"And what good is any of that if we can't share it with someone who matters? With family?"
Emilio leans back in his chair, clearly struggling with this philosophical shift from me. "What's the plan?"
"We remove all surveillance from her property. Tomorrow morning, I tell her what she wants to know about who I am."
"And if she can't handle the truth?"
"Then I help her disappear properly. New identity, clean relocation, enough money to start over wherever she wants."
"You'd let her walk away with your secrets?"
Would I?
Can I imagine my life without Madison's laughter in it?
The honest answer is no. The thought of never seeing her again, never holding her, never watching her face light up when she discovers something new, it feels like contemplating my own death.
But the alternative is keeping her prisoner. Knowing she'll never trust me, never love me, never be happy with the choice to stay.
"If that's what she needs to be safe and free, then yes."
"Even though she knows enough to destroy everything we've built?"
"Even then."
Emilio stands to leave, but pauses at the door. "For what it's worth, I hope she stays."
"Why?"
"Because you're different with her. Better, maybe. More human. That’s not always a bad thing."
After he leaves, I sit alone in my study, staring at the phone. Part of me wants to call Madison, to hear her voice. To try once more to explain that my feelings for her were never fabricated, even if everything else was.
But she asked for time to think, and I owe her that much.
Instead, I pull out a secure laptop and begin typing detailed instructions for Emilio and the others. If Madison chooses to expose my operations, I want my people protected. If she chooses to run, I want her departure to be clean and untraceable.
If she chooses to stay, I want her to know exactly who she's choosing to love.
The truth, complete and unfiltered, for the first time since she walked into my carefully ordered world and turned everything upside down.
Chapter 29: Maddie
I don't sleep.
Before dawn, I hear a car coming up the narrow road to my cottage. My pulse spikes. Is Enzo coming early? But when I peer through the curtains, I see a van I don't recognize parked beside my rental car.
Two men get out, both wearing work clothes. One carries what looks like electronic equipment. They move with the efficiency of people performing routine maintenance, not the careful alertness I've learned to associate with Enzo's security people.
I watch from my window as they pop the hood of my car and begin working underneath it. It takes them less than three minutes to find what they're looking for. The taller man holds up a small black device. No bigger than a matchbox, and shows it to his companion.
They walk toward my front door.
My heart hammers as I debate whether to answer. But when the knock comes, it's polite, almost apologetic.
"Signorina Sullivan?" the taller man calls in accented English. "We have something for you."
I open the door cautiously. "What is it?"
