The tracker stays. Along with more security. More eyes on village approaches, better surveillance of strangers asking about American women, rotation of my best men making sure she's never alone and vulnerable again.
Madison thinks she chose independence when she moved back to Giuseppe's house. What she chose was to become my responsibility.
And I protect what's mine.
My phone buzzes. Alessio: "Package delivery for tonight. Clean resolution guaranteed."
Four men who thought they could intimidate Madison to get to me. Four men about to learn some mistakes are fatal.
I delete the message and check GPS again. Red dot shows Madison's car parked outside her house, been there an hour. She's probably inside trying to make sense of today, wondering about business disputes she doesn't understand.
Let her wonder. Let her think this was a misunderstanding between associates, resolved through negotiation.
She doesn't need to know four men die tonight because they made her afraid.
She doesn't need to know I'd burn down half of Sicily before letting anyone touch her again.
The only thing she needs to know is she's protected. That she can sleep safe, drive through my territory, build her tourism dreams under my control.
I finish my whiskey and wait for Alessio’s call.
By tomorrow morning, problem solved.
And Madison never has to be afraid of those assholes again.
Chapter 17: Maddie
I'm sitting in my dark kitchen staring at a can of cold soup and trying to convince myself to eat something, when I hear the rumble of a truck outside.
It's been three hours since Enzo dropped me off, three hours of replaying every moment of what happened on that mountain road. The fear when those men boxed me in. Their threats and intimidation. And then Enzo arriving like some kind of avenging angel, his voice deadly calm as he faced down men who clearly wanted to hurt me.
The way he said "what's mine" keeps echoing in my head, along with the flutter of something that definitely wasn't fear when he claimed me so possessively.
The truck engine cuts off, and I hear voices outside in rapid Italian. A moment later, someone knocks on my door.
"Signorina Sullivan? Is Franco. I have work to do."
Franco? But we weren't supposed to start the electrical work until next week.
I open the door to find Franco standing there with two other men and what looks like a portable generator on wheels.
"Franco, hi. I thought you were starting Monday?"
"Change of plans," he says in his careful English. "Signor Benedetti, he says you need power tonight. For safety."
"Tonight?"
"Sì. After what happened today..." He gestures vaguely, and I realize Enzo must have told him about the incident on the road. "No good for you to be alone in dark house."
One of the other men is already carrying the generator toward my front door while the third unloads cables and equipment from the truck.
"I don't understand. This is very sudden."
Franco shrugs. "Signor Benedetti, he pays for rush job. We do rush job."
Enzo is paying for this? I should probably be annoyed about him making decisions for me, but after today's scare, the thought of having actual electricity feels like a gift from heaven.
"How long will this take?"
