The friction caused a burning sting over the exact spot where Franco no doubt left a mark.
Nostrils flared. He bared his teeth, then veered back onto the road and sped toward his home estate.
???
My skin crawled, a thousand tiny needles pricking just beneath the surface. I opened my eyes to an unfamiliar darkness. The silence in the room was absolute. It was late. Well past midnight. Still in my blue dress, I must have cried myself to sleep after bolting from Enzo’s car earlier. The sensation intensified, a frantic urge to wash away Franco’s heavy cologne—a choking pine scent that clung to my skin. Stumbling to the en-suite shower, I cranked the water to scalding. The hot spray aggravated the scratches along my back, but I ignored the sting,desperate to scour myself clean, peel away every layer of skin until there was nothing left of Franco’s touch. If possible, I’d scrub my brain clean to erase him. My fingertips grazed a raw outline on my neck, and I winced, the memory of his grip as sharp as the sting.
Turning off the water, I stepped out of the stall, droplets tracing cool paths down my goosebumped flesh. I twisted with slow caution, angling my shoulders to catch my reflection in the steam-fogged mirror. My back was a painful tapestry—a dense network of angry, crisscrossing scratches where the thorns had raked across me in the low-cut dress. The lines, raw and inflamed, marred my damp back, some deeper than others. Drawing a steadying breath, I turned fully, facing the mirror. My eyes immediately snagged on the mark blooming high on the side of my neck. An ugly, violent bruise, already darkening to a sickening bluish-purple. The exact spot where his teeth had sunk. It looked swollen, tender, a visceral imprint of the assault. The tangible proof, the tormenting reminder of his violation, made my chin wobble. Tears I hadn’t shed in the shower pricked behind my eyes.
Tremors shook my body, making the simple act of pulling on my pajamas difficult. Air seethed between my clenched teeth. Every slight movement dragged the fabric across the fresh scratches. Thirst clawed at my throat. I opened the bedroom door, glad to find the guards gone, and snuck my way into the downstairs kitchen. The sink gleamed, spotless, as if no one ever dared to use it. Another testament to the army of staff lurking in the shadows of this place. Finishing my cold drink, I placed my glass in the sink, ready to sneak back up to my room, but paused, one step on the stairs.
Voices, sharp and angry, tore through the silence, originating from the front porch. I inched toward the entrance. Throughthe sheer curtain, their livid silhouettes stood stark beneath the porch light.
“I told you not to fall for this woman. You’ve surprised me. I never thought you’d follow in Lorenzo’s footsteps.”
What? She assumed Enzo fell for me? I swallowed. My stomach fluttered at the idea. Grinding my molars, I ignored the tingle. No. Enzo in love with me? What a terrible fate. No way did this game evolve into the real deal.
“Once again, Carina, you’re being overdramatic.” Enzo grated back.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what you did! You humiliated me. In front of Tommaso!”
“Humiliated?” He spat. “What about Gemma? What about her humiliation when Franco put his hands all over her? When he left his mark on her! Out of my way! You’ll not stop me from shooting him!”
Shoot? I snuck a glimpse through the curtain concealing the door window. Gun in one hand and locking pliers in the other, Enzo towered over his mother, who blocked him on the porch. Blood stained his white shirt, the messy streaks a gruesome painting on his clothes. My throat constricted. Once he’d seen the mark Franco left on my neck, he’d grown livid, speeding home so fast, I’d braced for a crash. I hoped he’d cool off back here at the house, but he hadn’t.
“You will not shoot my nephew.” Carina rammed his chest, futile at budging his hard, muscled form. “Don’t be so stupid, Enzo. Bad enough you dragged him back here and tortured him! What do you think Tommaso will do when he finds out you killed him, too?”
He’d carted Franco here… to torture him? My gaze once again fell to the locking pliers in his bloody hand, and my stomach coiled. Tonight, when he’d come to my aid, I’d seen his dark side unleashed… but this, this was something else entirely. I scannedmy throat, flinching at the touch before balling my hand into a fist. A small part of me found relief in the retribution, but another part twisted my insides, shocked that I found Enzo’s violence justifiable. It was as if his darkness was seeping into me, staining something I had always believed to be pure.
“He’s breathing air he doesn’t deserve.” He bypassed his mother and bounded for the garden.
“Shoot him—” Carina persevered, her finger pointed at the porch. “—and I swear you won’t have a wife waiting for you upstairs.”
I veered back. What on earth did she mean?
Enzo shook with untamed fury. “Are you threatening me?”
“You bet I am.” She folded her arms. “Go on down to that garage and I promise you’ll be burying two bodies tonight. Now call on the guards to untie him, send him home.”
He bared his teeth. “Not until he pays for what he did to Gemma!”
“He’s paid enough!” She hovered her pointy nails by her ears as though about to rip out her hair in utter frustration. “Oh, you’re an unhinged savage, just like your father!”
His laughter echoed in the night, the sound unstable. “What are you on about? My father wasn’t perfect, but he was a far cry from savage.”
Carina shook a finger. “I meant what I said. Go down there and Gemma dies, too.”
Enzo stepped forward, closer to the porch light, the crimson stains on his shirt making me flinch. He’d lost his mind. He fired several shots into the palm tree adjacent to the house. “Trust you to pull out all the stops.”
I stepped back, having seen and heard more than I could handle. Racing upstairs to my room, I flattened my back against the door and peered at the ceiling. “Help me,” I whispered my heartfelt prayer and stumbled to the dresser.
A large envelope sat on the table, addressed to both me and Enzo. I tore the paper and read the contents inside. Our marriage certificate. Did the maid leave this here? I read the details of our legal marriage, pausing at Enzo’s date of birth. His birthday neared in a few days. The quicker I grew closer to him, the faster I’d be free to leave. Free from the danger this place posed to my mind, body, and soul. An idea played in my mind. I had to somehow use his birthday to my advantage, to convince him once and for all I’d developed feelings for him.
Slipping beneath the sheets, I lay on my side, the events too fresh in my mind to allow sleep. Darkness eventually consumed me, yet even then, Franco’s scent—stale wine and sweat—filled the air. His breath feathered my neck, his rough hands ravished my body.
Scream. Cry. Shout. Instead, I’d grown numb.
“Gemma.” He called my name, his timbre different, kind even.
