Chapter 33
Julia
Tuesday morning, I hurried to get ready for work. After our intimate phone call the night before, I couldn’t wait to see Quentin today. The only thing that ruined my mood was realizing we only had five days left to prove Quentin’s innocence.
I arrived at the office and hurried to Quentin’s door. I found him on the phone, pacing by the windows. "—no, I understand. Yes. Seven should work but I’ll have to check with the team. Thank you, Isobel."
He hung up and turned, stopping short when he saw me.
"Hi," I said, suddenly self-conscious.
“Julia.” He spoke my name like a prayer, and I hurried to his side. Sliding into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like I belonged.
“What’s going on?”
"Isobel wants to meet tonight," he said finally. "Seven p.m. At a restaurant.”
My heart stopped. “Serenity’s vision?”
“Looks like it. She says she has a proof pointing to the killer. But it’s… touchy."
My head snapped up. "What kind of proof?"
"She wouldn't say over the phone. But she sounded—" He hesitated. "Concerned."
"Concerned how?"
"Like she'd found something she wished she hadn't."
A chill ran through me. "This must be it. Serenity’s vision coming true. We should cancel. Meet Isobel somewhere else."
“Let me call Stone. I need to tell him anyway. I’d like to know what he thinks.”
Quentin put the call through. A few minutes later, Stone came into the office.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Isobel called to set up a meeting at a restaurant tonight,” Quentin said.
“Shit. The vision.”
I nodded. “Exactly. I think we should cancel, or at least meet somewhere else.”
Stone considered it. “It might not change the outcome. But—I’m not sure we should. If this is a trap, we need to know who set it. If we control the situation, choose our positions, and be ready, it could be our chance to catch whoever’s after you.”
"Or it could be our chance to die," I countered.
"Julia's right," Quentin said. "It's too risky."
"Everything's risky." Stone's voice softened slightly. "But Serenity said you both survive. And afterward, you have the proof you need. What restaurant did she say?"
Quentin’s jaw tightened. "Il Giardino. Downtown. Private dining room in the back. Owned by the Moretti family."
The pieces clicked together in my mind. I sucked in a breath. "Chiara's family owns that restaurant. If Filomena thinks I've been compromised, if she thinks I've turned on the family—"
"She could have reached out to the Morettis," Quentin finished. "Told them you're a traitor. Told them to eliminate both of us."
"Or," Stone said, "the Morettis were in on it from the beginning. Maybe they're the ones who paid for the hit on Big Sal."
My head was spinning. "But Chiara—"
"Might not know," Quentin said quietly. "If her family's involved, they wouldn't tell her. Not if she's your friend."
Unless she was lying to me. Unless our entire friendship was a cover.
"We should go," Quentin said suddenly.
"What?" I stared at him. "You just said it was too risky."
"It is. But Stone's right—this might be our only chance. We go in prepared. Stone, Forrest, Serenity—all of you positioned around the restaurant. Exits covered. Surveillance active. At the first sign of trouble, the team moves in."
I shook my head. "I don't like it."
"Neither do I." Quentin turned to face me. "But we're running out of time. Five days, Julia. If we don't find proof in five days, Silvio kills us anyway. At least this way, we're choosing when and where to face the threat."
He was right. I hated it, but he was right.
"Okay." I sighed. "We go. But we're smart about it. Body armor. Backup weapons. Multiple escape routes."
"Agreed." Quentin turned to Stone. "Set it up. Full tactical. I want eyes everywhere."
"On it. One more thing—Isobel knows about the vision?"
"Not yet. I'll call her. She'll be prepared."
"Good." Stone paused. "Boss, be careful. Serenity's visions aren't always clear. You might survive, but she couldn't see how badly you'd be hurt."
"Understood."
Stone left the office.
I raised a brow. "So—finally. Date night at a restaurant. Too bad someone might try to kill us there."
Despite everything, Quentin's mouth twitched. "Some of my best dates end in gunfire."
"That's really not reassuring."
"Wasn't trying to be."
I stepped to the window. The city stretched out below—ordinary people living ordinary lives, completely unaware that two people in this building were planning for a potential shootout tonight.
"What if Serenity's wrong?" I asked quietly. "What if we don't survive?"
"Then at least we go down fighting together." He stepped toward me, and I saw something in his eyes that made my breath catch. "Julia, if this goes sideways tonight—if something happens and we don't make it—I need you to know something."
"Don't." I pressed my fingers to his lips. "Don't say goodbye. We're going to survive this. We have to."
He pulled my hand away but didn't let go. "I need to say it anyway. Working with you, investigating, building the case—I've seen who you really are. Not Julia Russell the assistant. Not Julia Russo the assassin. Just Julia. And I—"
His phone rang again.
We both jumped.
He checked the screen. "It's Isobel."
He picked it up, put it on speaker. "Isobel. We need to talk about tonight."
"That’s why I’m calling." Her voice was sharp, urgent. "There’s more I didn’t tell you earlier.
I have a source—someone who's been doing financial work for the Russo family for years.
She has documentation. Transfer records, communication logs, patterns that point to who ordered the hit.
But she's nervous. She'll only meet at Il Giardino because she works there doing the Morettis' books.
It's the only place her presence won't raise questions. "
"So we're walking into a Moretti-owned restaurant to meet someone with evidence against the Russos," Quentin said flatly.
"I know how it sounds. But this woman has records going back five years.
If anyone can prove who's behind this, it's her.
And Quentin—" She paused. "Be careful. I think someone knows I've been digging.
My office was broken into last night. Nothing taken, but files were moved. Someone was looking for something."
Quentin's grip on my hand tightened. "Are you safe?"
"For now. I've got security. But Quentin—whatever's going on, it's bigger than we thought. The documents I found—they implicate someone high up in the Russo family. Someone with serious power."
"Filomena," I said, loud enough for Isobel to hear.
"Julia's there?" Isobel asked.
"Yes."
"Good. She needs to hear this too. Seven tonight. Il Giardino. Private room. I'll bring everything I found. But come prepared—I have a feeling tonight's going to get interesting."
"Define interesting."
"The kind where you might want to bring Stone and his entire security team."
"Already planned."
"Smart man." She paused. "Quentin, I mean it. Be careful. Whoever killed Big Sal has too much to lose. They won't hesitate to kill again."
"Noted. See you at seven."
He hung up.
We stood there, hands still linked, the weight of what was coming pressing down on us.
"So," I said. "Either we get the proof we need tonight and save both our lives—"
"Or we walk into a trap and die."
"Those really are our only options?"
"Looks like it."
I laughed—a slightly hysterical sound. "Your life is terrible."
"Tell me about it." But he was almost smiling. "For what it's worth, if I have to walk into a deathtrap restaurant, I'm glad you're the one walking in with me."
"That's so romantic."
"Really?"
"No. But it's definitely memorable."
This time he did smile. Really smiled. And for just a moment, standing there in his office holding hands while planning for potential murder, I let myself believe we'd survive this.
That we'd find the proof.
That we'd stop Filomena.
That somehow, impossibly, we'd make it out alive.
"We should prepare," Quentin said finally, breaking the spell. "If we're doing this, we do it right."
"Agreed." I squeezed his hand once, then let go. "Body armor first. Then weapons. Then we go over the restaurant layout with Stone."
"And Julia?"
"Yeah?"
"If something goes wrong tonight—if I tell you to run—you run. No arguments. No heroics. Just go."
"Like hell." I met his eyes. "We survive together or not at all. That's the deal."
"Julia—"
"That's the deal, Quentin."
He stared at me for a long moment. Then nodded. "Together."
∞∞∞
Il Giardino was located in a historic building downtown, all exposed brick and Edison bulbs. The kind of place that looked charming and intimate—unless you knew it was owned by the Moretti family.
Then it just looked dangerous.
Stone had arrived first, positioning himself near the bar with clear sightlines to our private room. Forrest was outside, monitoring entrances. Serenity waited in the SUV, ready to move if things went south.
And they would go south. We all knew it.
Quentin's hand found mine as we walked through the restaurant. "Stay close."
"I will."
The private dining room was in the back, just like Serenity had described in her vision. Small. One door in, one door out. Windows overlooking an alley.
Tactical nightmare.
But we were here for the proof. For the documents that would save both our lives.
Isobel was already seated, her briefcase on the table. But she wasn't alone.
A woman sat beside her—mid-forties, severe gray suit, fingers wrapped around a wine glass like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Dark circles under her eyes. The hunted look of someone who knew too much.
"Quentin. Julia." Isobel stood. "This is Margaret Chen. She handles financial matters for several New York families. She has information that's... relevant to our situation."
My heart stopped. Financial matters. For the families.
Margaret didn't stand. Didn't offer to shake hands. Just stared at us with hollow eyes.