"Already done. He'll report what we tell him to report."
This is why I value Emilio. Initiative without instruction.
"The women arrive in ninety minutes," he continues. "Security positions?"
"Standard dinner protocol. Two inside, three perimeter, one on each access road."
"The lawyer might notice the number of men."
"Let her."
If Sarah wants to count my security, she's welcome to try. She'll see a successful businessman with appropriate protection. Not the hidden army I actually command.
Madison arrives first, after going by her cottage to pick up some things. She's wearing a black dress that clings to curves I've memorized, but her expression is pure anxiety.
"They've been interrogating me all day," she says without preamble. "Sarah thinks you're controlling me."
"I am."
"That's not funny, Enzo."
"It's not meant to be."
She stares at me, processing the admission. "When this is over, we need to talk. You can't just boss me around."
"Madison." I cut her off. "Your friends are arriving at my home to ask questions about my business."
Her phone buzzes. "Oh, damn! They're at the gate."
"Remember," I tell Madison. "You know nothing about my business beyond tourism development."
"That’s because you won't tell me anything else."
"Exactly."
The car pulls into the courtyard. Sarah emerges first, her expression carefully neutral as she takes in the villa's scope. Three stories of limestone and glass, gardens that employ six full-time staff, a view that money can't usually buy.
"Welcome," I say, approaching them with warmth.
"Your home is stunning," Jessica says, already photographing the facade. "How old is it?"
"The original structure dates to the sixteenth century. It's been modernized, obviously."
"Extensively modernized," Sarah notes, eyeing the discreet security cameras. "That must have been expensive."
"Restoration is an investment in cultural preservation."
"Of course."
I guide them inside, through rooms carefully staged to suggest sophisticated wealth rather than criminal enterprise. The art is legitimate, purchased through galleries that ask no questions. The furniture is Italian, expensive, tasteful. Nothing that screams illegal money or protection rackets.
"Wine?" I offer, leading them to the terrace.
"Please," Jessica says, still photographing everything.
Sarah hasn't stopped analyzing since she arrived. She notes the staff positions, the security panel by the door, the way Madison automatically goes to a specific chair like she's been here many times before.
"You have a beautiful home," Sarah says carefully. "Very secure."
