The car returns at seven-twenty with my reluctant dinner guest.
Through the window, I watch Antonio open the door for her, watch her hesitate before stepping out, watch her look up at my villa with an expression that's equal parts impressed and terrified.
She's changed into a simple dress that's probably the nicest thing she packed, her hair down instead of in that messy arrangement she favors. She's trying to meet the occasion appropriately, which shows she understands this is important.
What she doesn't understand yet is just how important.
I give her a moment to take in the view, the villa, the grounds, the implied wealth and power of someone who can afford to live like this while everyone else in the village struggles. Let her understand the scope of what she's dealing with.
Then I go to greet my guest and begin the real negotiation.
Chapter 5: Maddie
The car that picks me up is all black leather and tinted windows, with a scary, massive driver. He doesn't speak during the short drive up a winding road that gets progressively more private and intimidating.
I spend the entire ride trying not to think about how far I am from anything resembling help.
When we pull through wrought-iron gates, I get my first look at Enzo Benedetti's home, and my brain immediately short-circuits.
It's not a house. It's a villa. An actual, honest-to-God Italian villa perched on a hillside overlooking the village and the sea beyond.
This is where my fifty-thousand-euro loan shark lives.
"Holy shit," I whisper, then immediately clap my hand over my mouth because I'm pretty sure the driver heard me.
The car stops in a circular driveway before the driver gets out and solemnly opens my door.
"Grazie," I manage, because my Italian vocabulary is pathetic but I'm trying to be polite to the man who could probably snap me in half without breaking a sweat.
The front door opens before I even reach it, and Enzo Benedetti appears wearing what has to be the most perfectly tailored shirt I've ever seen on a man. Dark blue, probably silk, open at the collar just enough to suggest he's human under all that intimidating perfection.
"Madison," he says, and the way he says my name makes something flutter in my stomach that has absolutely no business fluttering given the circumstances. "Welcome to my home."
"Thank you for having me," I reply automatically, then realize how ridiculous I sound. Like I had a choice about being here when I clearly did not.
But he doesn't comment on the absurdity. Instead, he gestures for me to follow him inside, and I step into what I can only describe as understated magnificence.
Everything is perfectly arranged and perfectly designed to impress without being over-the-top.
"Your home is beautiful," I say, because it is, and because my mother raised me to be polite even when being extorted by gorgeous Italian men.
"Thank you. Would you like a tour?"
I want to say no, that I'd rather just get this nightmare conversation over with and figure out how to escape. But I also want to see more of this place, because it's genuinely stunning and I have serious questions about what kind of "local businessman" can afford to live like this.
“Sure,” I hear myself saying. “I’d love to see it.”
He leads me through rooms that are each more beautiful than the last. A library with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and leather chairs that look like you could sink into them and never leave. A living room with a fireplace stretching across one wall and windows that frame the sunset like a painting. A kitchen that's clearly designed by someone who actually cooks, all professional-grade appliances and marble countertops.
"Do you cook?" I ask, because the kitchen is so obviously functional despite being gorgeous.
"I enjoy cooking sometimes," he says, and I catch a glimpse of something almost normal in his expression. "It's meditative in a way."
I try to picture this intimidating man chopping vegetables and stirring sauces, and can’t quite stretch my mind that far.
"The view here is incredible," I say as we move onto a terrace that overlooks the entire valley. The village spreads out below us like a collection of dollhouses, and the sea stretches to the horizon in every direction.
"Thank you,” he says. “The hilltop location allows me to keep an eye on both the water and the village."
