About a minute later, a fist pounds on the attic door. I step back, cowering against the wall. “Nina!” It’s Enzo’s voice. “Nina! I know you are in there!” I clear my throat. “I’m fine!” The doorknob jiggles. “If you are fine, open the door and show me you are fine.” It hits me at that moment that Enzo is speaking pretty good English. I had been under the impression that he understood some English and spoke far less, but his English seems excellent right now. His Italian accent isn’t even that thick.
