"But you'll be there to protect me."
"I can't protect you if we're all ambushed. I can't protect you if your father decides to take you by force. I can't protect you if this whole thing goes sideways."
"Papa wouldn't—"
"Your papa is desperate and angry and looking for someone to blame. Right now, that someone is me. You think he's going to let me walk away with you after he gets to see you're safe?"
She's quiet, processing this. "So, you're protecting me from my own father? That’s crazy!"
"I'm protecting you from everyone. Including your father."
"And you're protecting yourself too."
"Yeah, I am. I want to walk out of that meeting. Alive."
At least she's not naive enough to think this is all about her safety. She understands that I have skin in the game, that Roberto Bonacci would love nothing more than to put a bullet in my head and take his daughter home.
"Fine," she says finally. "But I want to say what I want to say in the video. Not some script you write for me."
"As long as you don't say anything that compromises our location or my family."
"I won't."
"And nothing about... this." I gesture between us.
"This?"
"Whatever's been happening between us. The attraction, the tension, whatever you want to call it. Your father doesn't need to know about that."
"There's nothing to tell him, right? Since this is just business."
The way she says it, with a hint of challenge, makes me want to pin her against the wall and show her exactly how much this isn't just business.
Instead, I grab my phone from the desk.
"Let's get this done," I say. "I need to leave soon."
She runs her hands through her hair, suddenly nervous. "What should I say?"
"Tell him you're safe. Tell him you're being treated well. Tell him a fact only you would know, something that proves this video was made today."
"Like what?"
"A personal family joke, shared memory, whatever."
She thinks for a moment, then nods. "Okay. I'm ready."
I open the camera app on my phone, making sure the timestamp is visible. "Go."
She looks directly into the camera, and her whole demeanor changes. The vulnerability, the uncertainty – it all disappears, replaced by the composure of a woman who was raised in this world, even if she doesn't fully understand it yet.
"Papa," she says calmly. "It's me. It's Tuesday, eight-thirty PM, and I'm safe. I know you're worried, I know you're angry, but I need you to listen to me."
She pauses, gathering her thoughts.
"I'm being treated well. I'm not hurt, I'm not scared, and I need you to know that Mr. Lombardi saved my life. The people who attacked our family, who killed Tony and Frank and the others – they would have killed me too if he hadn't gotten me out of that club."
Mr. Lombardi. Not Damon, not even his first name. Keeping it formal, respectful. Smart girl.
