Chapter 11
Quentin
I scheduled a small gathering for Barbara's send-off.
"My last Friday," she said, voice thick with emotion. "I can't believe it."
She wore casual clothes—jeans, a soft sweater. Nothing on the agenda except packing her personal belongings and saying goodbye.
I handed her an envelope. "Open it later. No need to ruin your makeup."
Barbara took it, wiped away a tear. "I can't thank you enough."
"You've earned every penny." And she had. Eight years of loyalty, discretion, and competence. "You deserve this retirement."
The conference room door opened.
Julia walked in, and my attention shifted like a compass finding north.
One week. I'd worked closely with her for one week, and already I was in trouble.
"Good morning, Julia."
"Morning, boss." That smile—warm, genuine, dangerous. She turned to Barbara. "I can't believe the week went by so fast. Thank you for your patience. I still feel overwhelmed, but you've given me a solid foundation."
Stone arrived, striding in with his usual confidence. "Are you ladies going to cut that cake?"
Barbara laughed. "It's a bit early for cake, Stone."
"It's your cake." He hugged her, thanked her for years of pulling his ass out of fires. Then turned to Julia, raised an eyebrow. "You've got big shoes to fill."
Julia stiffened slightly. "I'll do my best."
Stone did that to everyone. But I noticed Julia didn't back down. Just straightened her spine and met his gaze.
Interesting.
I approached the cake—an elaborate creation from La Crumbedonna. Picked up the silver serving knife, surprised by the weight.
"Tiffany's?" I asked. "Seriously?"
Barbara grinned. "You can't cut a La Crumbedonna cake with anything less. It's a law."
"Stone is eyeing this cake like it’s his last meal." I gestured to the dessert. "Should we put him out of his misery?"
"Do your worst."
Stone grabbed a plate. "I could have waited. But why?"
Forrest appeared, eagerly accepting a slice from Barbara. He took one bite and his eyes rolled back.
"You okay, Forrest?" I asked.
"I've just had an out-of-body experience." He took another bite. "Millefoglie with limoncello-infused custard. This is incredible."
One of Forrest's guys mentioned to Julia that she was now responsible for the Friday zeppole run.
Julia glanced at me for approval.
I nodded. "Most vital duty of your position. I limit my pastry consumption to Fridays."
"Got it." She smiled. "Weekly zeppole run. La Crumbedonna. Fridays."
That smile could disarm a man.
Barbara put her hand on Julia's shoulder. "I'll get you all the details."
Cake in hand, Stone and I moved to a corner where no one could overhear us.
"Okay, this is good," Stone admitted, taking another bite. "Rich for breakfast, but good. Doesn't mean I'm not still mad at you."
I glanced at Julia across the room. Watched her laugh at something Barbara said. The way she tilted her head. The grace in her movements.
One week of working together, and I couldn't stop noticing.
Monday, she'd arrived looking like she'd stepped out of a fashion magazine. Professional but stunning. The entire morning I'd caught myself staring.
Tuesday, we'd worked late reviewing contracts. Around 8 p.m., she'd kicked off her heels under the desk, curled her feet under her. That small gesture—the informality, the comfort—had done something to me.
Wednesday, I'd made a joke about her terrible coffee-making skills. She'd thrown a balled-up Post-it note at my head. The playfulness felt dangerous. Like crossing a line.
Thursday, she'd stayed even later. I'd ordered dinner. We'd eaten Thai food in my office, talking about everything except work. Her favorite books. Places she wanted to travel. How she'd always wanted to fly a plane.
I'd told her about my Cessna. Offered to teach her.
The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I'd crossed a boundary.
But I didn't take them back.
Friday—now—I was watching her say goodbye to Barbara, and all I could think was: What if Stone is right? What if she's not who she claims?
"You're staring," Stone said quietly.
I pulled my attention back. "I'm observing."
"That what we're calling it?"
"I'm her boss. I'm supposed to observe her performance."
"Performance." Stone's lips thinned. "That's one word for it."
"What did you find?" I kept my voice low. "You've been watching her all week."
"She's good. Too good, maybe." He set down his plate. "She never slips. Never makes a mistake. Never seems uncertain—except when she wants to seem uncertain."
"That's called being competent."
"Or well-trained." Stone crossed his arms. "Her cover story is solid. But Forrest found something interesting."
My pulse kicked. "What?"
"She accesses her personal email exactly three times a day. 8 a.m., noon, and 5 p.m. Like clockwork. Never varies."
"So, she's organized."
"Or she's checking in with someone. Reporting." Stone's sharp gaze picked up everything. "And get this—she never accesses social media. No Instagram, no Facebook, nothing. What forty-something woman doesn't check social media?"
"Maybe she values privacy."
"Or she doesn't have social media because Julia Russell is an alias."
The possibility sat heavy in my chest.
"Anything else?"
"Yeah. She was looking at the secure room yesterday. I caught her on camera studying the keypad. Taking mental notes."
"She's supposed to have access. We gave her the code."
"I know. But the way she looked at it..." Stone shook his head. "Like she was planning something."
"Or memorizing her new responsibilities."
"You're making excuses."
"I'm being rational."
"You're being compromised." Stone's voice dropped even lower. "Reid Bauer warned us. Russo family sent someone. She's from New York. The timing is too perfect. And now you're—" He gestured toward where I'd been staring at Julia. "You're doing whatever that is."
"I'm aware of the risks."
"Are you? Because from where I'm standing, you're about to make the same mistake that gets people killed in our business."
"What mistake?"
"Trusting someone because you want to sleep with them."
The bluntness stung because it was true.
"I haven't—"
"Yet. But you will. And when you do, she'll have you exactly where she wants you."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell Stone he was wrong, paranoid, seeing threats that didn't exist.
But I couldn't.
Because part of me wondered the same thing.
"Keep watching her," I said finally. "But don't interfere. I need to know the truth."
"And if the truth is she's here to kill you?"
"Then we deal with it."
Stone studied me for a long moment. "You're going to get hurt. Maybe literally."
"Probably."
"And you're doing it anyway."
"Yeah. I am."
Stone shook his head, picked up his plate. "Then I'll be ready to clean up the mess."
He walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
And my gaze drifting back to Julia.
∞∞∞
An hour later, after everyone had cycled through to say goodbye to Barbara, I found Julia alone in the break room.
She was washing dishes. Her suit jacket draped over a chair. Sleeves rolled up.
Something about the domestic gesture caught me off guard.
"You don't have to do that," I said from the doorway.
She jumped slightly, turned. "Oh. I didn't hear you come in."
"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."
"It's fine." She returned to the dishes. "Barbara's been so kind. Least I can do is clean up."
I moved closer. Leaned against the counter beside her.
"How are you feeling? End of your first week."
"Exhausted. Overwhelmed. Terrified I'm going to screw something up." She rinsed a plate. "But also... good. Really good."
"You've done excellent work."
"You think so?"
"I know so." Our eyes met. Held. "Barbara was right about you."
"What did she say?"
"That you were perfect for the job."
Perfect and dangerous.
Julia set down the plate, dried her hands on a towel. We were standing close. Closer than professional distance required.
"Can I ask you something?" she said quietly.
"Of course."
"Do you trust me?"
The question caught me completely off guard.
"Why do you ask?"
"Stone doesn't. I can tell. He watches me like I'm about to steal the silverware." She managed a small smile. "And I get it. New employee, access to sensitive information. But you..." She searched my face. "I can't tell what you think."
I think you're either exactly who you claim, or the best liar I've ever met.
I think you're beautiful and smart and funny.
I think I'm in serious trouble.
"I think," I said carefully, "that you're doing excellent work. That Barbara trained you well. That I made the right choice hiring you."
"That's not what I asked."
She was right. It wasn't.
"Trust takes time," I said instead.
"How much time?"
"I don't know yet."
We stood there in the quiet break room, awareness crackling between us.
This was the moment. The moment I should step back. Maintain professional distance. Remember Stone's warnings.
Instead, I reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.
Her breath caught.
"Julia—"
"Mr. Vanetti, I—" She stopped. Started again. "Quentin. You should probably know that I…"
"Know what?"
She opened her mouth, closed it. Like she wanted to say something important but couldn't find the words.
Finally: "This week. Working with you. It's been..." She glanced at the floor. "It's been really nice."
Nice. Such an inadequate word for what this week has been.
"Yeah," I said quietly. "It has."
My hand was still near her face. I should drop it. Should step back.
I didn't.
"This is probably a terrible idea," she whispered.
"Probably."
"You're my boss."
"I am."
"There are rules about this kind of thing."
"There are."
Neither of us moved.
"We should go back to the party," Julia said, still not moving.
"We should."
"Barbara's probably wondering where we are."
"Probably."
The air between us felt electric. Dangerous.
One of us needed to be the adult. The professional. The one who stepped back.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, shattering the moment.
Julia quickly stepped back. Picked up the dish towel. Focused intently on drying a mug that was already dry.
I pulled out my phone. Text from Stone: Where are you?
Break room. On my way.
I looked at Julia. She was very carefully not looking at me.
"We should get back," I said.
"Yes. Of course." She hung up the towel. Reached for her jacket.
"Julia?"
She turned.
"This conversation isn't over."
Her brows rose and her lips parted.
I walked out of the break room, leaving her to compose herself—and me to figure out what the hell I was doing.
∞∞∞
Later, alone in my office after everyone had left, I sat in the dark and thought about the break room.
About how close I'd come to kissing her.
About how I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
About Stone's warnings.
About Reid Bauer's threat assessment.
About how Julia Russell was either innocent or the most dangerous person I'd ever let into my life.
I couldn’t keep going like this.
My phone buzzed. Text from Stone: Still think I'm paranoid?
Photos were attached to the message.
A man sitting in a car across the street from Julia’s apartment. His face obscured by darkness. Another photo from earlier in the day. Same car, same man, but parked across the street from my office.
The last photo of the same man watching Julia in a coffee shop. Only this time, his profile was visible.
Forrest found a match.
The next attachment was a photo of Silvio Russo.
Carlo Russo’s cousin.
I stared at the photo and my heart raced. What the hell? Was Stone right? Was Julia the plant? The threat? The killer?
But a small, stubborn part whispered: There’s got to be an explanation.
Maybe she doesn't know who he is.
Maybe it's coincidental.
Maybe—
Stone messaged me: Should I pull her access?
I typed back to Stone: No. Let her come in Monday. But watch her. Everything.
You're making a mistake.
Probably. But I need to know the truth.
I stared at the photo.
Silvio Russo.
If he was here to kill me, why was he watching Julia? It was obvious that he knew her. Could he be the boyfriend she’d had a problem with? The reason she left New York?
Was he stalking her?
I shook my head. How could the woman I’d almost kissed three hours ago be involved with a low-life like him? Whatever it was, I intended to get to the bottom of it.
Even if it killed me.