Enzo's face is completely expressionless. "Madison," he says, his voice carefully controlled. "Leave. Now."
But I'm already committed to the gesture, and backing down now would make this even more awkward.
"It’s fine! I won’t stay but a minute. Everyone needs coffee," I say, moving toward the desk with determined cheer. "I got an assortment from the café. Cannoli, sfogliatelle, some things I can't pronounce but they smell amazing."
I start unpacking the basket, very aware that the silence in the room has become deafening.
"There's plenty for everyone," I continue, because talking fills the horrible quiet. "Food brings people together, right?"
One of the men says something sharp in Italian. I don't understand the words, but the tone makes it clear he's not interested in pastries.
"Who is this bitch?" another one asks in broken English, and I definitely understood this time.
"The americana doesn't understand Italian," the first man says in heavily accented English, and there's something in his voice that makes me uncomfortable.
"I understand enough," I say brightly, though that's a complete lie. "Would anyone like espresso? It's still hot."
I start pouring coffee into the small cups I brought, determined to salvage this situation through sheer force of will.
"Madison." Enzo's voice cuts through my nervous chattering, low and deadly. "Put down the fucking coffee. Walk to the door. Leave. Now."
The profanity in his controlled voice makes me freeze with the carafe halfway to a cup.
"We’re not done here, Benedetti," the scarred man says, and his English carries the unmistakable weight of a threat.
"Yeah, we are." Enzo stands slowly, and something in his posture makes all four men go very still. "For today."
"Maybe the americana should stay," the third man suggests with a lewd smile that makes my skin crawl. "She can provide service or coffee while we finish talking."
The temperature in the room drops twenty degrees.
"Maybe," Enzo says quietly, "you should remember where you are and who you're talking to."
The words are soft, but they carry more menace than any shouting could. This is a different Enzo than the one who argued with me yesterday. This is someone accustomed to being obeyed without question.
The men stare at each other for a long moment, some kind of silent communication happening that I'm definitely not part of. Finally, the scarred man stands up.
"We'll finish this conversation another time, Benedetti. Soon."
"You know where to find me."
The men file out, and each one looks at me as they pass. Not friendly looks. Not even neutral looks. The kind of looks that make me very aware of how isolated this office is, how far I am from any kind of help.
The door closes behind them with a click that sounds final.
Enzo and I stand in the sudden silence, the basket of pastries sitting between us like evidence of my complete inability to read a situation.
"Well," I say weakly, trying for humor. "That escalated quickly. Would you like a cannoli? They're amazing. You should try a bite. Here, I’ll get one for you."
His expression doesn't change.
"I'm sorry if I—"
He moves faster than I expect, crossing the room in three quick steps and backing me up against the wall beside his door. His hands slam against the stone on either side of my head, caging me in.
"Do you have any fucking idea what you just walked into?" he asks, his voice low and rough with barely controlled fury.
"I brought coffee," I say stupidly, because my brain has completely short-circuited from the combination of his proximity and the danger radiating off him.
