The pale priest rushed through the vows, stammering atlawfuland almost skipping,forsaking all others.
Carina cleared her throat in the front pew; the quiet, yet harsh sound carried a threat all on its own.
The old man had been pale before. Now he turned downright ashen. “Do you, Enzo,” his voice squeaked, “vow before God to take this woman, Gemma Galo, to be your lawful wedded wife?”
I tucked a loose dark chocolate strand behind her ear, hoping to entice her to meet my stare. Ridgid as a stone statue, she avoided my gaze and recoiled from my touch. “I do.”
The priest’s lips thinned, and he ran a finger along the inside of his collar. “And do you, Gemma, in like manner, promise to receive this man, Enzo Cammarta, as your lawful wedded husband, to be faithful to him, to be devoted and affectionate till death do you part?”
She scanned the marble floor, perhaps praying a portal would surface and swallow her.In her dreams.
“Gemma,” I whispered and jostled her arm to shake her from her daze.
She hiked her chin, once again refusing to meet my eyes, but scanning somewhere over my shoulder. “I do.”
We exchanged rings. A trembling Gemma needed help slipping my ring onto my finger.
“They have vowed, in the presence of God, to be loyal to each other—” My gorgeous bride winced at the old man’s words. “—They have forged the bond between them with the giving of rings. Therefore, I pronounce them husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”
I leaned in, but as my face neared hers, she quailed away. Grabbing the back of her neck, I shoved her close.Scanning hereyes, her mouth, before slowly planting my lips on her cheek. Her hard jostle revealed her urgency for distance. Releasing her, I bit my inner cheek, letting her have this small victory, since none of it mattered now. It was done. We were married.
Chapter 7
Gemma
The priest practically tripped over his cassock to flee the church, his pale face a mirror of my own disgust. Sacrilegious? The word felt too mild for what had just transpired.
I’m married.The thought echoed, hollow and impossible.
A suited man emerged from a side room, brandishing a briefcase as if it held the keys to damnation. He presented two documents, both in Italian script swirling like poisonous vines—my death warrant, legally binding me to this twisted union.
Enzo’s fingers tightened on my arm, a subtle threat of what awaited if I defied him. Hands shaking too badly to write legibly, I scrawled my signature. He signed next, his grip on my arm unwavering, the pressure guaranteeing a bruise by morning. Next, the suited man placed another form for my signature. The sole word I recognized on the heading;Accordo. Some sort of agreement? I didn’t have a chance to analyze, and even if I did, I didn’t understand Italian. My mind went blank and I simply signed with a trembling hand. The papers contained both signatures now. It was done.
We descended the altar, my movements wooden. Enzo’s mother regarded us as one might a poorly staged play, her deadpan stare a frozen wasteland. She cut off my parents before I could approach, her voice like shards of ice. “Go to the authorities, and your daughter is as good as dead.” Acasual pronouncement, delivered with the same indifference as ordering coffee. No hesitation, no remorse.
The guards released my parents, then shadowed us as we shuffled outside into the blinding Sicilian sunlight. The humidity added to the suffocating feel of the day.
“Gemma!” my parents shouted.
I turned to see them chasing us.What should I say? How to offer comfort when my future was an abyss?
Enzo shoved me inside the limo, clutching my dress to ensure every scrap fit into the vehicle.
I shook my head, slowly, earnestly begging. “Don’t leave them here like this.”
He ignored my plea, shuffled in beside me, and shouted for the driver to go.
On the footpath, my parents cried and begged to speak with me. Would this be goodbye? Mum’s dark hair swayed in the breeze. Papa’s stubble needed tidying. I burned their images into my mind and my heart, clinging to every detail as the limo rounded the corner. “How could you?” I flung back around to face the monster beside me. “At least let me say goodbye. Let me hug them one last time.”
Nothing. The cold-hearted psychopath sat indifferent. We sped away from the street and onto the main road. Enzo’s hard visage focused on the front window. I married this man, a complete stranger. When he’d nestled his gun against Papa’s head, my entire world collapsed. Daunting clarity had overwhelmed me, and the weight of my situation, my two options, had brought me to my knees before this monster. Marry him or lose my father. No choice in the matter. Once he removed the gun from Papa’s head, I swallowed my horrible fate. Any fight remaining, fled.
We approached the iron gates to the place I dreaded most, the estate they’d locked me in. My stomach turned. I was a prisoner now, and Enzo,my jailer.
Inside his room, my new husband shoved me onto the settee. The silk upholstery felt cold and slick against my skin, offering no comfort. The air was thick with the cloying spiciness of his cologne and something else, something sharper and metallic that made my stomach clench.
He then stalked over to the balcony and yanked on the handles. Locked and secure, the doors rattled under his force. A triumphant humph echoed as he moved onto the windows, testing each one.
From outside, a distant bark carried on the wind, those same guard dogs, playing their part in guarding the estate, amplifying my isolation. “There’s no need,” I whispered, my tone venomous. My mouth felt dry, the sour tang of fear coating my tongue. “You put a gun to my father’s skull, so trust me, I learned my lesson. I won’t try to escape anymore.”
