He took his eyes off the road for a brief moment and looked at me with disgust. "And you know why, Jules?"
I hid a tear, ashamed of my weakness at that moment. I knew. The oath. The one I'd be taking soon—if I survived making my bones. The one that bound Silvio tighter than blood, tighter than anything. Once you're made, you don't betray the family. Not for love. Not for money. Not for anything.
Silvio would kill me tonight without question if Carlo ordered it. Family isn't necessarily blood related when it comes toThe Family.
∞∞∞
I couldn't sleep.
The jet's silk sheets felt like sandpaper against my skin. At least I had a go-bag in the plane with a change of clothes, sleepwear, and personal essentials. I'd taken half a Sonata an hour ago—nothing. My mind wouldn't stop racing, replaying every moment of that dinner. Quentin's face when I told him. The coldness in his eyes. The way he'd walked away.
And then I'd run. Left him there without explanation.
What must he think of me?
I tried Carlo again. Straight to voicemail. No callback.
Aunt Filomena—same thing. Not even a text.
My fingers hovered over Vinny's contact. But no. He'd stay loyal to Carlo, as he should. I couldn't put him in that position, force him to choose between his don and his cousin.
Silvio had said exactly three words to me after dropping me at the private terminal: "Good luck, Jules."
Then he'd driven away, probably waiting in the parking lot to make sure the jet actually took off before reporting back to Carlo.
The pilots wouldn't talk to me beyond basic pleasantries. Their orders came from Carlo, not me. The flight plan was locked.
I tried Quentin's number again.
It didn't even ring. Straight to voicemail.
He'd blocked me.
My chest constricted, making it hard to breathe. I set the phone down with shaking hands and stared at the cabin ceiling, eyes burning.
Nobody was talking to me.
Nobody would help me.
I was completely, utterly alone.
Thirty thousand feet in the air, racing toward either redemption or execution, and I had no idea which.
Hours ago—justhours—I'd been sitting across from Quentin in that beautiful restaurant, candlelight warming his eyes, his laugh making my heart race. Eating perfect gnocchi, drinking wine that cost a fortune, feeling like maybe, just maybe, I could have this. Could have him. Could have a life beyond blood and loyalty and impossible choices.
Now?
Now I was choking on the consequences of every decision I'd made since the moment I'd walked into Vitality Ventures with a fake name.
They say only two things are certain in life: death and taxes.
But there's a third certainty they never mention.
One minute you're on top of the world.
The next, you're drowning.
And nobody's coming to save you.
