Chapter 2
Enzo
My mother burst through my bedroom door, her clicking heels echoing over the marble tiles. A woman who rose with the birds; she wasted no time hunting me down this morning.
“Explain yourself. Now.” Her fevered scowl strayed to Gemma on the bed, her lips curling over her gritted teeth. “She’s the spitting image of her mother.”
I fastened the watch to my wrist, the cold metal doing nothing to cool the sudden heat rising on my skin. “The plan changed. She’s here.”
Gemma’s sleeping form remained peaceful, undisturbed by the ruckus before her.
The way her nose had crinkled when she laughed, the playful glares she shot her friends, and the flush to her cheeks when she busted me staring, had drawn me in.
A magnetic force. I’d hoped she would accept my drink offer; I’d wanted a few hours alone in her company, a chance to deepen her blush, to breathe in her frangipani scent, and to drown in those whisky-colored eyes.
We planned to observe them at the restaurant, just as we had since she and her friends disembarked in Catania.
The original strategy hinged on hijacking her bridal car, but her addictive presence proved too difficult to resist. Car ambush, forgotten.
I formed a new plan, bribing the young waiter to play along.
Her friends leaving their drinks behind couldn’t have worked out better for us. Their departure made our plan less complicated, since I preferred dealing with Gemma and her father alone.
Carina’s gaze narrowed, edged with cruelty. “And your promise?”
Her ever-present doubt thickened the air. I forced myself to meet her gaze, a familiar knot forming in my stomach. “I’m not about to back out on my word now, am I?”
Silence stretched between us.
The vow hung heavy between us, tasting like ash in my mouth. I had promised my mother. Fifteen years of shared purpose. But glancing at Gemma’s face, her lashes feathering her cheeks in innocent slumber… the vow carried a heavier weight now, as if tainted.
These last few days, I’d been struck by her grace as she moved through the world.
The curve of her smile at forgotten landmarks when sightseeing with her friends.
The way she’d closed her eyes, the shining sun favoring her as she inhaled the moment—making me itch to experience the same peace.
She embodied the complete opposite of my existence.
Where she laughed, the sound lyrical and carefree—I couldn’t recall the last time I found anything humorous.
Where she revered the beauty in a garden, running a finger over the soft petals, I observed the thorns.
She was light, and I was darkness. And now, I’d snatched her from her bright life, dragging her into my shadows.
I clenched my fists by my sides, nails piercing into my palms, a physical anchor against the rising tide of doubt.
Carina’s sharp breath pierced through my racing thoughts. “Keep two guards outside this room. We can’t have our beautiful bride running away now.” She hesitated at the door. “And her guests? Her father?”
“Her friends will not be a problem. As for her father, he’s still out cold in the wine cellar.” My brother guarded him and would inform me when he came to.
“Next time you decide to pull a stunt, run it by me first. If this wedding fails, there’ll be bloodshed.” She flicked her burgundy bob, and stormed out, the same relentless drive propelling her forward.
The door slamming shut echoed off the walls, causing Gemma to stir.
In no hurry to leave, I studied her long dark hair framing her profile, the silky strands splayed on the pillow similar to a fairytale princess.
But there would be no prince’s kiss for our little damsel; she’d awaken to a nightmare.
She owned the thickest lashes I’d ever seen on a woman.
I slanted closer. Her lips stood out, strikingly rosy and full, with the bottom lip curving just a little more generously than the upper.
Carina didn’t lie; she was a replica of her mother.
This was it. Gemma: the reset button.
Fifteen years of silent dinners, of tiptoeing around Carina’s moods, all leading here.
I imagined my mother’s face without those harsh brackets around her mouth.
They tightened each time she looked at my father’s picture.
Her laughter still echoed in the memories of my childhood, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed, the small dimple in her cheek when she chased me around the garden, pretending to be a monster.
A recording from another lifetime, before my father’s late nights at the office stopped being a convincing excuse.
Before the whispers of lipstick-stained collars became the talk of the staff.
Before our family home turned into a mausoleum.
Gemma had to be the way to resurrect that sound.
My phone buzzed, and I fished the device out of my pocket.
“Signore Campbell is on his way to the hotel.”
“ Grazie .” Wedging the phone between my shoulder and ear, I fixed my tie. “I’ll be there soon.” Ending the call, I shot Lucio a quick text, then scrolled through my cell to the image—a picture to end this sham betrothal.
I spared the woman in my bed a final glance.
A strange tightness gripped my chest, a cold counterpoint to the heat of my anticipation.
Throbbing desire pulsed through my veins, softening the roar of the plan at the edges.
I bit the inside of my cheek. Cold purpose slammed back into focus.
Desire or not, duty came first. Her unguardedness in sleep struck me with her obvious vulnerability in this situation.
Last night, she’d been so shy and skittish in my presence, but a flame ignited in her depths.
The way she lost herself in my eyes, the slight hitch in her breath, whispered her desire.
Gemma Galo was interested, despite hiding her attraction behind the cheap veil on her head.
It wouldn’t take much at all to see our plan to fruition.
Which meant she wouldn’t be here for long.
Tension coiled my gut. Either way, we might as well enjoy each other’s company on this hellish ride.
I locked the bedroom door, the click echoing in the sudden silence, and beckoned over the two guards waiting in the hallway. “ Non si muova. Capito? Do not let her out under any circumstances.”
They nodded in unison, their obedience a small shield against the irrational impulse to stay.
I strode through the cool, shadowed villa, the tap of my shoes sharp against the marble floor.
Stepping outside, the Sicilian sun blazed, the heat radiating off the stucco walls.
I removed my shades from my jacket pocket, shielding my eyes from the blinding light.
My car gleamed like a predator in the driveway.
I settled into the driver’s seat and revved the engine.
The well-tuned machine purred, a deep, resonant rumble vibrating through the contoured seat, a promise of the power beneath the hood.
Zipping out of the villa, tires crunching on the gravel, I sped along the main road in the direction of the hotel.
The bright, sunny day contrasted with the storm I was about to brew.
I lowered the rooftop and allowed the wind to wash over me.
Passing the beach, several people lounged on the sand. Locals and tourists splashed in the waveless water, enjoying the Sicilian weather. How nice to be so carefree.
Images of Gemma—her unsure gaze regarding me when I’d helped steady her to her feet last night—flashed in my mind.
To see that look again… I hit the accelerator harder, eager to get this over with and return home.
The hotel came into view, its pale stone reflecting the azure of the sea beyond.
Palm trees swayed in the gentle breeze, a postcard-perfect scene ideal for any traveling tourist. Amidst all this grand beauty, she stayed glued to the forefront of my mind—how any minute now she’d wake up, alone, in my bed.
This little charade with the fiancé was just a time-wasting detour.
I’d deal with the pathetic sap, then get back to the real game.
Lucio’s name flashed across the polished dash screen.
READY WHEN YOU ARE. I snickered—of course he’d added a salute emoji.
My younger brother found this situation a little too amusing.
People rolled their luggage through the large automatic doors, laughing and smiling, excited about their holiday stay. The valet hurried and fetched my keys.
Inside the lobby, Mr. Campbell paced, phone to his ear as his family checked in.
“Still can’t reach her, son?” An older version of the young man slapped Mr. Campbell’s shoulder.
Typical tourists in their flip-flops and casual floral shirts, ready to enjoy their destination wedding holiday. And here I stood, the storm cloud gathering on their horizon.
“No.” He tweaked his nose. “It’s not like her to ignore my calls. I left her several messages.”
“You mentioned her friends took her out for a bachelorette dinner?” The father brushed aside his son’s concerns. “What’s the bet they’re exhausted after a big night?”
Big night indeed. The restaurant verged on closing when they blacked out.
“Gemma? A big night?” Matthew cocked a brow. “I don’t think so, Dad.”
What, no late nights out with his fiancée? A spin on the dance floor, or a few drinks at a bar? I’d done Gemma Galo a favor by preventing her marriage to this bore.
Campbell Senior’s brows knit together. “Let’s kick back in our suites. You can try again in an hour.”
Matthew gestured to the elevators. “You guys go on. I’ll hang here in case she turns up.”
I replied to Lucio, telling him to go ahead in five minutes. His parents—and what I assumed were his siblings—wheeled their bags away, leaving a young Matthew alone in the foyer. Young indeed. Similar in age to Miss Galo, if I had to take a guess. He had his entire life to live… but not with Gemma.