottled water, then met his gaze. Papa didn’t experience another heart attack; he’d been drugged.We’d been drugged. My shoulders loosened in instant relief, but the feeling was short-lived in the face of immediate danger. I cocked a brow. No way I’d take anything he offered. “You drugged us!”
His lips pinched together, the forced patience in his expression breaking. “Gemma. It’s just aspirin.Take them.” His voice lost its earlier, false-polite edge.
Breath seemed no longer possible to inhale. Every fibre of my being screaming to run, to escape. The mantra in my brain unrelenting.Danger. Danger. Danger.I hurled the Bible, the spine landing a direct hit to his head.
His pained groan reverberated off the walls.
Skirting his crouched form, I dashed for the door, managing one foot past the threshold. A strong arm secured my waist and jerked me back inside. “Help me!” I shouted to the two crossed-arm guards who showed not one flicker of alarm. “Someone help me!” My feet grazed the rug, kicking the bottle he’d dropped when he’d hunched over in pain.
I hit the bed, muffling my scream against the heavy, textured cotton and scrambling up its length.
He rubbed at his forehead and cursed in Italian. Then his narrowed gaze zeroed in on the Bible on the floor. He whipped to me after viewing my choice of weapon. One brow cocked. “Well, well,” he murmured, more to himself than to me, his words tinged with dry humor, “aren’t you the little Bible thumper.”
“Gemma.”
The sound outside… My name! Faint, as if from a distance. “Papa?” I ran for the door, but he captured my shoulders, utilizing no effort to restrain me. As for my own bravado, I clenched my small jaw and prayed I emitted the same menace. “Where’s my father?”
He sighed, eyes fluttering as though close to losing patience. “Always asking questions, aren’t you?”
I took a swing at him, but his hand shot out, a steel clamp gripping my wrist. “Let us go, you maniac!”
Baring perfect white teeth, he tilted forward, his sharp nose bumping mine. “Next time you try to hit me, I won’t be so gentle.”
He told the truth because he squeezed my wrist with unforgivable force.
Drawing in a breath, he nodded to the doorway. “Ifyou behave,” he emphasized the word, his eyes cold, “I might consider letting you see your father. For a moment.”
