Chapter 33 Maddie
I wake up in Enzo Benedetti's bed.
The thought hits me before I'm fully conscious, followed immediately by the memory of everything that led to this moment. The harbor. The gunshots. The blood. His hand in mine while Dr. Castellano stitched up the hole in his shoulder.
My choice.
Enzo is still asleep beside me, lying on his back with his injured arm elevated on pillows.
In the early morning light streaming through the windows, he looks younger somehow.
Less intimidating. The harsh lines of his face are softened by sleep, and I can see a small scar near his collarbone that I never noticed before.
How many times has he been hurt like this? How many times has he woken up alone, tending his own wounds, with no one to care whether he lived or died?
The thought makes me want to start crying all over again.
I slip out of bed carefully, trying not to disturb him, and pad barefoot to the bathroom. In the mirror, I look like someone who's been through a war zone. Which, I suppose, I have. My hair is a mess, there are dark circles under my eyes, and I'm wearing one of his shirts that hangs to my knees.
When did I become the kind of woman who sleeps in a dangerous man's bed? When did I become someone who watches people die and chooses to stay anyway?
Only months ago, I was Madison Sullivan, marketing coordinator, whose biggest risk was trying a new restaurant without reading online reviews first. Now I'm... what? The girlfriend of a man who kills people for a living? His property? His weakness?
I splash cold water on my face and try to figure out who I am now.
When I return to the bedroom, Enzo is awake, watching me with those dark eyes that seem to see everything.
"Good morning," he says, his voice rough with sleep and probably pain, though he's trying to hide it.
"How do you feel?" I sit on the edge of the bed and resist the urge to touch his forehead, check for fever. "Does it hurt much?"
"I've had worse."
"That's not what I asked."
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Yes, it hurts. But not as much as it could have."
I study the bandages on his shoulder, looking for signs of bleeding or infection. "Dr. Castellano said you needed antibiotics. Did you take them?"
"Not yet."
"Enzo." I give him a look that I hope conveys both affection and exasperation. "You got shot saving someone's life. The least you can do is take care of yourself properly."
"Is that an order?"
The question catches me off guard. "I... no. I don't give you orders. That's not how this works, is it?"
"I don't know. We're still figuring out how this works."
Right. This. Us. Whatever we are now.
I get up and find the prescription bottle on the bedside table, along with a glass of water. "Here. Please?"
He takes the pills without argument, and I realize this might be the first time I've ever seen him be compliant about anything. It's strangely intimate, this small act of letting me take care of him.
"Are you hungry?" I ask. "I could make breakfast."
"You don't need to wait on me, Madison."
"I'm not waiting on you. I'm taking care of you. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yes." I sit back down, close enough to touch him but not quite doing it. "Taking care of someone is a choice. Waiting on them is an obligation."
"And which one do you plan to do?"
"Take care of you. When you need it. When you'll let me."
He reaches for my hand with his uninjured arm, threading our fingers together. "And the rest of the time?"
"I guess we figure that out as we go."
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, and I try to process the surreal domesticity of this scene.
Making sure he takes his medication, offering to cook breakfast. It feels so normal, so mundane.
Nothing like what I expected the morning after choosing a life of violence and criminality would feel like.
"What happens now?" I ask finally.
"Now you rest. Recover from last night. Let yourself adjust to the reality of what you've chosen."
"And you?"
"I heal. Handle the cleanup from last night. Make sure there are no repercussions that could threaten you."
"What kind of repercussions?"
"The Palermo crew had friends. Associates who might want revenge, or who might see last night as an opportunity to move into territory they think is weakened."
The casual way he discusses potential retaliation makes my stomach flutter with anxiety. "Are we in danger?"
"You're safe. I'll make sure of that."
"What about you?"
"I'm always in some level of danger. It comes with the territory."
The matter-of-fact way he says it makes me want to wrap my arms around him and never let go. How does someone live with that constant threat? How do I learn to live with it?
"Will you tell me?" I ask. "When there are threats I should know about? I don't want to be kept in the dark about my own safety or yours."
He considers this for a moment. "Some things are better handled without your knowledge."
"Maybe. But I'd rather know what I'm facing than be protected by ignorance."
"Even if the knowledge frightens you?"
"Especially then."
He studies my face, and I can see him weighing my request against his protective instincts.
"I'll tell you what affects you directly," he says finally. "But there are aspects of my business that you're better off not knowing."
It's not everything I wanted, but it's more than I expected. A compromise.
"Thank you."
My phone buzzes from somewhere in the pile of clothes I discarded last night. I start to get up to find it, but Enzo's hand tightens on mine.
"Leave it."
"It might be important."
"Nothing is more important than this conversation."
But the phone keeps buzzing insistently, and I realize it's probably not a text. Someone is calling. Repeatedly.
"It might be an emergency," I say, though even as I say it, I'm wondering who would call me with an emergency. My parents are in different time zones, my friends think I'm living a quiet life in Italy.
My friends.
"Oh God," I whisper. "Sarah."
"What about her?"
"She's probably calling to check on me."
I finally retrieve my phone and see seven missed calls from Sarah, along with several texts:
"Maddie, call me back immediately."
"Something's wrong. I can feel it."
"If you don't answer I'm calling the police."
"I'm booking a flight back to Sicily."
"MADISON ANSWER YOUR PHONE."
My hands are shaking as I show Enzo the messages. "She's panicking. She thinks something's happened to me."
"Something did happen to you."
"Not the way she means."
"Isn't it?"
The question stops me cold. From Sarah's perspective, what has happened to me? Her best friend came to Italy and fell in love with a man who turned out to be a criminal. A man who kills people. A man who's now claiming ownership over my life.
From the outside, this probably does look like exactly the kind of situation she was warning me about.
"I have to call her back," I say.
"And tell her what?"
"I don't know." I stare at the phone in my hands. "That I'm fine? That I'm happy? That I've chosen this?"
"Do you think she'll believe that?"
"Do you think I should tell her the truth?"
"What is the truth, Madison?"
"The truth is that I love you," I say finally. "And that scares everyone, including me."
"And the rest of it?"
"The rest of it is mine to figure out how to live with."
He nods slowly. "Then that's what you tell her."
I dial Sarah's number before I can lose my nerve. She answers on the first ring.
"Jesus Christ, Maddie! Where have you been? I've been calling for hours!"
"I'm sorry. I was... sleeping."
"Sleeping? Until noon? That's not like you."
I glance at Enzo, who's listening but trying to pretend he's not. "I had a long night."
"What kind of long night? Maddie, you're scaring me. Something in your voice is different."
She's right. Something in my voice is different. I'm different.
"Sarah, I need you to listen to me, okay? I'm fine. I'm safe. I'm exactly where I want to be."
"With him? With Enzo?"
"Yes."
"Maddie—"
"I know what you're going to say. I know how this looks from the outside. But I need you to trust me on this."
"Trust you to what? Stay with a man who's obviously manipulating you?"
I look at Enzo again, remembering his honesty last night about exactly what choosing him would mean. The manipulation was real, but so is everything that's happened since.
"Trust me to make my own choices," I say. "Even if they're not the choices you would make."
"What if they're the wrong choices?"
"Then they're mine to make."
The silence on the other end of the line stretches long enough that I wonder if the call has dropped.
"Sarah?"
"I'm here." Her voice is small, defeated. "I'm just... I'm scared for you, Maddie. This isn't the life you wanted."
"Maybe it's the life I needed."
"And if you change your mind?"
I look at Enzo, remembering his words about there being no going back once I chose his world.
"Then I'll figure that out too."
After I hang up, Enzo and I sit in silence for a long time.
"She's going to keep worrying," I say finally.
"Yes."
"She might try to come back here."
"That would be... inadvisable."
"For her or for you?"
"For everyone involved."
I absorb this, another piece of my old life that's now complicated by my new choices.
"I really am different now," I say. "Aren't I?"
"You're still you. You're just choosing to be yourself in a different world."
"A more dangerous world."
"A more honest world."
I consider this. "Is that what it is? Honesty?"
"You've seen who I really am now. All of it. There are no more secrets between us about what this life entails."
"And that's better?"
"It's real."
Real. Not safe, not easy, not anything my friends or family would understand. But real.
I curl up against his uninjured side, careful not to jostle his shoulder, and let myself absorb the weight of what I've chosen.
"Enzo?"
"Yes?"
"I'm still scared."
"That’s not a bad thing. Fear will keep you alive in this world."
"Are you scared?"
"Terrified."
"Of what?"
"Of losing you. Of not being worthy of the choice you made."
"And if you are worthy?"
"Then we figure out how to build a life together that honors both who you are and who I am."
I close my eyes and listen to his heartbeat, steady and strong beneath my ear. This is my life now. This man, this world, these choices.
It should terrify me.
Instead, I feel completely certain I'm exactly where I belong.