"You asked for honesty. Complete honesty. That means acknowledging facts you won't like."
She takes a sip of coffee, studying my face. "How many people have you killed, Enzo?"
The question hangs between us, stark and unavoidable. Most people can't ask it directly. Most people don't really want to know the answer.
"Personally? Eleven. Ordered the deaths of others? More."
She doesn't flinch, though I see her grip tighten slightly on her cup. "Why?"
"Because they threatened people I protect. Because they broke agreements that keep certain territories stable. Because in some cases, their continued existence was incompatible with the safety of innocents."
"Innocents like me?"
"You were never in danger from me, Madison. But yes, like you. Like the people in this village. Like anyone under my protection who can't protect themselves."
"And you get to decide who lives and dies?"
"In my world, someone always makes that decision. I prefer it to be someone who has reasons beyond profit or sadism."
She's quiet for a long moment, processing this. When she speaks again, her voice is steady but strained.
"The surveillance of me. How long has it been going on?"
"From the day you arrived in Monte Vento."
"Everything? My phone calls, my private conversations, my movements?"
"Not everything. Not your phone calls or online activity."
"Did you record intimate moments? When I was alone, or with you?"
The pain in her voice cuts deeper than I expected. "No. Never. I’m not a voyeur, Madison. I was protecting you, not exploiting you."
"By listening to private conversations with my friends?"
"Yes. To keep everyone safe until they left."
“Have they left Sicily safely?” she asks.
“Yes, they’re gone. Their flight left thirty minutes ago with both of them on it.”
“Well, that’s a relief I guess.” She stands abruptly and walks to the window, her back to me. I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands clench at her sides.
"Why me?" she asks without turning around. "Of all the women in the world, why go to such elaborate lengths to keep me here bound to a debt I didn’t know I signed up for?"
This is the question I've been avoiding, even to myself. The real answer requires admitting something I've never acknowledged out loud.
"Because when you laughed in that broken house, when you saw potential instead of decay, you reminded me of something I'd forgotten."
"What?"
"That it's possible to choose joy despite circumstances. That not everything has to be about survival or control." I pause, watching her reflection in the window. "Because you were thefirst person in many years who looked at me and didn't see Enzo Benedetti, heir to a criminal empire. You just saw a man."
"But that was based on lies."
"The reaction was real. Your response to who you thought I was showed me something I wanted to experience."
She turns to face me. "What?"
