"I honestly don't know what you mean. What am I supposed to have seen?"
"You interrupt important business. You make problems for agreements."
The coffee incident. They're angry about the coffee and pastries interruption. But I still don't understand what agreements or partnerships they're talking about.
"I'm very sorry about interrupting your meeting," I say carefully. "I didn't realize it was important. I was trying to be friendly and bring coffee. It’s an American thing."
"American friendly." The second man laughs, but it's not a pleasant sound.
"You tell Benedetti," the scarred man continues, "that his americana woman needs to stay away from business that doesn't concern her. You tell him respect goes both ways."
"I can tell him that, but I'm still confused about what business you mean. The tourism project is the only business we have together."
The second man says something rapid in Italian to his partner.
"You are very good actress," the scarred man says, leaning closer to my window. "Or very stupid girl."
"I'm not acting. I genuinely don't understand what you want me to tell Enzo."
His eyes narrow. "You tell him exactly what we said. Word for word. And you tell him that next time, maybe we have longer conversation with his pet americana."
The threat in his voice pisses me off. "I'm not his pet anything. That’s not a nice thing to say. We’re business partners."
He straightens up and shrugs at his companion. "She believes this."
They're starting to look less amused and more annoyed, which I'm pretty sure is worse for me.
"Look," I say, trying to keep my voice calm. "I'll give Enzo your message, whatever it means. But I need you to understand that I really don't know anything about your business with him beyond tourism development."
"Tourism development," the second man repeats mockingly. "In Monte Vento."
"Yes. Cultural experiences, vacation rentals, boat tours. That kind of tourism."
They both laugh now, but it's the kind of laughter that makes me want to lock my doors and drive away as fast as possible.
"You are either very good liar or very stupid woman," the scarred man says. "For your sake, we hope you are stupid."
"I don't understand what that means."
"It means," he says, leaning down to put his face closer to my window, "that if you are lying, if you know more than you pretend, things will be very bad for you."
My heart is pounding so hard I can barely hear my own voice. "I'm not lying. I don't know what you think I know, but I don't know it. I know nothing."
I don’t know why I keep trying to explain my innocence to these men who obviously don’t believe me anyway.
The second man says something else in Italian, pointing at his watch. They seem to be discussing the time, and I get the distinct impression they're deciding what to do with me.
"You give Benedetti the message," the scarred man says finally. "Exactly as we said. And you remember that Monte Vento is small place. We see everything that happens here."
"Yes, I'll give him the message."
He starts to straighten up. "Maybe next time we—"
The sound of an approaching car cuts him off. All three of us turn to see a black sedan coming up the mountain road fast, too fast for the curves.
I recognize the car immediately. It's Enzo.
The scarred man curses in Italian and says something sharp to his companion. Both men tense, their casual intimidation suddenly replaced by alertness.
