I sit there in the growing darkness, my wine untouched, as everything I thought I knew about my life here crumbles around me. The romantic dinners, the business partnership, the careful way he's helped with every problem I've encountered, it's all been built on surveillance and manipulation.
How long has he been watching me? Since the very first day?
The thought makes me feel sick. Of course, he has.
I walk through my house, looking at it with new eyes. The electrical work Franco did. How easy would it have been to install listening devices while upgrading the wiring? The new locks, the security improvements Enzo insisted on for my safety. Are they keeping threats out, or keeping me in?
My laptop. I power it on and start searching for information about surveillance, about how to detect hidden cameras and listening devices. The internet connection in the village has always been surprisingly good for such a remote location. Now I'm wondering if that's another convenience that comes with hidden costs.
I think about my friends' visit, how Enzo seemed to anticipate our movements, how he appeared at exactly the right moments to charm them and answer their questions. Sarah'scomments about him being controlling and manipulative echo in my head.
She was right.
I've been living in a carefully constructed fantasy, believing I was making independent choices while being guided every step of the way. The house purchase that seemed so spontaneous, the debt that tied me to Enzo, the tourism business that required his local connections. I feel so stupid! How much of it was real, and how much was orchestrated?
My phone buzzes with text notifications even though it's supposed to be off. I must have only put it on silent.
There are already six messages from Enzo:
"Please let me explain."
"It's not what you think."
"Your safety required certain precautions."
"Madison, answer your phone."
"This is more complicated than you understand."
"I'm coming to see you."
That last message makes my pulse spike. I don't want to see him. I can't see him right now, not when everything feels like it's built on lies.
I grab my car keys. The rental car that was silently returned last week after the "repairs" were finally completed. At the time, I'd been so grateful to have my independence back. Now I'm wondering what else Enzo might have done while he had access to the vehicle.
I walk outside and stare at my car in the moonlight. If Enzo's been tracking me, there has to be a device somewhere. I pop the hood and shine my phone's flashlight over the engine,but I have no idea what I'm looking for. Everything looks mechanical and normal to my untrained eye.
I check under the bumpers, running my hands along the metal, feeling for anything that doesn't belong. Nothing obvious. The wheel wells, the undercarriage—as far as I can reach—all seem normal. Not that I know what the hell I’m searching for anyway.
Inside the car, I check the glove compartment, under the seats, in the door panels. I even pry at the edges of the dashboard, wondering if something could be hidden behind the plastic. But if there's a tracking device, it's either too small for me to find or too well-hidden for my amateur detective skills.
The frustration makes me want to scream. How can I prove I'm being surveilled if I can't find evidence? How can I trust anything when I don't even know what to look for?
But I need to get away from here before Enzo arrives. Even if the car is being tracked, at least I'll have mobility. At least I can choose where the conversation happens instead of being cornered in my own house.
I get in the car and start the engine, my hands shaking as I put it in gear. If there is a tracking device, he'll know exactly where I'm going. But staying here feels like walking into a trap.
I need time to think. I need distance. I need to figure out what's real and what's been carefully constructed for my consumption.
I'm just about to back out of my driveway when headlights sweep across my windshield. A car is coming up the narrow road to my house—fast.
My heart pounds as I recognize the sleek black sedan.
Enzo.
He pulls up behind me, effectively blocking my exit, and gets out of his car with the calm, purposeful movements of someone who's been expecting this exact scenario.
I sit frozen in my driver's seat, engine running, watching him approach in my rearview mirror. Even in the darkness, I can see the controlled tension in his posture, the way he moves like a predator who's cornered his prey.
