Page 8 of Enzo's Vow
“You’re hurting me.” I gnashed my molars and expected him to show mercy, but this man lacked the trait.
Those obstinate green eyes bore into me. He didn’t repeat the warning, but tightened his grip. The unspoken threat hung heavy in the air. I bit inside my cheek. Oh, how I wished to overpower him, to hurt him, too. Defeat clogging my throat, I nodded. He let go, and I massaged the dull throb of my reddened wrist.
He glimpsed my kneading, and his jaw flexed.
Did he just flinch? No, I had to be mistaken. As if someone like him, a complete psychopath, would feel remorse.
“Let’s go.” He tugged me outside the room.
The men guarding the door stood at rigid attention, nodding to Psycho as we passed. I forced myself to meet their gaze, trying to appear calm even as my heart hammered against my ribs. Both were broad-shouldered, dressed identically in darksuits that looked a little too tight. One had a scar cutting across his left eyebrow, a detail that made him seem even more menacing. The other… my gaze snagged on his fingers, tapping a nervous rhythm against his thigh. He seemed younger, maybe even a little bored, his eyes shifting from me to Enzo and back again. Their earpieces gleamed in the dim hallway light, a sign they were always listening for orders. But Tapper’s nervousness made him seem less scary, almost… human.Maybe I could talk to him later, if I got the chance. Maybe he’d help me, if I asked him right. I filed the information away, a small seed of hope planting in my mind.
Colorful artwork adorned the off-white walls in the wide corridor. Expensive vases decorated a marble console table by the curved staircase.Should I use the vase as a weapon?Too late, we’d already passed it. There had to be something else I could use to defend myself against this maniac.
This house, this mansion, reeked of old money and fresh citrus, a cloying combination tickling my nose. Each polished surface gleamed under the downlights, reflecting their bright beams. The cold of the marble bit at my bare feet—a shocking change from the humid embrace of Sicily. He gripped my arm like a vise as we descended. A large double door marked the entrance: freedom. My throat tightened the further we distanced from my one escape. No one loomed in the foyer, not a single maid or butler.
We proceeded down a long hallway, where he opened another door. Papa’s loud cries echoed from below. I bolted toward the sound, descending a set of stairs leading into an underground chamber stacked with wine shelves. A cellar. The damp, earthy scent of aging wine hung thick in the air, mingling with a faint, metallic tang. I squinted against the darkness, making out a shape in the corner. My breath caught. A barred cage, no bigger than a walk-in pantry, cast long shadows from a single barebulb overhead, the hum of the electricity a constant, unsettling drone. Inside, a figure clung to the bars. “Papa?” I whispered, my stomach coiling at the sight of my father clinging to those bars.
“Gemma!” His shout faded into whispered relief.
Free to run to my father’s side, I clutched his hands through the bars.
“Oh, thank God you’re all right,” he rushed out and kissed my knuckles. “I’ve begged for hours to see you.”
“What is going on?” I whispered low enough for Papa to hear. “Who is this man?”
“This is why your mother refused to return to Italy. I had no idea they’d be capable of this. No wonder she divorced me.” He cupped my cheek through the bars. “Are you hurt,Mia figlia?Have they harmed you?”
“I’m fine.” I held his hand to my cheek, his poor, cold hand. Mum refusing to return? Their divorce? What on earth did he mean? “Please, tell me why this is happening?”
Papa wedged his mouth between the bars. “This man is related to the Calafiore’s.” Voice dropping to a whisper, “they have a serious vendetta—”
“Enough, Gino,” the man’s voice dipped low in chilling calm, but still dangerous.
Papa squinted beyond my shoulder. “Signore Cammarata… Enzo! Enzo! I beg you, let my daughter go. She’s innocent. Why drag her into this mess?”
“I said, enough.” His quiet menace thundered at my back as though he’d shouted. The heat of him behind me prickled my skin.
A single tear trailed Papa’s cheek. “You’re innocent. Whatever happens now… remember you are innocent.”
The world lurched as Enzo yanked me away. My bare feet scraped uselessly against the cold tiles, and Papa’s face, etchedwith despair, shrank with every forced step. “No, stop! I want to talk to him. Papa!”
“Gemma!” Papa extended his arms through the bars.
“Papa.” Maniac lugged me out of the room, and little by little Papa’s form disappeared. We paused midway up the stairs, my constant kicks and thrusts for release delaying the monster.
He grumbled and threw me over his shoulder.
“Put me down.” I pummeled his back, clawed even. He carried me as if I weighed nothing, but complying at last, he tossed me onto the bed I’d woken on earlier.
Kneeling on the mattress, ready to bolt, I froze as his giant palms caged my wrists, the bone-deep pressure stealing my breath. “Let him go! My father needs his heart medicine!” The words tore from me, desperate.What if he had another heart attack?The question hammered at my skull. “He can’t go a day without them!”
Analyzing my face, his brows knit together. “I’ll see to your father’s medicine. Don’t worry.”
Tears tickled my nose, threatening to spill.So… he intended to keep us alive?A fragile tendril of hope unfurled in my chest. “What do you want from us?”
“What I’m owed,” he announced, as if his statement explained everything when he hadn’t clarified squat.
“You won’t get away with this,Enzo, or whatever your name is. My fiancé will be looking for me. Trust me, for sure my bridesmaids have notified the police.” The three of us shared a hotel suite. They’d be in a panic by now.
