"It's not forever," I say. "Just until the threat is found and eliminated."
She turns back to me, her expression unreadable. "And what if that never happens?"
"Do you think that's the case?" I ask. "Do you think your father would allow a rat to run loose in your family forever?"
She doesn't answer. But I can see in her eyes that she doesn't believe that either. For all of their faults, for all of the ways they've handled this wrong, the Conti family is not one to tolerate a betrayal. They will find whoever is responsible. And they will deal with it.
The question is, how much damage will be done before that happens?
She's silent, and I know she's thinking all this over in her mind. Weighing her options. Deciding whether to fight me or to work with me.
I don't push her.
I just wait.
Finally, she says, "So what now? What happens next?" Her question is a concession. A small one, but a concessionnonetheless. It means she is willing to consider working with me. At least for now.
I lean forward slightly, my elbows on my knees.
"Now," I say, "I do a full inspection of your house and property."
Her eyes flesh, and I know I've already said the wrong thing.
"I have to be at the casino by 9:00," she says, her voice tight.
I check my watch. Nearly 8:00.
"You will be," I say. "I will do the initial sweep now and a more thorough one later."
That stops her, as if she expected me to argue and push. As if she expected me to try to control her schedule.
I can see the thought working behind her eyes. She's reassessing me again, trying to figure out where the line is. Where the catch is. And she's not finding it.
"Fine," she says, her clipped. "Do your sweep. I need to be out of here by 8:30, at the latest." She says it like a command, but I can hear the question underneath it. She wants to know if I will allow it.
"I can work with that," I say. "In the meantime, I need to see your car. And I need to know what your typical routes to the casino are."
Something in her face changes at that.
"You're not driving me," she says, and it's not a question. It's a statement.
"I am," I say, my voice leaving no room for argument. "And we will be taking a route that I choose."
She opens her mouth to argue, then closes it. Her jaw is tight, her eyes flashing.
"And if I refuse?" she asks, her voice dangerously quiet.
"Then you don't go to the casino," I say, as simply as before.
For a second, I think she's going to push back. I can see the fight in her, the anger, the resentment.
But she doesn't.
Instead, she lets out a slow breath, and her shoulders relax just a little. It's not much, but it's enough.
"Fine," she says again, and this time it's a little less clipped. "My cars are in the garage. I'll get you the keys."
She stands, and I stand with her.
