She's wearing sneakers this time, along with jeans and a sweater that shows off her figure without trying too hard. Hair's doing that messy thing again where pieces escape and catch the light.
She looks like she belongs in a corporate conference room, not in a village where most business gets handled through handshakes and understanding what happens when people don't pay their debts.
"Good morning," I say, walking up to where she's got everything spread out on an old crate.
"Enzo! Perfect timing." She grins like I just made her whole week by showing up to something I told her to do. "I've organized everything by location so we can walk through systematically and I can show you exactly what I'm thinking for each area."
The fact that she thinks this is her meeting is almost funny. Like she's running this show instead of dancing to music I'm playing.
"You've been busy," I tell her.
"I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking of new ideas." She shuffles through papers like she's about to present to the board of directors. "Did you know the harbor here was a major tradingport in the eighteenth century? There's so much history we could use."
Trading port. Yeah, it still is. Just different cargo, different customers. None of the shit that goes through here these days gets recorded in any history books.
"Show me," I say. Might as well let her perform.
She lights up and starts walking me around the harbor, pointing out sights I’ve seen every day for decades. The irony is not lost on me.
"The harbor's perfect for small boat tours," she says, waving toward the water where my guys sometimes unload packages she'd rather not know about. "Day trips to hidden coves, sunset sailing, maybe fishing expeditions where tourists learn traditional techniques."
I watch her chat with old Carlo, who's trying not to look nervous about being watched while he talks to her. She doesn't know Carlo's "fishing" sometimes involves picking up packages that get dropped overboard, or that his nets pull up more than fish.
"And this building," she continues, pointing at the old customs house where we store things that need climate control and no questions asked. "With renovation, this could be an amazing waterfront restaurant. Fresh seafood, sunset views over the Mediterranean."
I picture my clients trying to have meetings while American tourists take selfies at the next table. The logistics would be a nightmare, but the balls on this girl, thinking she can repurpose everything like it's available for her little project.
"The building's got specific uses," I point out.
"Nothing that can't be adapted. I researched local contractors and the cost estimates are reasonable."
She researched contractors. Wonder what Franco told her when she asked about his availability for jobs that don't involve soundproofing and reinforced doors.
"What'd they say about permits?"
"That's where local partnerships matter." She turns to me with this look that's all business confidence mixed with complete cluelessness. "Someone with established relationships could cut through the bureaucracy."
Someone like me.
She wants to use my connections to make her tourist fantasies happen, no idea that my relationships work through fear and respect, not building permits and zoning committees.
But the idea has possibilities. Not for her reasons—for mine.
"Keep going," I tell her.
We walk through the village while she points out opportunities in places I never thought about. Every spot she picks has value she doesn't see. That abandoned bakery? Perfect view of the main road. Empty house by the church? Three different exit routes. Those narrow streets she thinks are romantic? Great for controlling movement when you need to.
She's accidentally designing a surveillance network disguised as a tourist trap.
"Tourism could save this place," she says when we stop by the church. "I talked to some residents. They’re worried about young people leaving and the village dying. But sustainable economic opportunities could change that."
Fuck! She's already been talking to residents about this. Three days here and she's done more community outreach than most people manage in months.
"What kind of opportunities?" I ask.
"Hospitality jobs, artisan crafts, food service. Training programs for people who want to stay but need careers. Partnerships with farmers and fishermen to supply experiences."
She wants job training in a village where I'm the main employer and most of the work can't go on any resume. Wonder what kind of skills she thinks Emilio and his crew need to be taught.
