Chapter 9
Julia
Friday morning arrived too quickly.
I'd spent the past two nights practicing. Breathing techniques. Visualization. The mental tricks Aunt Filomena had drilled into me since I was sixteen.
"The machine measures physical responses," she'd told me. "Heart rate, blood pressure, perspiration. Control your body, control the test."
Easy in theory.
Harder when you're lying about everything except the one thing you desperately want to hide.
My attraction to Quentin Vanetti.
I pulled into the Vitality Ventures parking garage at 9:45 a.m. Fifteen minutes early. Professional. Eager.
Not at all like someone whose entire identity was fabricated.
You can do this. You've been trained for this.
I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror. Navy suit, minimal jewelry, hair pulled back. Conservative. Trustworthy.
Liar, the reflection whispered back.
I ignored it.
∞∞∞
The receptionist directed me to a conference room on the third floor. Smaller than where we'd had the interviews. More intimate.
More claustrophobic.
Stone was already there, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Beside him stood another man—shorter, slighter, with wire-rimmed glasses and the intense focus of someone who saw the world in code.
"Miss Russell." Stone's voice was neutral. Cold. "This is Forrest Slater. He'll be administering the polygraph."
"Nice to meet you." I extended my hand.
Forrest shook it briefly. His palm was cool, grip clinical. He was already assessing me, I realized. Looking for tells.
I gave him nothing.
"Please, have a seat." Forrest gestured to a chair facing a table with the polygraph equipment. Sensors, monitors, the whole setup.
I sat. Kept my breathing even. Hands relaxed on the armrests.
You've done harder things. You planted a bug at ten years old. You can beat a machine.
The door opened.
Quentin walked in.
My heart rate spiked before I could control it.
He looked tired. Stressed. Those storm-gray eyes met mine briefly before shifting away.
"I'll be observing," he said. Not to me. To Stone. "If that's acceptable."
"It's your company." Stone didn't sound happy about it.
Quentin took a seat against the wall. Far enough not to be intrusive. Close enough that I could feel his presence.
Yikes. This is bad.
Forrest began attaching sensors. Chest strap for breathing. Blood pressure cuff. Fingertip sensors for perspiration and pulse.
"Try to relax," he said. Professional. Detached. "We'll start with baseline questions to calibrate the equipment. Answer honestly."
Honestly. Right.
"Is your name Julia Russell?"
At least that was mostly true.
"Yes."
I controlled my breathing. Slow inhale through the nose. Hold. Exhale through the mouth. Aunt Filomena's voice in my head: The truth is whatever you believe it to be in that moment.
My name was Julia Russell. I'd worn that name since I was two years old, a shield to keep me safe, to keep me from becoming a target. Julia Russell was real because I was real.
The machine beeped softly. Forrest made a note.
"Are you currently in Salt Lake City?"
"Yes."
Truth. Easy.
"Is today Friday?"
"Yes."
Another truth. Baseline establishing.
Forrest adjusted something on the monitor. "Good. Now we'll move into the actual assessment. Remember, answer truthfully. The machine will know if you're lying."
No, it won't. Not if I'm better than the machine.
"Have you ever been convicted of a crime?"
"No."
Truth.
"Have you ever used illegal drugs?"
"Recreationally in college. Nothing since."
Truth. Mostly. A little marijuana at a party when I was twenty didn't count.
"Have you ever stolen from an employer?"
"No."
Truth. I'd stolen from employers—other people's employers—but never from my own.
Forrest glanced at his monitor. Made another note.
I couldn't read his expression.
Stone shifted his weight. Watching. Waiting.
Quentin sat perfectly still. I could feel his eyes on me even though I refused to look.
"Let's discuss your work history," Forrest continued. "Did you work for Crescent City Hauling and Freight?"
"Yes."
Lie.
I thought about the cover story. Made it real in my mind. The Lake Charles port. The humidity. The smell of diesel and salt water. I'd been there on family business. The memories were real even if the employment wasn't.
Make the lie true.
"Did you leave that position due to the company's bankruptcy?"
"Yes."
True enough. I'd "left" because they went under. The fact that I'd never actually worked there was irrelevant.
Forrest's eyes narrowed slightly. Had he caught something?
"Your references from Crescent City—are they legitimate?"
Dangerous question.
"Yes."
The references existed. Real people who'd been paid or convinced to vouch for Julia Russell. From the reference's perspective, they were telling the truth.
Layers upon layers.
I controlled my breathing. Steady heart rate. No perspiration.
Stone leaned forward. "Ask her about New York."
My pulse jumped.
Calm. Stay calm.
Forrest glanced at Stone, then back to me. "You're from New York originally?"
"Yes."
Truth.
"Do you have any connection to organized crime families in New York?"
Time slowed.
This was it. The question that could end everything.
I thought about Aunt Filomena's training. Tell a truth that sounds like the answer they want.
"I grew up in New York," I said carefully. "Everyone there knows someone who knows someone. It's a big city with a complicated history. But I've never been involved in criminal activity."
Technically true. I'd never been arrested. Never charged. Never convicted.
Involved was such a relative term.
Forrest studied his monitor for a long moment.
"That's not really a yes or no answer," Stone said, voice sharp.
"Let her clarify," Quentin said quietly. First time he'd spoken since sitting down.
His voice made my stomach flip.
Not now. Not during the test.
Forrest adjusted the sensors. "Miss Russell, I'll rephrase. Do you currently have any active association with crime families in New York?"
Define active. Define association. Since my identity was a secret, no one would associate me with a crime family.
"No."
Lie. Complete lie.
But I made myself believe it. Julia Russell—the person I had to become—had no association to a crime family. Julia Russo did not exist. Not yet anyway.
Separate the identities. Believe the lie.
The machine beeped. Forrest made a note.
I couldn't tell if it was good or bad.
"Moving on," Forrest said. "Have you been honest on your employment application?"
"Yes."
Lie. But told with the confidence of truth.
"Are you qualified for the executive assistant position?"
"Yes."
Truth. I was absolutely qualified. Overly qualified, actually.
"Do you intend to fulfill your job duties to the best of your ability?"
"Yes."
Truth. Whatever else happened, I would do the job well. Pride demanded it.
Forrest glanced at Stone. Some silent communication passed between them.
"Let's talk about your intentions," Stone said, taking over. His voice was harder now. Suspicious. "Why did you apply for this position?"
"I wanted a new opportunity. The position matched my qualifications. Vitality Ventures has an excellent reputation."
All technically true. Just... not the complete truth.
"Are you here under false pretenses?"
My heart rate spiked.
Control it. Breathe.
"No."
Massive lie.
I thought about Quentin. How I'd learned about him and his company even before papa was killed. How I’d admired the growth of his business. And now, how working with him felt right despite everything.
I want to be here. That's not false.
The rationalization helped. My pulse steadied.
"Do you intend to harm Mr. Vanetti or his business interests?"
Another spike. Faster this time.
Because the answer was complicated.
Did I intend to harm him? I was supposed to investigate. Potentially kill him if he'd murdered my father. But did I intend to?
Not anymore.
"No," I said.
And meant it.
The machine beeped. Differently this time.
Forrest's eyebrows rose.
Stone leaned forward. "That one spiked."
Damn it.
"Sometimes elevated response indicates strong emotion, not deception," Forrest said, still professional. "Let me ask a follow-up."
He met my eyes. Sharp. Calculating.
"Miss Russell, are you attracted to Mr. Vanetti?"
The room went silent.
My face went hot. Heart hammered. Blood pressure spiked.
Every sensor on my body screamed: TRUE.
The room tilted.
"I—" I swallowed. "That's not relevant to—"
"Answer the question." Stone's voice was steel.
I couldn't look at Quentin. Couldn't bear to see his reaction.
"Yes," I whispered.
Truth. Undeniable, mortifying truth.
The machine practically sang with the honesty of it.
Forrest made a note. Didn't smile, but something in his expression shifted.
Stone cursed under his breath.
And Quentin—I still couldn't look at him. Couldn't see what was on his face.
"That explains the spike," Forrest said. "Strong emotional response to the question about harming him. Not deception—conflict between attraction and professional boundaries."
Thank you. Thank you for giving me an out.
"Final questions," Forrest continued, mercifully moving on. "Are you currently working for any competing businesses or criminal organizations?"
"No."
Lie. But Julia Russell wasn't. Julia Russo was.
Separate identities. You are Julia Russell right now.
"Do you plan to steal proprietary information or trade secrets?"
"No."
Truth. That wasn't the mission.
"Will you be loyal to Mr. Vanetti and Vitality Ventures?"
Complicated question.
But in that moment, thinking about Quentin watching me from across the room, thinking about how much I wanted this to be real—
"Yes," I said.
And meant it more than I'd meant anything.
The machine agreed.
∞∞∞
Forrest began removing the sensors. "We're done."
I sat perfectly still, not trusting myself to move yet.
Stone conferred quietly with Forrest, looking at the printouts.
Quentin stood. Walked to the window. Back to me.
Finally, Stone turned. "Miss Russell, you passed. Congratulations."
Relief flooded through me so fast I felt dizzy.
"Thank you," I managed.
"You'll start Monday morning. Barbara will train you. Report at 8 a.m. sharp."
"I'll be there."
Stone left without another word. Forrest gathered his equipment, nodded politely, followed Stone out.
Leaving me alone with Quentin.
He turned from the window. Met my eyes.
"That was quite a performance," he said quietly.
My heart stopped. He knows.
"I don't know what you mean."
"The polygraph. You handled it well. Some people fall apart under that kind of pressure." He stepped closer. "But you stayed calm. Controlled. Professional."
"I didn't lie," I said. Only half a lie itself.
"No?" His gaze held mine. "What about that last question? About loyalty?"
"I meant it."
"Did you?"
"Yes." Truth. In that moment, complete truth.
He was close enough now that I could see the flecks of silver in his gray eyes. Close enough to smell his cologne—something expensive and understated.
"Stone thinks I'm making a mistake hiring you," he said.
"Are you?"
"I don't know yet." His voice was soft. Dangerous.
We stood there, tension crackling between us.
"I should go," I said finally.
"Julia."
The way he said my name made my knees weak.
"Yes?"
"The question Forrest asked. About being attracted to me."
Oh hell. Please don't make me say it again.
"What about it?"
"For the record," Quentin said, voice low, "the feeling's mutual."
Then he stepped back. Professional distance restored.
"See you Monday morning, Miss Russell."
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and fled.
∞∞∞
In my car, doors locked, hands shaking on the steering wheel, I let myself breathe.
I'd passed.
I'd lied my way through a polygraph and passed.
But the worst part?
The only thing I hadn't lied about was the one thing I should have.
I was attracted to Quentin Vanetti.
And he was attracted to me.
Which made this mission approximately one thousand times more complicated than it already was.
I pulled out my phone. Texted Carlo: Passed polygraph. Start Monday.
His response: Good. Don't get distracted.
Too late.
I was already distracted.
By storm-gray eyes and a voice that made my name sound like a promise.
By the man I was supposed to investigate for murdering my father.
The man I might have to kill.
The man who'd just admitted he felt the same impossible attraction I did.
Monday morning, I'd walk through those doors as his assistant.
As Julia Russell, the perfect employee.
As Julia Russo, the spy sent to destroy him.
And as myself—whoever that was anymore.
I just hoped I could keep all three separate long enough to figure out the truth.
Before everything fell apart.