"You're treating them like threats,” I say.
"Everyone's a threat until proven otherwise."
"That's no way to live, Enzo."
"It's the only way to stay alive in my position."
His comment stops me cold. We drive in silence for a few minutes before I ask, "What position is that, exactly?"
"The kind that requires this level of security."
Another non-answer from him.
He pulls up at the villa instead of my house.
"I thought we were meeting Franco?"
"We are. Here. There’s a chance your house is being watched."
"By who?"
"Your friend Sarah called around and tried to hire a local taxi to take her to your house this morning."
My stomach drops. "When was this?"
"At six AM. Before you were awake. None of the taxi drivers were willing to take her."
"How do you know this? Oh, right. You're monitoring every fucking thing."
"Yes, everything that matters."
Inside the villa, Franco is waiting in Enzo's study with blueprints and electrical diagrams spread across the desk. The conversation flows in rapid Italian with occasional gestures at the papers. I catch my name several times but understand nothing else.
Finally, Enzo turns to me. "Franco will stage visible construction at your house. Scaffolding, warning signs, construction debris. It will look actively dangerous."
"For how long?"
"As long as necessary."
"My friends leave in four days."
"Then four days."
Franco says something in Italian that makes Enzo's expression harden.
"What did he say?" I ask.
"He asked if more permanent solutions might be simpler."
The blood drains from my face. "Permanent solutions?"
"He's joking," Enzo says, but his tone suggests otherwise. "Franco has an unfortunate sense of humor."
Franco shrugs, gathering his papers. He says something else in Italian before leaving.
"What now?"
"Now you meet your friends for lunch. Be normal. Be happy. Talk about anything except my business."
