"At pissing off the people who sign my checks?"
"At reading people. At understanding the situation. At navigating the... complexities." She gestures vaguely around the room.
"I've had a lot of practice," I say.
"I can see that," she says. She glances at Vito again, then back at me. "I'm sorry. For the way he handled this. I tried to tell him it was a mistake."
"I know," I say. "And I appreciate it."
"What are you going to do?" she asks, her voice lower now, more intimate. "When you see her tomorrow?"
"I'm going to tell her the truth," I say.
"The truth?" She raises an eyebrow.
"Yes," I say. "I'm going to tell her that I know she wasn't given a choice. That I know she's angry and that she has every right to be, but that I'm here to keep her alive, and to do that, I need her to work with me.”
I pause, meeting her gaze. "In your professional opinion and your personal opinion as her sister-in-law, will that work?"
"I think it's the only thing that has a chance in hell of working," she says, her tone blunt. "Caterina respects honesty. She respects competence. But what she hates more than anything is being treated like she doesn't have a brain in her head. Vito loves her, but he doesn't always see that."
"I see it," I say.
"Good," she says. "Because you're going to need it. If you really mean what you say, then you have to make her believe it. She has to know that you’re not just Vito's puppet. It's the only way to even begin to build trust."
"I'll do my best," I say.
Teresa's lips curve into a faint smile. "You're going to have your hands full.”
"I've had worse," I say.
And I have. I've been in firefights in dusty streets where the enemy was invisible until the bullet cracked past my head.
But something tells me this is going to be a different kind of battle.
A much more complicated one.
At the window, Vito finally turns around. The anger in his face has been replaced by a grim, weary resolve. He’s accepted the situation. He doesn't like it, but he's accepted it.
He walks back to the table and stands across from me.
"Alright," he says, his voice flat. "You've made your point."
"I'm glad we agree," I say.
"Don't push it," he warns, but there's no real heat in it. "You have a job to do. Do it. I'll stay out of your way."
"Appreciated," I say.
"But if she gets hurt because of your methods," he adds, his eyes hardening, "you'll have me to answer to."
"Understood," I say, holding his gaze.
It's a fair warning. One I would have given myself in his position.
The truth is, if she gets hurt, no matter whose methods I use, I'll have myself to answer to. And I'm a much harsher critic than Vito Conti could ever be.
Chapter Four
