Chapter 6
Julia
After the interview, I should have stayed in Salt Lake. Waited by the phone like a normal job candidate.
But the family called.
So I flew home.
One thing was certain—Quentin was cautious. It would be a few days before he decided. Our people had set up triggers, placed watchers in key positions. If his team made certain inquiries, we'd know my cover was blown.
If that happened, I'd be pulled.
And Silvio would step in.
My first thought? I'd miss him.
That was... problematic.
I stared out the plane window at clouds that looked like cotton. Tried not to think about storm-gray eyes and a smile that made my stomach flip.
Failed spectacularly.
This was supposed to be simple. Get the job. Get close. Dig into his records. Find proof he killed my father. Report back to Carlo.
Then Carlo would decide Quentin's fate.
Except nothing about Quentin Vanetti felt simple anymore.
The way he'd looked at me during that interview. The handshake that lasted too long. Walking me to the lobby when he didn't have to.
"Hiring you is either the smartest decision I've ever made, or the most dangerous."
Join the club, I'd wanted to say. Being around you feels exactly the same.
My phone buzzed. Text from Filomena: I'm picking you up. We need to talk.
My stomach dropped. With her, a personal chat usually involved something I didn’t want to hear. She’d spent years guiding me, training me. Why couldn’t she trust me?
∞∞∞
Filomena waited by a black limo at the private terminal. She pulled me into a brief hug, then gestured to the car.
"You didn't have to pick me up," I said, sliding in.
"I wanted to talk. Alone." She settled across from me, poured sparkling water from a crystal decanter. "Before the family meeting."
"About?"
"About your assignment." She handed me a glass. "Things can go wrong, Jules. Investigations are dangerous. If Vanetti discovers who you really are—what you're really doing—you could end up dead."
"I know the risks. That’s not going to happen."
"Everyone says that." She studied me with those sharp eyes that missed nothing. "But spending time with someone has consequences. It’s easy to grow close and risk developing feelings for them—that's when it gets dangerous. That's when people make mistakes."
"What makes you think I have feelings for him? I just met him. Besides, this bastard might have killed my father." The anger felt good. Solid. Something to hold onto when everything else felt uncertain. "I’ve been training for this. You’ve taught me well. Nothing’s going to get in the way."
"Good. Let that drive you. But not control you." She paused. "You've done work for the family since you were young. But this is different."
I thought about Tony Four-Fingers. My first real job at ten years old—playing in the street, dropping a listening device under his table at Patruno's Deli. I'd chased a ball under the table, planted the bug, took five dollars from a man who'd be dead two weeks later.
I'd had nightmares about his bloody corpse breaking into my bedroom for a month.
But I'd done it. Started earning my place in a world that didn't easily accept women.
I raised my chin. "I'm ready to prove myself and take my place in the family.”
"Are you?" Filomena leaned forward. "Because something's different this time. I can see it in your face."
My breath caught. "What do you mean?"
"This Vanetti. You talk about him differently."
"I don't talk about him at all."
"Exactly." She smiled slightly. "You avoid mentioning him. That's worse."
"Zia—"
"I'm not judging. I'm warning." Her expression softened. "Be careful, bambina. Men like that—powerful, attractive, intelligent—they're dangerous even when they're not the enemy. And if he is the enemy..." She didn't finish.
She didn't have to.
We drove the rest of the way in silence. A part of me was growing tired of this game. This constant battle of proving myself. I was more than competent to do the job. It didn’t matter if I found Quentin fascinating. It wasn’t going to stop me from completing my assignment.
∞∞∞
The family meeting was smaller this time. Carlo, Filomena, Silvio, along with my two uncles, Dominic and Angelo.
Carlo got straight to the point. "Are you in?"
"Don't know yet. It's down to me and one other candidate." I kept my voice confident but not cocky. False reports were worse than disappointing news.
"When will you know?"
"Few days, maybe. He's running background checks."
"And if those checks go wrong?" Carlo's tone sharpened. "If they discover who you are?"
"They won't. He has no idea I exist. No one does. My cover is solid. That’s why you sent me."
He nodded. “And if they do?"
"Then I'm out. And we move to plan B."
Silvio straightened in his chair. Anticipation glowing in his eyes.
I refused to look at him.
"I trust her." Filomena spoke with the authority of years and blood. "Carlo, she'll get the job. But we should have a contingency plan. Send Silvio with her. As backup."
What? No.
The word screamed in my head but I bit it back.
"No!" It came out anyway. "I mean—at least wait to see if I'm hired first."
Silvio remained silent. Smart. Letting his mother fight his battle.
Carlo studied me. "If you don't get hired, we'll be forced to act quickly. Silvio goes with you. Stays ready."
"But—"
"It's decided." Carlo's voice held finality. "Silvio, take the plane back with Julia."
"I'll be where I need to be," Silvio confirmed.
I wanted to argue. Wanted to scream that this was my assignment, my father to investigate, my mission.
A deep-seated anger began to boil up inside of me.
All these years that I’d waited in the side-lines.
Done my father’s bidding. Been the good girl.
Taken the back seat. For what? So Carlo could keep me in my place?
How much longer could I hold it in? Keep my mouth shut? Keep the boys happy?
I met Filomena’s gaze. Saw the same hunger in her eyes. It made no sense. Why had she suggested Silvio go with me? She should be on my side.
Some of the hurt must have come through because she patted my hand. "Julia will do great. She has nerves of steel."
Carlo glanced my way. "I trust you, sorella. I'm not sending Sil because I lack faith."
"Then why?” I tried to hold it back, but couldn’t. “I won't let you down. You know that."
“Yes. I know. But it never hurts to have back-up. Someone in your corner. This is your first job. You’re my sister. I want to make sure you’re okay."
I felt the weight of his words. His eyes softened. He took his responsibility seriously, and this was his way of showing me he cared. I gave him a quick nod.
He nodded back. "Julia will continue her assignment. Find proof of his guilt or innocence. Then we'll decide his fate."
Decide his fate.
That's what this was. I couldn’t lose sight of my mission to gather evidence for Carlo to judge. To sentence. If I found proof that Quentin killed Papa, Carlo would order his execution.
My chest tightened. This wasn’t a game. It was dead serious. But at least I had power over one thing. Evidence. If I found it, fine. But if not, I wouldn’t allow Carlo to kill an innocent man.
I glanced at Silvio. His presence made sense on the surface—backup in case things went wrong.
But something in his eagerness bothered me.
The way he leaned forward when Carlo mentioned "acting quickly.
" Like he wanted me to fail. Like he was hoping I wouldn't find proof of Vanetti's innocence so Carlo would order the execution without question.
I pushed the thought away. Silvio was family. He wanted justice for Big Sal as much as any of us. Right? Still, I wasn’t going to let him push me around.
Carlo continued discussing New York business—things that didn't involve me. I tried to pay attention but failed.
My mind kept drifting back to Vitality Ventures. To a conference room and storm-gray eyes. To hands that had held mine a fraction too long. To a voice that made my name sound like something precious.
Quentin.
Had he ordered my father’s execution? It didn’t seem possible.
Not when I remembered the way he'd smiled when I'd challenged him about the chair.
The warmth in his expression when I'd talked about racing.
The electricity when he'd stood close in that lobby.
The heat from his body as he sat beside me. The subtle smell of his cologne.
Had my feelings clouded my judgement? I didn’t think so.
I knew from experience that even the most loving person could hide a monster inside. People were like that. The serial killer who’d been a friendly neighbor. The man who lovingly kissed his wife, then beat her in a drunken rage.
The mob boss who ordered an execution for revenge. The woman whose anger demanded justice. Was that me? If I killed Quentin Vanetti, would I lose a part of myself to the dark?
Would I become like Silvio?
∞∞∞
After the meeting, I found a quiet corner and pulled out my phone.
No messages from Quentin. Not that I expected any. Not that I should want any.
But I checked anyway.
"Waiting on him?" Silvio's voice startled me.
I shoved my phone in my pocket. "Just checking emails."
"Right." He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. That signature smirk that made me want to punch him. "You know, if Vanetti doesn't hire you, this whole thing gets a lot simpler."
"Simpler how?"
"Carlo makes his decision based on what we already know. Vanetti's been muscling in on our territory. He had motive. He had opportunity. We handle it and move on."
"Without proof?"
"We have enough."
"Do we?" I met his gaze. "Because I'd like to be sure before we execute someone."
"Since when do you care about being sure?" His eyes narrowed. "You've been gone less than a week and you're already going soft on him."
"I'm not soft. I'm being thorough."
"You're stalling."
"I'm being smart. There's a difference."
Silvio pushed off the wall, stepped closer. "Just remember what we're here for. Justice for Big Sal. Don't let Vanetti's charm make you forget that."
He walked away before I could respond.
I stood there, hands shaking slightly. That jerk. I used to let comments like that go, but this time was harder. I didn’t like being bullied. Ever. But part of me wondered if he was right.
Am I stalling? Am I letting feelings cloud my judgment?
Maybe.
But I was also starting to wonder if we had the right target at all.
And if we didn't...
Then who killed my father?
∞∞∞
That night, I stayed in my apartment. I needed to be someplace where I felt grounded. Here, I didn’t have to play a role for my family. Of course, I was partly to blame for the situation I was in.
Filomena had headed the investigation into my father’s death.
Spoken to her sources. Pronounced Quentin Vanetti’s organization responsible.
We’d all trusted her word. It was her idea to put me in the running for Quentin’s new executive secretary.
It had all come together seamlessly, almost like she’d planned Barbara’s retirement herself.
But what had sealed the deal was that I’d always used the name Russell, for my protection.
It was the perfect setup, and Carlo had quickly agreed.
I’d been excited to actually put all my training into practice and prove myself to the family.
Between Filomena and Carlo, I’d become part of the team in a way I’d never been before.
Until I’d actually met Quentin Vanetti. Now I had a hard time believing he would do something so foolish.
The intelligence in his eyes, his competence, his business acumen.
Does he seem like a man who'd order a mob hit that could cost him millions?
Big Sal's murder had happened in the privacy of his own home. A chilling message that power was an illusion and no one was safe.
Quentin was careful. Strategic. If he'd wanted Papa dead, that was exactly how he would have done it. So why did my gut tell me otherwise?
I rubbed my forehead.
This was why Filomena had warned me. This was why investigating someone you're attracted to was dangerous.
Because now I was second-guessing everything.
My phone buzzed. Text from unknown number.
I opened it.
Miss Russell, this is Quentin Vanetti. Would you be available for a call tomorrow at 2 p.m? I'd like to discuss the position.
My heart jumped.
He was going to offer me the job. Had to be. You didn't schedule calls to reject candidates.
I should feel triumph. Relief. One step closer to the mission.
Instead, I felt something else entirely.
I'm in.
Which meant I was close to him now. Close enough to explore. Close enough to find truth. Close enough to stop Carlo from ordering his execution if he was innocent.
I typed back: I'm available. Thank you.
Professional. Calm. Nothing that revealed the war happening in my chest.
Somewhere in this city, Silvio was probably celebrating. Planning. Hoping I'd find evidence quickly so this could all be over.
But I wasn't celebrating.
I was doubting everything.
He’d better be innocent, or things were going to get messy.