And I'd have to watch the man I loved die.
Or die trying to stop it.
∞∞∞
The meeting dragged on. Territory disputes in New Jersey. Revenue streams in New York. Numbers and negotiations that should have mattered but felt distant, unreal.
I mostly tuned it out, my mind two thousand miles away with a man who probably hated me by now.
But I watched Carlo. Really watched him for the first time in months. The weight he carried, the decisions he made that rippled out to affect hundreds of families. People who depended on the income he generated, the deals he maintained, the territory he protected.
Lives in his hands.
One wrong choice and people died. Families starved. Empires crumbled.
He's doing his best. Filling Papa's shoes when no one could ever really fill them.
A wave of love and respect for my brother washed over me, followed immediately by guilt.
Because I was about to betray him. Or betray Quentin. One or the other. There was no path forward that didn't involve destroying someone I cared about.
When the official business finally ended—nearly two hours later—people began to drift toward the bar, the patio, forming smaller conversations.
Vinny materialized at my elbow with a fresh glass of wine. "You're probably dying for a drink by now,cugì."
"What I'm dying for is a pillow." Exhaustion hit me like a physical weight. "It's almost two in the morning. But—" I took the glass anyway. "I'll settle for this."
The wine hit my empty stomach like a warm wave. My head went pleasantly fuzzy almost immediately.
Mistake. Bad idea. Need food.
Vinny and I made small talk—forced, awkward—but my blood sugar was crashing hard. The room tilted slightly. Words became difficult.
"I need to eat something," I admitted.
"Let's get a slice. I'll drive." He reached for my elbow.
I jerked away, scowling. "I'm not your pet."
Hurt flashed across his face. "Sorry, Jules. I was just—"
"Vinny, that won't be necessary."
Aunt Filomena's hand settled on Vinny's shoulder with the weight of authority.
His expression shuttered immediately. "Goodnight, Jules. See you around."
Then he was gone, leaving me alone with the one person who could see through every lie I'd ever told.
"I'd like a little chat, Julia." Filomena's hand closed around my arm—not rough, but firm. Inescapable. "We'll stop for food. Your choice. Then I'll drop you at the airport."
My stomach knotted.
This is it. Whatever she's been holding back all night, I'm about to hear it.
"Of course, Aunt Filomena." I set down the unfinished wine with shaking hands and followed her out of the house to her car.
Her driver opened the rear door. She gestured for me to enter first. I did, sinking into leather that smelled like cigars, old money, and power.
