Chapter 31
Quentin
Monday morning, I arrived early and tried to catch up on my work, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Julia. The look on her face when I told her Stone would take her home had haunted me all night.
I’d picked up my phone several times to call her, just so I could hear her voice and know she didn’t hate me. But my pride held me back. I was still smarting that she’d lied to me, even though she’d come clean and apologized.
The bottom line? Did I trust her?
I shook my head. My heart wanted to. But my head told me it was a bad idea.
If we found proof, that would be great. But what if we didn’t? I needed a plan. One that didn’t involve proof, but would raise the odds of both of us staying alive. An idea popped into my mind. Isobel. No one was better at strategic planning than my lawyer.
I put the call through and she said she’d be here this afternoon.
A knock sounded at my door and Julia poked her head inside. “Hey.”
My heart jumped. “Hey yourself. Get any sleep?” I wanted to pull her into my arms.
“Some. You?”
“Not really.”
“Yeah… tell me about it.” She licked her lips. “I brought the beads.”
“Good. Serenity should be here soon.”
Her gaze met mine. “Is there anything urgent you need me to do?”
“Not at the moment. Forrest told me he found a few leads, so once he’s got it compiled, we’ll check it out in the conference room.”
“Okay. I guess I’ll get back to work then.”
I nodded and glanced back at the papers on my desk.
Hearing the door click shut, something inside of me cracked. What was I doing? I had to let go of my pride. What she’d done mattered, but what I did next mattered just as much. She’d come back to fight for me. I needed to do the same.
I hurried to the door and pulled it open. “Julia—”
Walking to her desk, she glanced over her shoulder. Hope filled her eyes and she turned to face me. “Yes?”
“I love you.”
She froze, then suddenly, she was in my arms. I held her tightly. Kissed her face, her cheeks, her hair.
“I love you, too.”
“We’ll find a way.”
“We will.”
“I promise.”
“Me too.”
“Uh…” Stone’s voice cut through the haze. “You might want to move your conversation someplace more private.”
We pulled apart. Julia straightened her clothes, and I glared at Stone. “Need something?”
“Yeah. Forrest found some information you’ll want to see.”
I nodded and motioned toward the hall. “Lead the way.”
In the conference room, Forrest pulled up a file on one of the screens. "Three weeks before your father died, someone made a series of wire transfers from a shell company in the Caymans. Total amount: five million dollars."
I leaned closer, studying the numbers. "Where did it go?"
"That's the interesting part. It went to another shell company. One that I traced back to—" He pulled up another window. "—a property management firm in Salt Lake City."
My eyes narrowed. "Someone paid five million dollars to someone here."
"Three weeks before Julia’s father was killed."
"Who owns the property management firm?"
Forrest scratched his chin. "That's what we're still trying to figure out. The ownership structure is deliberately obscured. Multiple layers of LLCs, offshore accounts. Professional-grade concealment."
Julia nodded. "The kind of thing someone in our world would use."
"Exactly." He pulled up more files. "But here's what's interesting. The Cayman shell company that made the payment? I traced it back to a charitable foundation in New York. The Salvatore Russo Memorial Foundation."
Julia’s eyes widened. "My father had a foundation?"
"Apparently. Established twenty years ago. Legitimate, mostly—donations to hospitals, schools, community centers. But the financial records show some... irregularities."
"What kind of irregularities?"
"The kind where money goes in and doesn't come out where it should. The kind where someone's using a charity as a slush fund."
Julia swallowed, visibly shaken. "Who controls it?"
"Your father did. Until he died. Now—" Forrest met her gaze. "Now it's controlled by the executor of his estate."
"Carlo," she whispered.
"And the co-executor." He pulled up another document. "Filomena Russo."
Julia’s face went white. I pulled a chair out for her and she sat down.
“Filomena had access to my father's money. Millions of dollars she could move around without anyone noticing. Money she could use to pay for—"
"A hit," I breathed. "She could have paid someone five million to do it."
"That's the theory.” Forrest's brows dipped.
I nodded. "But we need proof. Real proof. Bank records, communications, something that ties her directly to the payment."
Julia met my gaze. "How do we get that?"
I rubbed a hand through my hair. “Without raising red flags…” I shook my head. “I asked Isobel—she’s my lawyer—to come in. She has access to legal channels we don't. If anyone can pull those records without raising red flags—it’s her."
∞∞∞
An hour later, Isobel came into my office. I introduced her to Julia and they took an instant liking to each other. Julia asked about her outfit. “Is that from the new Theory collection?”
“You have a good eye.”
“I think the charcoal gray sets off your eyes beautifully.”
The two women chit-chatted about clothes and shoes for several minutes. I enjoyed watching Julia relax, but I was ready to get down to business. I cleared my throat and Isobel glanced my way.
“You want to talk about women's fashion too?”
I scoffed. “No. And I hope you were off the clock during the time Julia was giving you makeup advice.”
“Of course I was.” Isobel smiled at Julia. “In fact, darling, you should bill me. I knew I should try switching out the Ruby Woo but I wasn’t sure to what.”
“Try the Armani 400 Heat, that hint of coral will do the trick.”
Julia winked at me as I turned toward my office—I couldn’t tell if Isobel caught it or not—but when she sat down in front of my desk, she brought it up.
“So, you’re having a fling with Julia, or is it something serious?” She pulled out her notebook.
“It’s not a fling.” I took my chair behind my desk.
“Okay.” She wrote down something and glanced my way with a raised brow. “So, tell me what’s going on.”
I began by telling her about my relationship with Julia Russo, who was still on the books as Julia Russell.
Every complication, every risk, every detail that could come back to haunt me.
That's what attorneys are for—the whole truth, no matter how ugly.
When I finished, she went back through my story, questioning points I'd tried to skim over.
She was thorough, brutally honest, and pulled no punches.
“There’s more.”
Her jaw dropped. “Of course there is.”
I told her about the time limit Carlo had put on us, along with the records Forrest had just found about Big Sal’s charity and the five million dollars that he’d traced to the corporation here in Salt Lake. “If we can find proof, it could save both our lives.”
“And if you can’t?” Isobel rubbed her forehead.
I’d never seen her lose her composure, but this situation seemed to do the trick.
Isobel stood and began to pace. After walking back and forth a few times, she stopped and turned my way. Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head. “Quentin. What have you done? She’s the freaking daughter of a murdered mafia Don. What were you thinking?”
“I didn’t know that fact at first.”
She shook her head and muttered something under her breath. Stopping, she leaned over my desk and looked me in the eyes. “Tell me one thing. Do you love her?”
I blinked. “Yes. I do.”
“Okay.” She started to pace again. “There is something that will buy you some time. Maybe even save your life.” She stopped again. Her deadly serious gaze met mine. “Marry her.”
My eyes widened. “What?”
“Yes.” She sat down and took out her notebook. “If you’re not sure, that’s fine. It’s still the best thing for you to do at this point. I’ll write it up with a very strong prenup, so you’ll be protected in case you change your mind later.” She met my gaze. “Are you sleeping with her?”
“Well… not at the moment, but—”
“That’s fine. If it’s consummated and witnessed then it’ll be a legal marriage recognized throughout the country.”
“But how does getting married help us?”
Isobel finally relaxed. “A lot of reasons… all of them for your benefit. Spousal privilege in legal proceedings. More confidential communications, you’d be harder to tap.
With shared assets it’s harder for the feds to take everything—not that it’ll come to that—but it’s like an insurance policy.
Speaking of insurance, I can set you up with a big whole life policy on her.
It has tax advantages and—you know—” Isobel slid her index finger across her throat “—if it ever comes to having to get out of your marriage without a divorce, there’s a nice payoff. ”
“I’d never.” The reason I paid top dollar for a slightly crooked lawyer—yes that’s redundant—was because in my business it paid to know all the options. Even those you’d never use.
“Never say never, Mr. Vanetti.” Her crooked smile reminded me of a house cat who’d just eaten the canary.
“Crap.” I shrugged. “This is a hell of a lot.”
“It doesn’t end there. Julia would be able to act as proxy or decoy, you’d give her POA and inside control, shared ownership, this is all predicated on your trusting her or at least knowing she has some fear of the repercussions if she screws you.”
“She’s not like that.”
“Well, as you know, I started out as a divorce attorney. More terrible than being a public defender, in my opinion. You see the absolute worst in people. I once watched a couple spend a combined quarter million dollars in legal fees to fight over an estate barely worth two hundred grand. They simply couldn’t agree not to cut off their own noses. You know?”
“I get it.” She was right. I’d seen it happen. But in organized crime families, it was different. “How do you think this will go over with the Russos?”
“Let’s say you have a real wedding. Get a big cake, a band, and photographers.
It’ll work in your favor. You know how these old school Italian families are about marriage.
You get married—even if you know it’s a show—in a big Catholic Church, complete with all the bells and whistles, and you’re going to be untouchable as far as the Russos are concerned. ”
“If they buy it.”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Isobel shrugged. “Up to you, but my pros versus cons weigh in favor of having a wedding. Besides keeping you alive, you’ve got a better public image.
You get leverage on her. It’s a symbol of power as well.
Julia is beautiful and smart. Having her on your arm makes you a more powerful man.
You look smarter and people—especially your enemies—will think you’re better behaved and more manageable.
Look, if you need to end it later—just be more careful than—”
“I’m not going to whack my wife.”
“I’d never suggest such a thing. I’m just saying there’s options besides divorce. Let me know. I’ll write up an ironclad prenup and put together a package of contracts, agreements, insurance policies—we’ll sit down with Julia and make a deal.”
“Let me think about it.”
“Of course.”
“Then there’s that other thing.”
“You mean with pulling those records for you?”
“Yeah. I can have Forrest send you everything he’s got.”
She nodded. “I’ll get started on it today. See what I can dig up. But Quentin… sometimes proof doesn’t matter to the Family. Marriage is your best option.”
I trusted Isobel.
The way she explained it, marriage made total sense.
But how was I going to convince Julia?
How would she feel about a fake wedding?
Even if I loved her and she loved me.
Getting married for all the wrong reasons.
Only… how could staying alive be bad?