Page 30 of Enzo's Vow
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Several hours later, we sat at the table eating our meals.
“The maid told me there are no plates left.” Carina scoffed, nudging at her vegetables. “We’ll have to order more thanks toher. The cook remade tonight’s meal, too.”
The silver cutlery clattered from my hands, shattering the strained silence. “Enough, Carina.” What did my mother expect? For Gemma to go down without a fight?
The maid rushed in. “Mi scusi, signore.” She wrung her hands, her gaze darting to her feet. “Gemma refuses to come down to eat.”
I always made sure she joined us for dinner every night, even if it meant dragging her down here myself. But tonight, she needed space.
“Fine by me.” Carina jabbed at her vegetables with vigorous force. “Let her starve.”
I banged my first on the solid wood, shaking the utensils on the table. “Can you blame the woman?”
“Enzo’s right.” Lucio tossed down his napkin and shot our mother a pointed glare. “What if her father’s in a critical state? If he dies, she’ll tear down this entire villa.”
I waved the maid away, impatience simmering beneath my calm surface. Her father, dying? If so, forget the risks. She had to see him and say her final goodbyes. Or the same regrets haunting me would haunt her.
I still remember the weight of my school bag digging into my shoulders as I walked home that dark day. The scent of rosesfilled the air, stemming from the numerous bouquets delivered with condolence cards attached. Tearful maids ushered me away from my screaming mother, shielding me from the truth: my father was dead. Worse, he took his own life all because his mistress rejected him. We had last seen him months before, Lucio and I peeking through the blinds on the upstairs window, the cold metal pinched between my fingers. Mamma clutched at his arm in the driveway, begging him to stay. He didn’t. Instead, he dragged his suitcase to the car, shaking off mamma’s desperate attempts to stop him.
The news of his death hit me with the fact I never got a chance to say goodbye. My last conversation with him wasn’t exactly a conversation, but a screaming, kicking rant, blaming him for my mother’s tears. He left us to pursue another woman, and when Elisabetta rejected him, he didn’t value us good enough to live for. We weren’t even second best. He probably deserved death… because he sure hadn’t deserved us.
“I don’t care if her father breathes his last breath.” Carina pounded the bottom of her knife into the table, her face flushed. “She doesn’t leave here. Am I clear?”
Clear as the bond between Gemma and her father. I’d watched them that night at the restaurant, the way they laughed at each other’s jokes, the soft glint in Gino’s eye when she showed off recipes on her phone, convincing him to try quinoa because it was full of healthy minerals. Even though they lived in separate countries, they were involved in each other’s daily lives.
Lucio said Gino had begged and pleaded with him in the wine cellar, offering to take Gemma’s place for Carina’s revenge. Now that was a true father, a true parent. And here I sat, deliberately keeping them apart. My appetite vanished. I pushed back from the table and left the dining hall.
Hours crawled by as I lay in bed, arms behind my head, staring at the ceiling. Guilt gnawed at me, a tight knot in mystomach. Midnight chimed, yet the mansion remained silent. Sleep wouldn’t come. Enough was enough.
My phone became a makeshift torch, its beam slicing through the dark, empty hallway toward Gemma’s door. The handle turned with a faint click; the door cracking open to reveal the room bathed in gentle lamplight.
She lay on her side, hugging her pillow, her wide gaze fixed on nothingness. She looked small, broken.
My fists clenched by my sides, fighting the tidal wave of despair. “Gemma,” I lowered to my knees and tucked a soft strand behind her ear.Soft. No, too meager for the satin ribbon between my fingers. I grew addicted to the sleek texture. “Gemma?” Not a single blink. Mute. “Get up, we’re going to your father.”
At last, she blinked from her trance. “Are you serious?”
I almost grinned, glad to see life spark in her whisky-colored eyes. “Have I ever lied to you?”
She hopped out of the bed and almost stumbled when reaching for her shoes.
I captured her arm and hushed her with a finger. “Quiet. I don’t want to wake anyone.”
“Your mother doesn’t know?” She yanked her elbow free. “You expect us to sneak out?”
No one would prevent me from driving her to the hospital. “Even though I’d hate to wake anyone this late, get one thing straight. I’m not my mother’s lapdog. I don’t care if we have to barge through her on the way out. We will see your father tonight.”
She threw on a jacket and shoes, and we left the premises with no hassle.
My gaze darted to the rearview mirror the entire fifteen minute drive, on guard for any De Luca scums.
The fluorescent lights of the hospital hummed overhead, casting a harsh glare on the starched uniform of the nurse at the desk. She was a formidable woman, built like a linebacker, her expression unyielding. “Visiting hours are over. Come backdomani.”
“No.” I didn’t go against my mother’s wishes to be turned down now by the likes of this woman. “My wife needs to see her father.”
“I can’t make exceptions.” She straightened her spine, flexing her jaw. “It’s againstil regolamento.”
