"Because it is legitimate. For Christ’s sake, Sarah!"
"On paper," she repeats. "But there are gaps. And I have questions. Like why someone with that much money and poweris interested in a sweet American girl who bought a falling-down house for one euro in a crazy lottery."
"Maybe he likes me,” I say. “I’m a fun, likeable girl, believe it or not.”
"Maybe. Or maybe you're useful to him somehow."
If she only knew. I'm useful because I owe him money, because I provide cover for whatever he really does, because I'm naive enough to fall for him despite all the red flags.
"Sarah, please. Just leave it alone. Let’s have some fun! I haven’t seen you two in a long time and I’m happy you’re here."
She studies my face. "Are you in trouble?"
Yes.
"No."
"Are you sure? Because if you need help, we can get you out of here right now. Today. Fuck that old house!"
"I don't need help,” I say. “But I need you to trust me."
"I do. It's him I don't trust."
My phone buzzes. Enzo: "Dinner with everyone at the villa tonight. Eight o'clock."
"We're having dinner at Enzo's tonight," I tell them.
"At his house?" Jessica asks excitedly. "Oh my God, I bet it's gorgeous. I’m so excited!"
"Eight o'clock," I say. "Antonio will pick you up."
Sarah's eyes narrow at me. "You’re starting to sound like him."
She's right.
I'm starting to sound like him, think like him. Accepting control as normal, surveillance as necessary, lies as protection.
What the hell am I becoming?
Antonio drives us back to the hotel, where I leave them to rest before dinner. But I know Sarah won't rest. She'll research, make calls, dig deeper into the carefully constructed façade Enzo has built.
And eventually, she'll find something that doesn't fit.
Chapter 22: Enzo
The dinner party with Madison’s friends requires preparation.
I review surveillance reports while Emilio coordinates security positions. Sarah made forty-three searches about me today in between coastal drives and café lunches. Smart searches too. Corporate registries, shipping databases, cross-referencing my name with Sicilian business holdings.
So far, she's found the surface. The legitimate businesses, the charitable donations, the careful digital footprint we maintain for exactly this purpose.
"Boss," Emilio enters without knocking, one of three people authorized to do so. "The lawyer hired a private investigator in Palermo."
I set down my whiskey. "When?"
"Two hours ago. Local ex-cop who does corporate background checks."
"Buy him and shut it down,” I tell him.
