"Are you scared?"
"Terrified."
"Of what?"
"Of losing you. Of not being worthy of the choice you made."
"And if you are worthy?"
"Then we figure out how to build a life together that honors both who you are and who I am."
I close my eyes and listen to his heartbeat, steady and strong beneath my ear. This is my life now. This man, this world, these choices.
It should terrify me.
Instead, I feel completely certain I'm exactly where I belong.
Chapter 34: Enzo
Three weeks after the harbor, my shoulder has healed enough that I can move without wincing, and Madison has settled into life at the villa with surprising ease.
She's claimed the library as her office, spreading tourism plans across the antique desk and filling the shelves with books about sustainable development and cultural preservation. Every morning, she makes coffee for both of us and updates me on her progress while I handle the darker aspects of my business from my study.
It's domestic in a way I never expected to want.
I find her in the village this afternoon, sitting in the main square with Signora Ricci and two other elderly women, taking notes in that careful way she has when she's trying to understand something completely. Signora Ricci has been helping Madison navigate the more subtle aspects of village politics.
"Good afternoon, ladies," I say as I approach their impromptu meeting.
The older women greet me with the mixture of respect and genuine affection I've come to expect. Being shot protecting one of their own has shifted something in how the village sees me. I'm still dangerous, still someone to be careful around, but I'm also proven protector of their community.
Madison looks up with a big smile. "Perfect timing. We were just discussing the festival proposal."
"What about it?"
"Whether we should revive the harvest celebration that used to happen every October. Signora Ricci says it was the highlight of the year until about fifteen years ago."
Signora Ricci launches into enthusiastic Italian about traditional foods and dancing and the way the whole village used to come together. Madison translates the parts she catches, her eyes bright with the kind of excitement she gets when she sees potential for bringing people together.
"It would be perfect for tourism," she continues. "Authentic cultural experience, seasonal timing for when people want to travel to Italy, showcasing local traditions that are disappearing. But more importantly, it would give the village something to celebrate again."
Something to celebrate.
I watch her explain her vision to the elderly women, watch them nod and smile and offer suggestions, and I realize what she's done here goes far beyond tourism revenue.
She's given them hope.
When she walked into Giuseppe's broken house months ago, this village was dying. Young people leaving, traditions disappearing, the slow decay that comes when a place loses its sense of purpose. The one-euro house program was a desperate attempt to bring new life to Monte Vento.
What they got was Madison Sullivan. What they got was someone who looked at their fading community and saw possibility instead of decline.
And what I got was someone who could transform my territory from a place ruled by fear into a place worth protecting for reasons beyond power and control.
"The festival sounds like an excellent idea," I tell them. "You have my full support for whatever resources you need."
The women beam at this official endorsement, and Madison gives me a look that suggests she knows exactly how significant that statement is. My support means permits will beapproved, vendors will participate, and nothing will interfere with their celebration.
After the women disperse to spread the news, Madison and I walk slowly back toward the villa as the sun sets over the water.
