Chapter 32 Enzo
I've been shot before. I know what pain feels like, how to compartmentalize it, how to function through it when necessary.
What I don't know is how to function through Madison Sullivan holding my hand while looking at me like I'm something worth saving.
"I don't know," she says honestly when I ask if she's brave enough to love all of me. "But I'd like to find out."
Dr. Castellano has left us alone, muttering about stubborn American women and the importance of rest. The pain medication sits untouched on the bedside table because I need to be clear-headed for this conversation. I need to understand exactly what Madison thinks she's choosing.
"You saw me kill three men tonight," I say, testing the waters of her newfound honesty.
"Four," she corrects quietly. "I counted four."
Four. She was watching more closely than I realized. "And that doesn't terrify you?"
"It should." She shifts closer on the bed, careful not to jostle my injured shoulder. "It should send me running back to Seattle and never looking back."
"But?"
"But all I could think about when I saw you get shot was that you might die. And that terrified me more than anything else I witnessed tonight."
I study her face in the soft lighting, looking for signs of shock, denial, the delayed trauma that often follows exposure to violence. Instead, I see determination and something that looks almost like relief.
"Madison, you need to understand what you're saying. What you saw tonight—that's who I am. That's what I do. This is my life."
"I know."
"Do you? Because there's no going back from this knowledge. There's no pretending I'm just a businessman with complicated interests. You've seen me kill people with my bare hands."
"To protect Signora Ricci."
"Tonight, yes. But I've killed for other reasons."
She's quiet for a moment, processing this information. I wait for the horror to dawn, for her to realize the scope of what she's trying to accept.
"What does it mean if I choose to stay in your world?"
"It means you become part of it. Complicit in it. It means the blood on my hands becomes blood on your hands, even if you never pull a trigger yourself."
"And if I can live with that?"
"Then you need to understand what else comes with it.
" I turn slightly to face her more directly, ignoring the spike of pain from my shoulder.
"It means you can never leave. Not really.
You'll know too much, be too valuable as leverage against me.
It means accepting protection and giving up some of your freedom. "
“Such as?”
"Security measures. Restrictions on your movements. Constant awareness that people might try to hurt you to get to me." I pause, letting her absorb this. "It means giving up the same independence you came to Sicily to find."
She's quiet for a long time, and I can see her working through the implications. The romantic notions about love conquering all are crashing against the practical realities of what choosing me actually means.
"What about my tourism project?" she asks eventually.
"It could still happen.”
"Meaning?"
"It would serve my purposes as well as yours. Legitimate business to explain certain financial activities. Cover for people who need to move through the area without attracting attention."
"You'd use it? Use my dream to hide your crimes?"
"I'd make it profitable for both of us while ensuring it doesn't interfere with more important operations."
She absorbs this. "And if I said no? If I decided I can't live with any of this?"
"Then you disappear. New identity, new life, somewhere far from here. You forget Monte Vento, forget me, forget everything you've learned."
"Forever?"
"Forever. It would be permanent."
"And if I changed my mind and tried to contact you afterward? Or come back?"
I don't answer immediately, because the truth is too harsh even for this conversation. If she tries to return after I've let her go, after she's chosen to reject this world, she becomes a threat.
“If you leave, you’re too smart to come back," I say. “You can never come back.”
She understands what I'm not saying. I can see it in her eyes. The recognition that leaving means leaving permanently, with consequences for betraying that choice.
"This is your last chance," I continue. "To walk away from this cleanly. If you stay now, if you choose this life, there's no changing your mind later."
"And what would staying look like? What would I mean to you?"
The question cuts to the heart of what I've been avoiding examining. What does Madison Sullivan mean to me? Why am I offering her a choice instead of simply making the decision for her?
"You'd be the most important thing I have to protect," I say finally. "The one person whose safety matters more than any business interest, any territorial dispute, any amount of money."
"More important than your empire?"
"You'd become part of my empire. The part that gives it meaning."
She's crying again, but quietly, tears sliding down her cheeks without sound. I reach up with my good hand to wipe them away.
"Why are you crying?"
"Because this is insane," she whispers. "Because I should be running away from you as fast as possible. Because everything rational in my head is screaming that this is the worst decision I could possibly make."
"And yet?"
"And yet I keep thinking about how you looked when you threw yourself between that gunman and Signora Ricci. How you were willing to die for someone who means nothing to you strategically."
"She means something to me. She’s like family to me. She’s always been here in my life. Most of the villagers have been."
"I know. That's what terrifies me. Because if you can care that much about a village baker, what happens when you love someone?"
"Is that what this is to you?" I ask. "Love?"
"I think so. I think I've been falling in love with you since you listened to my tourism dreams without laughing."
"Even though those dreams were naive?"
"Yes, and even though you were manipulating me. Even though you're a killer and a criminal and probably a dozen other things I don't know about yet."
The honesty is devastating. She sees everything. My violence, my control, my willingness to destroy anyone who threatens what's mine, and she's choosing to stay anyway.
"Madison." I pull her closer, until her forehead is resting against mine. "If you do this, if you choose this life, I will never let you go. Do you understand that?"
"Yes."
"I will kill anyone who tries to hurt you or take you from me."
"I know."
"I will control aspects of your life you haven't even thought of yet."
"I'm beginning to understand that."
"And I will love you more completely than you even dreamed possible."
The admission surprises us both. I don't use that word lightly, if ever. But with Madison, it's the only word that fits what I'm feeling.
"Is that a promise or a threat?" she asks.
"Both."
She pulls back to look at me. "Then I guess we're both insane."
"Is that your answer?"
"That's my answer. I’m staying."
She leans forward and kisses me, soft and careful around my injuries but with a certainty that tells me she's made her choice.
Madison Sullivan is mine now. Completely, irrevocably mine.
Now I have something to lose that would destroy me if it were taken away.
The thought should terrify me.
Instead, it feels like coming alive.