Page 29 of Enzo's Vow
“Gemma’s lost it!È pazza!”Giovanna bobbed her pinched fingers in true Italian outrage, revealing the remnants of spinach and ricotta stuffed pasta in her palm. “Coffee beans! In mymarinara!After simmering all morning! And she took a pizza cutter to mytortellinis!” Her face reddened further. “All of them! Ruined!”
Giulia puffed out a breath and tore off her hairnet. “She snapped all the pasta packets in our pantry.”
Another cook patted Giovanna’s shoulder in comfort. “She emptied an entire jar of pepper into the pasta water.”
Gemma aggravated these Italian women in the worst way… attacking their pride and joy. Food.
I barged through the swinging doors and made straight for the kitchen, the sting of pepper hitting my nostrils, stinging my eyes.The stench of scorched coffee and acrid tomato sauce choked the air, a bizarre and offensive assault.
Carina stood rigid as a statue, gun raised. Not a flicker of warmth touched her eyes. My own eyes watered, a burning sensation at the back of my throat.
Plate in her hand, Gemma lifted her chin, defiance sparking in her gaze. A dozen broken plates littered the floor, a mosaic of ceramic shards, pasta strings, and empty pasta packets. Coffee beans strewed the counter. The pot on the stove bubbled, on the verge of boiling over. One staff member cowered against the wall, another scrambled for cover.
“Go ahead, Carina. Shoot me!” She challenged, her voice tight, her dark hair a wild tangle.
My gut somersaulted, a cold fist clenching my heart. “Carina,” my tone was warning enough.
Carina’s gaze widened. “Get her out of here, or so help me, Iwillshoot her.”
I grabbed Gemma by the elbow and guided her into the foyer. Her fingers were white around the plate’s edge, clenched like a vise. “What is the matter with you?”
“Please, Enzo.” Her voice cracked, a raw ache resonating deep in my chest. “My father’s in the hospital. I have to see him. Please. You have to take me to him.”
“Don’t you dare, Enzo.” Carina burst through the doors. “Not after that display.”
I peered over my shoulder and gnashed my teeth. A sudden itch flared beneath the starched collar of my shirt, and I fought the urge to tear it off. “Carina!”
I couldn’t meet Gemma’s tear-streaked eyes. My gaze stayed locked on Carina, her expression unyielding.
My mother remained deadpan, folding her arms over her chest. “I mean it, Enzo. She goes nowhere.”
The tie around my neck felt like a noose.
“Enzo,” Gemma whispered, her soft fingers lacing through mine, shooting warmth through my palm. “Please, you can’t be this heartless. Not after everything… not after helping me with Lupo and Fico.”
“What does she mean?” Carina retorted, her mouth flapping open in horror.
I slashed a hand toward my mother to cease her yapping. “Leave us.”
Carina rolled her eyes, tarried a moment longer, then stormed away.
Gemma blinked, the action slow and exhausted.
I pried the plate from her tense fingers—they resisted at first, then yielded with a slight tremor. The cold porcelain dug into my palm, a biting difference from the feverish clamminess of her skin. I set it on the hallway table with a tiny clink of glass meeting glass. “Come on, Gemma. Go to your room, rest.”
She whacked my hand away. “I don’t need sleep. I need to see my father.”
I grumbled low. “No.” Not for her sake, but for her father’s, too. If our enemies spotted us, or worse, learned my wife’s relative resided in the hospital, they’d use this to their advantage. They might harm Gino to get closer to Gemma. We had to keep our distance. “We’re not going.”
She tilted her chin and huffed a mock laugh. “And here I thought I’m a prisoner. You’re the real prisoner here, Enzo. You’re trapped under your mother’s foot and don’t even know it.”
Blatant bravado or her speaking the truth? Either way, fury coiled in my gut. My eyes strained as I leaned closer, voice low and deadly. “You don’t know a darn thing, little wife.”
She didn’t back down, but her dainty nostrils flared, and her eyes dilated, hinting at her fear. “A real man would do what’s right, not follow his mother’s command like her lapdog.”
A single tear escaped the corner of her eye and raced over the curve of her cheek. I swallowed, flexing my jaw, pushing down any show of pity and focusing on my anger.
She swiped at the lone tear and raced upstairs, leaving me drowning in her words, in her pain.
