I couldn't stay silent. Couldn't let this happen.
"Carlo." My voice came out stronger than I felt. He looked at me, and I held his gaze. "I'm certain Quentin is innocent. I've seen evidence—real evidence.” I paused, knowing I couldn’t reveal what I’d seen in Papa's office. The security override. The meeting with “F” the night he died. His journal entry. None of it pointed to Quentin.
I swallowed before continuing, “He has accounting books for a restaurant with a handwritten note from our father. He knows things, Carlo. Personal things. About the cigars Papa loved, the tequila he drank, how he conducted business. Did you know that Papa's death cost Quentin millions? It makes no sense for him to be the killer."
Filomena turned to me, her expression pitying. Dismissive. "You're too emotionally involved, dear."
The words hit like a slap. I wanted to scream. Emotionally involved? I'm the only one who actually investigated. Who found the evidence everyone else missed. The phone number hidden inThe Count of Monte Cristo. The security code that provedQuentin couldn't have been there. But I couldn't say any of this. Not here. Not now.
Heat flooded my face. My heart hammered so hard I was sure everyone could hear it.
Vinny started to speak—"Actually, Carlo, Julia has a point—"
"Not now, Vinny." Carlo's hand came up, cutting him off.
Then my cousins started arguing about territory. About respect. About who should handle what. One of them made some joke I didn't hear over the blood rushing in my ears.
From the patio, Nonno's voice drifted in: "That rat bastard Vanetti... I'd kill him myself if I could still hold a gun straight..."
The room erupted into overlapping voices. Accusations. Arguments. Everyone talking over each other.
I sat frozen, watching it all spiral out of control.
This is it. They're going to order the hit right now. Silvio's going to kill him and I won't be able to stop it.
"ENOUGH!"
Carlo's fist slammed onto the table with a crack that made everyone jump.
Instant silence.
No one moved. No one breathed. You didn't provoke the don when his temper flared.
Carlo stood, his chair scraping back. Then he began to pace.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
Like a predator in a cage, all coiled energy and barely restrained violence.
Five minutes passed. No one spoke. Even Vinny sat perfectly still, eyes tracking Carlo's movements.
I counted my own heartbeats. Tried to slow my breathing. Tried not to let the terror show on my face.
Please, Carlo. Please see reason. Please don't order his death. I’ll explain it all when it’s safe. In private.
Finally, Carlo stopped. Pulled out his phone. Hit a number on speaker.
My breath caught.
"Yes. I'm here." Silvio's voice filled the room.
Oh God. He's there right now. He could kill Quentin tonight.
"Don't make a move," Carlo said. "Fly back to New York on the jet after your cousin returns to her job."
Relief crashed through me so suddenly I felt dizzy. My explanation died on my lips. Now I had a chance to save him.
"You sure?" Silvio's voice carried doubt. Objection.
