Her stare stays fixed on me, cool and searching.
“Then last year, she disappeared for weeks,” I continue. “And when she showed up again, she was pregnant and in love. With your brother.”
I don't have to say it. I can see the recognition flickering in Caterina's face. Understanding.
Because he's not just Caterina's brother, but the man who kidnapped my cousin.
“So yes,” I say. “I took the job. But I also came because Teresa asked me to. Because after what happened to her last year, Iwasn’t going to turn down an invitation into her world and her home.”
Again, the unsaid words are obvious. To make sure she hasn't been manipulated or brainwashed or threatened.
Her eyes narrow slightly, but not in anger this time. More like she is reassessing me.
“And?” Caterina asks.
I think about Teresa on the front steps, smiling like she couldn’t help it. About the way she leaned into Vito without thinking. About the way his attention tracked her even when he was pretending it didn’t.
I choose not to answer that question.
“I know you were told about it after the arrangement with me had already been made. I didn't find out about that until last night. And I let your brother know exactly how much of a mistake that was.”
That stills her for a second.
Not because she believes me entirely. Not yet. But because that, at least, she wasn’t expecting.
Her eyes stay on mine. “Did you? And how did he take it?”
“Not well,” I say, and leave it at that.
That seems to please her.
But it's brief.
“And what does that mean for me?” she asks, her tone cool again, but less cutting than before.
“It means I’m not here to win some contest of control with your brother or your father.” I lean back slightly in the chair. “It means you’re my client. The only one. My job is to protect you, and to do that, I need your cooperation.”
She studies me for a long second, weighing the words, looking for the hook underneath them.
“And if I don’t cooperate?”
“Then I still do my job,” I say. “It just gets harder. For both of us.”
Her mouth tightens. “That sounds suspiciously like a threat.”
“It’s not.” I hold her gaze. “It’s reality.”
Silence stretches between us for a beat.
Then she says, “You talk like you expect me to be difficult.”
“From what I've seen and heard, it’s others who expect you to be difficult.”
She narrows her eyes, but before she can snap out a response, I continue.
“I expect you to be intelligent,” I say. “There’s a difference.”
That checks her.
