"That's not what I meant."
"I know what you meant." I cup her face in my hands, memorizing the feel of her skin, the depth of her eyes. "But I can't think about that right now. I have to focus on bringing Signora Ricci back home safely."
"Enzo—"
I silence her with a kiss, pouring everything I can't say into the contact. When I pull away, her eyes are bright with unshed tears.
"For the record," I say. "I love you. All of you. Even the parts that make you want to charge into danger to help people you barely know."
She manages a watery smile. "Finish this conversation later?"
"Count on it."
I'm at the door when she calls my name.
"Enzo?"
"What?"
"Bring her home safe."
“I will."
It's a promise I intend to keep, no matter what it costs me.
Chapter 31: Maddie
I stand in my cottage for exactly five minutes after Enzo's car disappears, trying to be the obedient woman who stays safely locked inside while others handle the danger.
Then guilt overwhelms me.
What if they were watching this morning? What if they saw me talking to Signora Ricci, learning about Enzo's childhood, asking questions about his role in the village? What if they followed me to the bakery and decided the sweet old woman who talked so openly about Enzo would make the perfect leverage?
My stomach churns as I replay the morning conversation. Signora Ricci telling me about Enzo's lonely childhood, his family's protective role, the village's dependence on him. Information that could be valuable to his enemies. Information she shared because I asked.
What if this is my fault?
I grab my jacket and run for the door. There's no way I'm staying safely hidden while an innocent woman suffers because she was kind to me.
I take the narrow street that leads down into the village, then follow the winding path toward the harbor. I know every route now, the main road Enzo would take with his men, and the quieter paths locals use. I stick to the shadows, moving as quickly as I can while staying out of sight.
By the time I reach the overlook above the harbor, I'm breathing hard and my hands are scraped from catching myself on rocks. But I can see everything from here: the old customs house where light spills from the windows, several figuresmoving around the harbor, and Enzo's car parked near the water.
I settle behind a cluster of trees that provide cover while giving me a clear view of the scene below. I can make out at least six men positioned around the area, though from this distance it’s hard to tell which ones are Enzo's people and which are the Palermo crew.
Then I see him.
Enzo walks out of the shadows near the customs house, moving with that fluid confidence I've come to recognize. Even from this distance, even in the dim light, there's something about his posture that makes him unmistakable. No fear, no hesitation.
He's walking directly toward the customs house, apparently alone.
A man emerges from the building, tall, broad-shouldered, holding what looks like a gun. He calls out something in Italian that I can't catch from this distance, but his body language is clearly aggressive.
Enzo responds, his voice carrying across the water, calm and conversational. I wish I could understand what they're saying, but I can’t.
More men appear from the shadows. Three, four. I count at least five surrounding Enzo now. This looks like an execution, not a negotiation.
But Enzo doesn't seem concerned. If anything, he appears almost relaxed as he talks to them.
