Madison Sullivan just made this game much more interesting.
And I always win my games.
Chapter 7: Maddie
I spend the morning after my dramatic exit from Enzo's villa doing what I do best when faced with impossible problems: making lists and researching solutions.
The debt situation is mathematically impossible. Even if I could find work immediately, fifty-eight thousand euros would take me literally decades to pay off. And that's assuming I could find work in a tiny Sicilian village where I don't speak the language and have no legal right to employment.
But I didn't come here to give up at the first sign of difficulty.
I sit in my broken kitchen with my notebook, a cup of instant coffee made with bottled water, and my determination to figure this out. There has to be a solution that doesn't involve either becoming Enzo's indentured servant or fleeing the country like a criminal.
That's when inspiration strikes.
The village is gorgeous. Absolutely, authentically, Instagram-perfectly gorgeous. And it's completely underdeveloped from a tourism perspective. No hotels, no tour guides, no organized activities. Americans would pay thousands of dollars for the kind of authentic Italian experience this place could provide.
I start scribbling notes faster than my pen can keep up. Cooking classes with local grandmothers, wine tastings featuring regional varieties, boat tours to hidden coves, historical walking tours, artisan craft experiences.
The more I think about it, the more excited I get. This isn't just a solution to my debt problem—it's a way to helpthe entire village. I've seen the empty houses, the struggling businesses, the young people who probably leave because there are no opportunities here.
Tourism could change everything.
And if I could prove to Enzo that I can generate real revenue for the village, maybe we could work out an arrangement. A percentage of tourism profits applied to the debt. A partnership instead of whatever twisted deal he has in mind.
I spend the rest of the morning walking around the village, taking notes and photos, talking to anyone who speaks enough English to understand my questions. By lunchtime, I have the bones of a real business plan.
Now I just need to present it to the scariest businessman in Sicily.
I decide my first order of business should be making a good impression. In my experience, successful negotiations depend on establishing rapport first.
A little gesture goes a long way in building goodwill.
I walk into the village and stop by the café, where I use my limited Italian and enthusiastic pointing to order an assortment of pastries and a thermal carafe of their excellent espresso. The older women working behind the counter seem delighted by my efforts at the language and pack everything into a beautiful wicker basket. They even add extra pastries, which I take as a good sign.
By the time I reach Enzo's office building, I'm practically bubbling over with excitement about my business proposal. An intimidating receptionist sits at her desk, and she looks up when I enter with my basket of goodies.
"Good morning!" I say brightly.
I hold up the basket and she stares at it like I'm offering her a live snake.
"Signor Benedetti?" I ask.
I can hear voices through Enzo's partially open door. Several male voices speaking in low, tense tones. Perfect timing. Maybe a coffee break will put everyone in a better mood for my presentation.
She says something rapid in Italian that sounds like a warning, but I'm already heading down the hallway. Sometimes it's better to ask forgiveness than permission. I'm sure he won't mind if I interrupt when he sees I brought goodies.
I knock briefly and push open the door with my hip, balancing the basket carefully.
"Hi! Good morning! I brought coffee and pastries for everyone!" I announce cheerfully, stepping into the room with my biggest smile.
The conversation stops instantly.
Enzo is behind his desk, but this time there are four men sitting across from him. Not well-dressed business associates. These men look harder, more dangerous. One has visible scars running down his neck. Another has hands that look like they've been broken and healed wrong multiple times.
And all of them are staring at me like I've just sprouted a second head.
"Oh," I say, suddenly aware that the atmosphere in the room is much more tense than I realized. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were in an important meeting."
