Chapter 22 Enzo
The dinner party with Madison’s friends requires preparation.
I review surveillance reports while Emilio coordinates security positions. Sarah made forty-three searches about me today in between coastal drives and café lunches. Smart searches too. Corporate registries, shipping databases, cross-referencing my name with Sicilian business holdings.
So far, she's found the surface. The legitimate businesses, the charitable donations, the careful digital footprint we maintain for exactly this purpose.
"Boss," Emilio enters without knocking, one of three people authorized to do so. "The lawyer hired a private investigator in Palermo."
I set down my whiskey. "When?"
"Two hours ago. Local ex-cop who does corporate background checks."
"Buy him and shut it down,” I tell him.
"Already done. He'll report what we tell him to report."
This is why I value Emilio. Initiative without instruction.
"The women arrive in ninety minutes," he continues. "Security positions?"
"Standard dinner protocol. Two inside, three perimeter, one on each access road."
"The lawyer might notice the number of men."
"Let her."
If Sarah wants to count my security, she's welcome to try. She'll see a successful businessman with appropriate protection. Not the hidden army I actually command.
Madison arrives first, after going by her cottage to pick up some things. She's wearing a black dress that clings to curves I've memorized, but her expression is pure anxiety.
"They've been interrogating me all day," she says without preamble. "Sarah thinks you're controlling me."
"I am."
"That's not funny, Enzo."
"It's not meant to be."
She stares at me, processing the admission. "When this is over, we need to talk. You can't just boss me around."
"Madison." I cut her off. "Your friends are arriving at my home to ask questions about my business."
Her phone buzzes. "Oh, damn! They're at the gate."
"Remember," I tell Madison. "You know nothing about my business beyond tourism development."
"That’s because you won't tell me anything else."
"Exactly."
The car pulls into the courtyard. Sarah emerges first, her expression carefully neutral as she takes in the villa's scope. Three stories of limestone and glass, gardens that employ six full-time staff, a view that money can't usually buy.
"Welcome," I say, approaching them with warmth.
"Your home is stunning," Jessica says, already photographing the facade. "How old is it?"
"The original structure dates to the sixteenth century. It's been modernized, obviously."
"Extensively modernized," Sarah notes, eyeing the discreet security cameras. "That must have been expensive."
"Restoration is an investment in cultural preservation."
"Of course."
I guide them inside, through rooms carefully staged to suggest sophisticated wealth rather than criminal enterprise. The art is legitimate, purchased through galleries that ask no questions. The furniture is Italian, expensive, tasteful. Nothing that screams illegal money or protection rackets.
"Wine?" I offer, leading them to the terrace.
"Please," Jessica says, still photographing everything.
Sarah hasn't stopped analyzing since she arrived. She notes the staff positions, the security panel by the door, the way Madison automatically goes to a specific chair like she's been here many times before.
"You have a beautiful home," Sarah says carefully. "Very secure."
"Sicily can be unpredictable at times,” I say.
Emilio appears with wine, the good stuff, but not suspiciously good. He pours everyone a glass before disappearing back inside.
"Your staff seems very well-trained," Sarah observes.
"Good help is essential to any business."
"I imagine. Running multiple businesses must require significant personnel management."
She's probing again. This is getting exhausting.
"I delegate where appropriate."
"To people like Emilio?"
Interesting.
She's noticed Emilio's significance in my organization. Most people dismiss him as standard household staff.
"Emilio handles various responsibilities.”
"I'm sure he does,” she says.
Madison interrupts our verbal sparring. "Should we eat soon? I'm starving."
"Of course,” I say.
The dining room showcases the villa's best view of the village spread below, the sea beyond. Strategic positioning that reminds guests of the scope of my territory without stating it explicitly.
"This view is insane," Jessica says. "You can see the entire village from here."
"Every single building," Sarah adds pointedly. "You must know everything that happens down there."
"It's a small community. Everyone knows everyone's business."
"But I imagine some people know more than others."
"Sarah," Madison warns.
"What? I'm just making conversation."
"No," I correct. "You're conducting an investigation as if I’m on a witness stand in a courtroom."
Silence. Sarah sets down her wine glass carefully.
"Should I not be? Does it make you uncomfortable?"
"Investigate whatever you like. You'll find successful businesses, appropriate permits, legitimate operations."
"And if I look deeper?"
"Then you'll find more of the same, with significantly more detail,” I tell her.
"That's not usually how investigations work."
"It is when you’re investigating me."
The challenge hangs between us. Sarah's trying to decide if I'm threatening or warning her.
The answer is both.
Emilio serves dinner soon. Local cuisine prepared by Maria.
"This is incredible," Jessica says, genuine in her appreciation. "Is this a family recipe?"
"My cook’s grandmother's recipe. She’s lived here her whole life.”
"How convenient for you," Sarah murmurs.
"Sarah, stop it!" Madison says sharply.
"Stop what?"
"Whatever cross-examination you're conducting on Enzo. He’s only trying to show my friends a good time and you’re being rude."
"No, I’m not. We’re having dinner conversation."
They glare at each other across the table. Old friendship straining under current circumstances.
"Perhaps," I interrupt, "we could discuss your impressions of Sicily? I'm curious what American visitors notice."
Jessica jumps on the safer topic. "Everything's so much older than back home. Like, that church in Taormina is older than our entire country."
"History is inescapable here," I agree. "Every stone has stories."
"What kind of stories?" Sarah asks.
"The usual. Love, war, betrayal, power struggles. Sicily has seen every form of human drama."
"And continues to, I imagine."
"Some traditions persist."
"Like what?" she asks.
"Hospitality. Loyalty. Understanding that some questions are better left unasked."
Sarah's eyes narrow. "That sounds like a threat."
"Enzo," Madison says, now warning me.
I look at her, see the plea in her eyes. She wants me to be less myself, more the businessman her friends can accept.
"Forgive me,” I say. "Sometimes I forget that American directness and Sicilian discretion can conflict."
"No offense taken," Jessica says quickly. "Cultural differences are fascinating."
Sarah remains silent.
After dinner, I give them a tour of the villa. The library, the wine cellar and the pool area where nothing illegal has ever been discussed.
"Your art collection is impressive," Sarah notes, studying a rare painting.
"I support local artists when possible."
She looks skeptical but doesn't push.
"It's getting late," Madison announces. "Antonio should get you back to the hotel. There’s no street lights so the roads can be scary at night."
As they prepare to leave, Sarah turns to me. "Thank you for dinner. And for your... hospitality."
"My pleasure."
"I'm sure we'll see you again before we leave."
"You can count on it."
The look she gives me says she understands exactly what kind of man I am, even if she can't prove it.
After they're gone, Madison lingers by my side.
"She knows," she says simply. “She knows there’s more to you than what we’re letting on.”
"She suspects."
"What's the difference?" she asks.
"Suspicion without proof is just paranoia."
"And if she finds proof?"
"She won't,” I assure her.
"You sound very certain."
"I am. Only four more days left to go."
"Three,” she corrects me. “They leave Thursday."
"Thank God. Three more days of careful management."
"You mean lying to my best friends."
After she goes upstairs to change clothes, I review the evening's surveillance footage with Emilio.
"The lawyer's dangerous," he says.
"Agreed."
"Want me to handle it?"
"Not yet. She's looking for criminal connections. Make sure she finds dead ends."
"And if she pushes harder?"
"Then we remind her that her friend's safety depends on her discretion."
Emilio nods. "The investigator in Palermo is handled. He'll report that you're a legitimate businessman with minor tax issues from 2018, all resolved."
"That’ll work. Boring enough to be believable."
"The marketing one seems harmless."
"She could be the bigger threat. She posts everything online. One wrong photo could bring unwanted attention."
"I'll have someone monitor her social media."
I pour another whiskey, considering all the variables. Three more days before I can return to running my territory without civilian complications.
Madison appears in the doorway wearing one of my shirts, nothing else. "I’m worried."
"About?"
"What happens when Sarah figures out what you really are."
"If she figures that out, she's smarter than her investigator."
"She's very smart."
"Then she's smart enough to know when to stop looking."
Madison crosses to where I'm sitting, curling into my lap like she belongs there. Which she does.
"Promise me they'll be safe," she whispers. “Promise me nothing will happen to my closest friends.”
"As long as they leave when planned."
She lets out a long sigh as if she accepts this.
Three more days.
In my world, three days is nothing.
Or everything, if the wrong questions get asked.