"What it would feel like to be loved for myself, not feared for what I can do."
The admission hangs between us, more vulnerable than any confession about violence or criminal activity. She studies my face as if searching for deception.
"And the man you are now? With me? Is any of that real?"
"The feelings are real. The desire to protect you, to make you happy, to build something with you—all real. The methods I used to create the opportunity were dishonest, but what grew between us wasn't fabricated."
"How can I believe that when everything else was manipulation?"
I stand and walk toward her, stopping when I see her tense. Still maintaining distance, but close enough that she can read my expression clearly.
"Because I'm here, having this conversation, instead of simply containing the security breach you represent. Because I’m removing all surveillance today. Because I'm prepared to let you walk away, even though it would destroy me."
"And if I stay? What does that look like?"
"It means accepting that I will always be dangerous. That there will be aspects of my business you can't know about for your own safety. That occasionally, I'll have to leave suddenly to handle situations that might involve violence."
"Like if someone threatened people you care about?"
"Yes. Exactly like that."
"And you wouldn't hesitate?"
"No." The answer comes without pause. "I wouldn't hesitate."
She's quiet for a moment, absorbing this. "That should terrify me."
"Does it?"
"It should," she repeats, moving closer despite her words. "But what terrifies me more is the idea of you not being in the world at all."
"Madison—"
"I talked to Signora Ricci this morning," she interrupts. "She told me about your family, about how the village depends on you. About the lonely child who used to watch life from his villa windows."
"She talks too much. She shouldn’t have told you all that."
"She loves you. They all do, in their way. Because you protect them."
"Fear and gratitude are easily confused."
"Is that what you think I feel for you? Fear and gratitude?"
I study her face, looking for signs of the emotions she's naming. What I see is more complex. Attraction, exasperation, concern, determination. But not fear.
"What do you feel for me?" I ask.
"I don't know anymore. Yesterday I thought I was falling in love. Today I know I was falling in love with a carefully constructed performance."
"And now?"
"Now I'm trying to figure out if the man behind the performance is someone I could love. The real you, dangerous and protective and completely impossible."
Before I can respond, my phone rings. The tone indicates it's Emilio, and he only calls during personal conversations for genuine emergencies.
"I have to take this," I say, stepping away from her. "Emilio?"
"Boss, we have a problem. Someone took Signora Ricci."
