Chapter 1
Julia
Iexited the glass elevator, checking my reflection one last time. The suit was perfect—our family's tailor had worked overtime to get it ready before my flight from New York.
Julia Russell.
After my mother's murder—a Mafia hit when I was just two—my father insisted I use a different last name for protection. It had served me well, but there were times I’d wondered what it would be like to be Julia Russo. To claim my heritage and become who I was always meant to be.
Now was my chance to prove myself. To pass the test and take my rightful place in the family.
Everything I’d trained for rested in this one moment.
The receptionist smiled up at me. "You must be Ms. Russell?"
"That's me." I returned her smile, the one I'd practiced a thousand times. Confident. Trustworthy. Completely ordinary.
Not the daughter of a murdered mob boss ready to avenge his death.
"Mr. Vanetti will call for you shortly." She gestured to an antique sofa. "Please have a seat."
I sat, crossed my legs, and waited. Two stunning women stepped off the elevator, introducing themselves to the receptionist.
Competition.
Good. Let Vanetti interview them first. Let him think he has options.
By the time I walked out of here, there would only be one choice.
Me.
Both women appeared younger than me. That should work in my favor—though with powerful men, you never knew. Quentin Vanetti might prefer eye candy over brains, despite his reputation for being sharp.
I hoped he was as smart as people said.
"Lori Johnson, you're first." The receptionist pointed down the hall. "Second door on the right."
I watched her strut past in an off-the-rack suit and slightly gaudy heels. Not New York quality, but we weren't in New York. "Good luck."
"I don't need luck, honey."
Okay then.
"Never mind her." The second woman had better taste and apparently better manners. "I'm Susan. We've interviewed together before—she's too cocky for her own good."
"Julia."
Susan smiled. "First time interviewing?"
"Recently back in the job market." Not technically a lie. My previous position—working for my father—had ended rather abruptly when he’d been murdered. "Any advice?"
"Don't let them see weakness."
I almost laughed. My entire life had been training for that exact skill. Working with dangerous men like my late father, BigSal Russo. Watching my brother Carlo step into his role as don. Learning when to speak and when to stay silent.
Staying cool under pressure? That was my specialty.
Which was why Carlo had given me this assignment instead of our cousin Silvio. Get close to Quentin Vanetti. Find out if he'd killed our father. And if he had...
