"Yes I’m sure. I've got you on speaker for the family. Anyone objects, make your case now. But I won't tolerate renegade actions or insubordination."
"I think it's a mistake." Silvio's words made my blood run cold. "He knows something's up. His guard is up, security's tightening. The longer we wait, the harder this gets."
No. Please, Silvio, shut up. Don't push this.
"I'm not satisfied he's guilty," Carlo said firmly. "I'm sending my sister back to confirm. She has one week. I'll make my final decision then."
One week.
Seven days.
Seven days to prove Quentin's innocence or watch him die.
"I'm on record with my objections," Silvio said. "But I'll obey. We'll talk face to face."
"Good."
The line went dead.
Carlo's gaze swept the room slowly, deliberately. He locked eyes with each person—siblings, cousins, aunt, uncles. Held the contact until they looked away or nodded.
Old school intimidation. Looking for tells. For guilt. For disloyalty.
I met his gaze when it reached me and didn't flinch. Couldn't flinch. Had to show strength even though inside I was crumbling.
Finally, he nodded. "I'm saying this once. If anyone is withholding information that could hurt this family, there will be hell to pay."
Murmurs of agreement around the table.
"Then it's settled." Carlo's gaze found mine again, and the weight of his stare made my spine straighten involuntarily. "Julia returns to work Monday morning. You'll need a good excuse for your absence—come up with a believable story. Work things out with Vanetti." He paused, and the silence stretched. "You have one week. Either you prove beyond doubt he's an ally, or he's done. I won't hold Silvio back if you fail us."
The finality in his voice was absolute.
One week.
Prove Quentin's innocence or lose everything.
"I understand." My voice sounded steadier than I felt.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry despite the wine.
One week to save his life. One week to prove what I knew in my heart—that he was innocent. That someone in this family had killed my father.
I'd have to tell Quentin everything. That my entire family believed he'd murdered Papa. That they'd given me seven days to prove otherwise. I'd have to convince him to work with me, to trust me despite everything I'd done.
But would he even listen? Now that he knew my secret, would he order my death the moment I walked through his door? Was I taking my life in my hands just going back to him?
It was a chance I had to take.
My feelings for him were too strong now. Too real. I couldn't keep lying. Couldn't keep playing this game.
But I couldn't tell Carlo that. He didn't care about my feelings or my methods. Only results.
And if I failed?
If I couldn't prove Quentin's innocence in seven days?
Silvio would finish the job. Quick, clean, professional.
