Three Months Later
Julia
Marriage, I'd discovered, was both easier and harder than I'd expected.
Easier because waking up next to Quentin every morning felt natural. Right. Like something I'd been doing my whole life instead of just three months.
Harder because combining two lives—two families, two businesses, two very different approaches to things like "how many coffee mugs is too many coffee mugs"—required constant negotiation.
"Twelve is too many," Quentin said for the third time this week, staring at the cabinet.
"Twelve is reasonable. What if we have guests?"
"We have six guests maximum. That's six mugs. Plus ours makes eight. We have four extra."
"What if some are in the dishwasher?"
Quentin sighed. "Then we wash them. Like normal people."
"Or we could have twelve mugs and never worry about it."
"You're impossible."
"You married me anyway."
“Moment of weakness.” At my gasp, he pulled me close. "But the best moment of my life."
"Even with Nonno's gun?"
"Especially with Nonno's gun. It's a great story."
"People are going to be so confused when they hear this story."
"Good. Because I just mastered the coffee mug situation. Baby steps."
"We have twelve mugs. You've mastered nothing."
"I'm working on acceptance."
Quentin's phone buzzed on the counter. Unknown number. He glanced at it, frowning. "Probably spam."
"Could be important," I said.
He answered, putting it on speaker out of habit. "Hello?"
"Quin?" A woman's voice, shaking. "It's Bianca."
His whole body went rigid. "Bianca? What’s wrong?"
"I'm so sorry to call like this. I know you're probably busy, and it's only been three months since the wedding, and I promised I'd stay out of your life, but I—I don't know what else to do."
Quentin turned up the volume. "Bianca, slow down. What's wrong?"
"Everything. Everything's wrong." A shaky breath. "Remember how I said I'd tell you everything the day after your wedding? And then I—I got scared and left before we could talk?"
"I remember."
"I should have told you then. Should have asked for help. But I thought—I thought I could handle it myself. Thought if I just stayed in LA, kept my head down, it would blow over."
"What would blow over?" Quentin's voice had gone sharp. Protective.
"Roman. His family. All of it." She was crying now. "Gosh, Quin, I've been so stupid. I fell in love with him and I didn't—I didn't see what he was until it was too late."
"Who's Roman?"
"Roman Sterling. Or at least, that's what he told me.
" Her voice shook. "He's an actor. We've been together for six months.
Living together. Planning a future. Or at least—I thought we were.
" A bitter laugh. "Yesterday I found out his real name isn't Sterling at all.
It's Roman Santoro. I saw it on some legal documents at his place.
When I googled it, I found—Ugh, Quin, his family has connections.
East Coast. Organized crime. And he's been lying to me this whole time. About everything. Even his name."
Quentin and I exchanged looks. This was bad.
"Where are you right now?" Quentin asked.
"My house. In LA. But Quin—they know who I am. They know I'm your sister. They know about the Vanetti family. And I think—" She took a shaky breath. "I think Roman's family wants to use me. To get to you. And to get access to East Coast operations, or territory, or I don't even know what."
"Did Roman tell you this?"
"No. I overheard a phone call. He was talking to someone—his brother, maybe his father—about 'the Vanetti connection.' About how I was 'in deep enough that she won't walk away now.' About—" Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. "About how I'm 'too valuable to lose.'"
My heart sank. I'd seen this play out before. People used as pawns, caught between families, leverage in games they didn't understand.
"Bianca," I said gently. "Does Roman know you heard this?"
"I don't think so. I left before he saw me.
Told him I had an emergency meeting. But he keeps calling.
Texting. Says he needs to see me. That we need to talk.
" She was clearly spiraling. "I don't know if he ever loved me or if it was all—if I was just a mark.
A way to get to my family." Her voice wavered.
"But that's the thing. Sometimes he'd look at me like.
.. like he was terrified of losing me. And he never pushed to meet my family, never asked about the Vanetti business.
It was almost like he was avoiding it. Maybe I'm just making excuses because I don't want to believe—"
"Listen to me," Quentin said firmly. "You did the right thing calling. We're going to help you. But I need you to do exactly what I say, okay?"
"Okay."
"First, did you give Roman a key to your house?"
"No. I never—" She paused. "I never gave him one because some part of me knew not to trust him completely.
But the weird thing is, he never asked for one either.
Six months together and he never pushed.
He'd say things like 'I respect your space' or 'take your time.
' At the time I thought it was sweet, but now.
.." She laughed bitterly. "Dammit, maybe I'm not as stupid as I thought.
Or maybe I'm being stupid right now, looking for reasons to believe he's not—"
"You're not stupid. You're careful. That's good." Quentin was already moving, grabbing his phone, texting someone—probably Stone. "Second, I'm sending someone to LA. Stone. You remember him from the wedding?"
"The scary bodyguard dude?"
"Security specialist. He's going to keep you safe while we figure this out."
"Quin, I can't ask you to—"
"You're not asking. I'm telling you. You're my sister. I'm not letting Roman's family hurt you." His voice softened. "I already lost you once. I'm not losing you again."
She sobbed—relief and fear and love all tangled together.
"What do I do about Roman?" she asked. "He's been calling every ten minutes. If I don't answer soon, he'll get suspicious."
"Answer. Act normal. Tell him you're busy with work for the next few days. Buy us time to get Stone there and figure out what we're dealing with."
"What if he can tell I know?"
"You're a producer in LA," I said. "Lying is basically your job description."
A watery laugh. "Fair point." Then, quieter: "The thing is, I don't think I'll have to lie.
When I talk to him, it still feels... real.
Even now, even knowing what I know, part of me wants to believe there's an explanation.
That maybe he's in as deep as I am and just as scared. Geeze, listen to me. I sound pathetic."
"You sound like someone who fell in love," I said gently. "That's not pathetic. That's human."
"Bianca," Quentin continued, "after Stone arrives, we're going to need you to come to Salt Lake. Can you do that? Can you leave LA for a while?"
"I—yes. Yes. Anything to get away from this."
"Good. Pack a bag. Just essentials. Leave everything else. We'll handle the rest."
"Thank you." Her voice broke. "Thank you, Quin. I'm so sorry I got you involved in this mess."
"That's what family does. We get involved in each other's messes." He met my gaze, and I saw everything we'd been through reflected in his eyes. "Trust me. We're very good at messy."
"I love you, big brother."
"I love you too. Now pack a bag. Wait for Stone's call. He'll be there tonight."
"Tonight? How—"
"I have a jet. Perks of the lifestyle you tried to escape."
"Maybe I'm not as escaped as I thought."
"Maybe. But we'll figure it out. Together."
She huffed out a breath. "Okay. I can do this."
"You can. Call me when you're somewhere safe."
“I will. Thank you. Both of you."
"We've got you, Bianca," I said. "Whatever happens, we've got you."
The line went dead.
Quentin immediately called Stone, putting it on speaker while it rang.
"Boss," Stone answered. "What's up?"
"How fast can you get to Los Angeles?"
"Tonight, if I leave in the next hour. Why?"
"My sister's in trouble. Involved with a guy whose family has East Coast connections. They might be using her to get to me."
"They are absolutely using her to get to you," Stone said flatly. "Give me details."
While Quentin filled Stone in, I leaned against the counter, processing.
Three months of peaceful married life. Three months of relative normalcy.
It had been nice while it lasted.
Quentin finished the call and turned to me, looking exhausted already.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"For what?"
"For dragging you into more family drama. We literally just finished dealing with your family's mess. Now mine—"
"Hey." I pulled him close. "This is what we do. We handle things. Together. Remember?"
"I remember." He rested his forehead against mine. "But I was hoping for at least six months of boring before the next crisis."
"Boring is overrated."
"I'm really starting to disagree with that statement."
"Liar. You'd be miserable if things were boring."
"I'd like to test that theory."
"Maybe after we save your sister from her crime-family-connected boyfriend."
"Right. That." He sighed. "You know what this means?"
"What?"
"Bianca's coming to stay with us. Probably for weeks. Maybe months."
"We have the spare room."
"She'll want to know everything. About us. About the investigation. About Filomena. About—" He gestured helplessly. "Everything."
"Then we'll tell her."
"Just like that?"
"She's family. And family gets involved in each other's messes. You just said so yourself."
He kissed me—grateful, exhausted, loving. "Have I mentioned lately that I'm really glad I married you?"
"Not in the last few hours."
"Consider it mentioned."
"Noted. Now call Carlo. He needs to know about Roman's family. We might need his resources too."
"You're right." He pulled out his phone. "My sister's crisis is about to become a whole family operation, isn't it?"
"Welcome to married life. Where your problems become my problems become your sister's problems become everyone's problems."
"That's not how the vows went."
"It's how the reality goes."
He started dialing, then paused. "You know what?"
"What?"
"I'm actually looking forward to this."
"To your sister being in danger?"
"No. To—to having family again. Real family. People who need each other and help each other and don't exile each other to foreign countries."
I understood. After everything with Filomena and Silvio, after the betrayal and the grief and the loss—this felt different.
This felt like building something instead of tearing it down.
"Me too," I said. "Even if it means our quiet married life just ended."
"It was nice while it lasted."
"Three whole months."
"A record in our world."
"We'll get back to quiet eventually."
"You think?"
"No. But it's a nice thought."
He laughed, kissed me once more, then hit dial.
As Carlo answered and Quentin launched into explaining the situation, I looked around our house.
At the twelve coffee mugs I'd won the fight to keep.
At the combined bookshelves where my thrillers mixed with his business books.
At the wedding photos on the wall—both of us laughing, covered in cake, surrounded by family.
This was our life now.
Messy. Complicated. Full of crisis and drama and families with more problems than solutions.
But it was ours.
And I wouldn't trade it for anything.
Even if it meant flying to LA to save a sister-in-law from a boyfriend with mob connections.
Even if it meant our peaceful honeymoon phase was officially over.
Even if it meant we'd probably never get those six months of boring.
Because boring was overrated.
And this—this beautiful, chaotic, slightly dangerous life we were building together—was exactly where I wanted to be.
Problems, coffee mugs, and all.
~ End of Book 2: The Mob Boss and the Assassin ~
The Love, Loyalty & Larceny Series continues with Book 3, coming soon...