"Two hours, maybe three. We connect generator to main panel, give you lights and outlets. Not permanent, but good for now."
"And the permanent work?"
"Monday, like planned. Tonight is emergency solution."
The men work fast, threading cables through windows and connecting the generator to my electrical panel. Within an hour, I have functioning lights for the first time since arriving in Sicily.
The transformation is dramatic. My disaster house suddenly looks less like a medieval ruin and more like a charming fixer-upper. The warm light makes the stone walls look cozy instead of cold, and I can actually see the beautiful details I'd been missing in the darkness.
"Beautiful!" Franco says with satisfaction as he tests the last outlet. "Much better, no?"
"Much better, yes. Thank you so much."
"Is nothing. Signor Benedetti, he wants you safe."
There's something in the way Franco says it that makes me think he knows more about today's incident than he's lettingon. But he just packs up his tools and heads for the door with his crew.
"Generator has fuel for twelve hours," he says. "Tomorrow, I bring more fuel, start on permanent electrical."
After they leave, I walk through my house turning lights on and off like a kid with a new toy. I have electricity! I can see! I can plug things in!
I'm celebrating this minor miracle when another knock comes at my door. This time it's Enzo, carrying what looks like enough food to feed a small army.
"I brought dinner," he says when I open the door. "I thought you might not feel like cooking after today."
He's changed out of the suit he wore to rescue me, now wearing dark jeans and a black sweater that emphasizes the breadth of his shoulders. His hair is slightly mussed, and there's something different about his expression, less controlled than usual, more openly concerned.
"That's very thoughtful. Come in."
He steps inside and stops short when the lights come on. "Franco works fast."
"You arranged this, didn't you? The generator, the emergency electrical work?"
"I arranged for you to be safe and comfortable. You shouldn't be alone in a dark house after what happened today."
The way he says it, matter-of-fact and slightly possessive, warms me.
"Thank you. For this, and for... earlier. For coming to find me."
"You don't need to thank me for that."
"Yes, I do. Those men were dangerous, and you—"
"Madison." He sets the food bags on my table and turns to look at me directly. "Are you truly alright? Not just physically, but..."
The concern in his voice, the way he's looking at me like he's genuinely worried about my emotional state is surprising.
"I was terrified," I admit. "When they boxed me in, when I realized I couldn't escape. I've never been that scared in my life."
"That's understandable. They're dangerous men."
"But then you showed up, and..." I struggle to find words for what I felt in that moment. "You weren't afraid of them at all. They were afraid of you."
Something flickers across his face. "Fear is a useful tool in business negotiations."
"That wasn't business. That was personal."
"Yes," he says quietly. "It was."
