“Carina… I told her. Enzo? …Anything you need from the villa?” The question hung in the air.
Need? All I needed was for a doctor to walk through those doors and tell me Gemma was all right. I blinked at Lucio, his words at last registering, cutting through the fog of panic. Her Bible. She always turned to it, whether a good or bad day, and had barely put it down after Franco’s attack. “Her Bible,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Bring me Gemma’s Bible.”
Lucio squeezed my shoulder, a silent understanding passing between us.
As he walked away, I stared at the bloodstains on my hands. I wished I could rewind the day, make different choices, wished we’d never attended the festival. When she stormed off with the lame excuse to use the bathroom, I kept my distance. My panic set in when my brother ran to me saying he’d seen De Luca andhis men here at the festival, pointing to a bar they’d entered—the same bar Gemma set foot in. I’d wasted no time and muscled through the crowd, not apologizing to those I shoved out of the way. Once inside the building, I had found the back exit open, but no one lingered in the parking lot. Acting quickly, I retrieved my phone and opened the tracking app. Their movements told me they headed for the back roads. Thank God I parked far enough away from the traffic jam. More so, thank God, Lucio and I raced out there when we had, beating them to the location in time.
I found the bathroom and pumped soap into my hands. I scrubbed and scrubbed, as if I could erase the stain of her blood and the memory of that gunshot. But it wouldn’t come off. “Please,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Please, God. Don’t take her.” My throat clogged as her blood swirled down the drain, the diluted red stark against the white porcelain. “She doesn’t deserve this.” I didn’t know how to pray. I hadn’t prayed in years. But this... this was desperate.
An hour later, the doctor strolled out to meet me. “Mr. Cammarata, she’s stable. The bullet grazed her shoulder—you got lucky.” He consulted his clipboard. “It’s a relatively superficial wound, but it tore away a significant amount of tissue. We’ve cleaned and dressed it, and will keep an eye on it. A plastic surgeon can offer advice on scar management later, if needed.”
I raked my hands through my hair, peering at the ceiling. Luck had nothing to do with it, this had to be answered prayer. But we weren’t out of the woods yet. “And her head?”
He paused, his expression thoughtful. “She definitely has a concussion. She lost consciousness at the scene, which always raises a red flag. We’ve run a CT scan, and thankfully, there’s no sign of any bleeding or swelling in the brain.”
My shoulders slumped, welcoming the good news, but I couldn’t shake the tremble in my voice. “So… what does this mean now?”
“She might have headaches, dizziness, nausea, confusion for a few days, maybe a week or two. The main concern is managing her symptoms.” The doctor touched his pen on his clipboard. “We’re running some neurological tests. It’s all likely related to the concussion itself, but we’re ruling out anything long-term. But if everything remains stable, she can go home tomorrow.”
“Home, tomorrow?” I had a lot to organize. I’d hire the best care for her.
“Yes. She’ll need strict rest, both physical and mental. No screens, no bright lights, no loud noises. And someone needs to be at her side for at least the first few days to monitor for any worsening symptoms. If she experiences severe headaches, vomiting, seizures, or any changes in her behavior or level of consciousness, you need to bring her back to the ER.” He looked at me intently. “Follow the recovery plan. Gradual return to activity. Pushing herself too soon could make things worse.”
I drew in a breath, processing everything. “Can I see her?”
He adjusted his glasses. “Soon. First, we’ll need you to fill out forms for your wife, if you don’t mind.” The doctor gave a reassuring nod and led me to the main desk.
A nurse behind the desk handed me a plastic ziplock bag. Gemma’s items—her wedding band, and the gold necklace, the pendant I’d rigged with a tracker. Thank God she’d been wearing it.
Lucio rushed to my side and handed me her Bible. “How is she?”
“She’ll be fine.” Comfort surged through me, a release of glowing gratitude. I signed the form, handing it back to the nurse. “I’ll be able to see her.”
He wiped a hand over his mouth. “Thank God.”
The doctor beckoned, and with a hand squeezing my brother’s shoulder in thanks, I followed.
“I’ll leave you with her,” the doctor gestured to the first door inside the ward.
She lay in bed, asleep. I occupied the seat beside her, clutching the Bible in my lap. “Gemma,” I whispered, though she didn’t stir. My hand hovered above her arm, but clenched, hesitating to touch her in case I disturbed her. Opening her Bible in my lap, I read the small note from Matthew’s parents on the inside jacket. A clear wedding gift. Not a standard Bible either, but a commentary Bible containing quotes and advice for newlywed couples. A silk ribbon bookmarked a page. Assuming she’d left off here, I read aloud. “Enjoy life with the wife you love….” I continued reading the verse and the commentator’s input on how God created a husband and wife for one another. Despite what hardships life threw us, our refuge lies in our marriage. By devoting ourselves to marriage, we declare to God and the world we choose our spouse above all others, above all matters, whether good or bad.
I’d paused reading. Everything I read here resonated in me so deep and made me reflect on my beautiful wife.
“My body belongs to whoever my future husband will be.”
Her defense earlier tonight echoed in my mind. Raw jealousy stirred at the idea of her with another man. A man out there roamed this planet unaware this incredible woman vowed to be faithful to only him, and they’d not yet met. I wanted to be the husband this book portrayed, the husband she desired. I wanted to belong to her in the truest sense and for her to be mine alone.
Chapter 23
Gemma
I awoke to the same routine, no different from any other day. Enzo carted my breakfast tray and arranged the platter across my lap. “Buongiorno, little wife.” He kissed my head.
Little wife? The term had been on his lips more than usual since the incident. He’d stayed at my side every day during the first two weeks of my recovery, more attentive than ever before. I must admit, these last two weeks with him back at work had been hard. I missed him like crazy and eagerly waited for him to return.
Doubt crept into the back of my mind. What was his intent? We hadn’t discussed the night at the festival… his admission of his feelings. Maybe he did lie to his mother to get her off his back. Not the first lie I’d seen him feed her. The whole ordeal left me a tangled mess of confusion, and the more I steeped in Enzo’s affections, the harder I fought the dangerous hum in my chest.
“Eat before your breakfast goes cold. Lisandra will be here soon to clean your room.”
