“No!” The sound burst out, raw and desperate, forcing my eyes open.
Enzo leaned closer, his brow furrowed with concern.
The strain in my limbs loosened, similar to earlier tonight, when he’d come to my rescue and saved me from the worst ordeal of my life. “Enzo?” I sprang up in bed, panting for breath.
“You had a nightmare.” He stroked my hair behind my ear. No longer dressed in blood-stained clothes, but now sporting a black t-shirt and boxer shorts.
Another person’s blood covered this man mere hours ago! Why hadn’t I blanched at his touch? Why had I leaned into his gentle fingers and prayed each soothing stroke lasted forever? Or maybe his mere presence alone produced the tranquil calm I inhaled. Either way, I laid my head on bended knees and soaked in the bliss.
“Gemma, you still haven’t told me what happened tonight,” he whispered above my head. “Talk to me. Let out the pain.”
No. Franco’s actions scared me, but Enzo’s potential retaliation terrified me more, especially after witnessing his brutal violence. He’d already threatened my father with a gun once. I had to protect my parents, and if he learned I tried contacting my mother, he might actually hurt them this time. I shifted slightly in the bed, trying to ease the tension coiling in my muscles, but a sharp intake of breath escaped my lips, followed by a low moan I couldn’t stifle as the soft fabric of my pajamas scraped against my skin.
His hand stilled where it rested near my temple. “What is it? Are you hurt?”
Tears pricked my eyes again, this time from the sharp, radiating sting across my back. “My back,” I managed, my voice raspy. “The thorns... when he pushed me...”
A beat of charged silence. “Right,” his voice low and practical, lost its earlier tenderness. “I’ll get something from the bathroom and bring one of the maids in to treat them.”
My stomach clenched and I gripped my knees tighter. “No. I don’t want them seeing... I don’t want anyone to know...” my words faltered as burning mortification seared my throat.
His gaze briefly flickered away before meeting mine again. “If you let me, I can do it.”
I swallowed, easing some of the burn in my esophagus, then gave a short, jerky nod.
He rose smoothly from the edge of the bed. “Take off your top. Lie on your stomach.”
He then disappeared into the en-suite bathroom, the soft click of the door closing granting me a moment of privacy I hadn’t expected.
My hands trembled.Vulnerable. Exposed.The words echoed in my head, warring with the insistent throb of pain. But the stinging was real, sharp with every slight movement against the sheets. Hesitantly, I straightened and pulled the soft cotton ofmy pajama top over my head, letting it drop beside me on the mattress. The air felt cool against my bare skin. I turned carefully onto my stomach, burying my face in the soft pillow, squeezing my eyes shut, bracing for his return, for his touch.
The en-suite door opened and closed again. The mattress dipped slightly beside me as he settled back down. A faint, clean, slightly herbal scent reached me—calendula. Then, his touch. Fingers, unexpectedly gentle, brushed against the edge of the abrasions, mapping the damage before applying something cool and instantly relieving. His touch was careful, tracing each angry, stinging line with the calming cream. Those same hands that tortured a man mere hours ago now methodically worked with gentle precision, aiming to soothe and heal. Despite my deep-seated fear of him, despite knowing the potential for violence simmering beneath his controlled exterior, the light pressure was undeniably comforting, easing the worst of the fire in my skin. It was an unsettling, dangerous contrast that left my thoughts tangled and my breath unsteady.
He finished his ministrations, the silence stretching for a moment, marked only by my quiet breathing and the distant rumble of the barking guard dogs somewhere on the villa grounds.
Enzo rose to his feet then. The mattress shifted, signalling his withdrawal. “I’ll let you rest,” he said, his voice back to his neutral, detached tone. “Call out if you need me.”
Alone? In the dark, with nothing more than my misery for company. I gripped my discarded top, concealing my breasts as I twisted on the mattress. “Enzo.” My croaky voice froze him in his tracks. “Don’t leave. Can you sleep in here tonight? In case I have another bad dream.”
He studied me for a silent minute, then disappeared into the walk-in.
I stole the opportunity to redress into my pajama shirt, the material no longer aggravating the sores thanks to the ointment.
He returned with a pillow and heavy blanket, dropping both at the foot of the bed.
I made him take the floor.A wave of guilt washed over me as I watched him arrange his makeshift pallet. I’d deprived him of his comfy bed, but the memory of Franco’s touch, my nightmare, wouldn’t let him leave. I wanted him nearby, a comfort against the lingering image of Franco’ face still so vivid in my mind. It was twisted, but Enzo, with all his darkness, was the only monster I trusted to fight the other monsters away. No… why did it feel wrong identifying him as a monster? Scarred, possessive, misunderstood even, but was Enzo really a monster? I’d been here long enough to realize he couldn’t be, even after the violence he displayed tonight.
“Go to sleep. I’ll be here if you need me.”
Huddled beneath the covers, I reached over to flick off the bedside lamp.I’ll be here if you need me.The way he spoke those words resonated, a promise that felt bigger than our situation, warming me from the inside out. One day soon, when this game ended, so would his promise. I’d be fine with the idea.I am fine, just fine.
Chapter 18
Enzo
“Still set for the banquet next week, Enzo? Many people are expecting you.” Sergio’s voice crackled through the phone.
I drummed my fingers on the polished marble of my desk, the faint echoes swallowed by the high ceiling. The air conditioning unit rattled softly in the corner, a steady hum barely masking the distant bleat of scooters from the streets below. “Yeah. Lombardy’s on the books. About time I headed home for good.” Let my mother shout all she liked; she’d no longer hinder us leaving Sicily.
