Through the open door, I heard her giving instructions. "We're taking Julia to JFK, but find something open first. Real pizza. A proper slice. If you're hungry, get a pie."
"I'll have to head downtown, ma'am."
"I've got nowhere to be, and we have business to discuss. Put up the partition and don't interrupt until you have food."
"Yes, ma'am."
The door closed. The partition slid up. We were sealed in together.
Alone.
The thirty-minute drive to Downtown Brooklyn passed in near silence. Filomena stared out the window. I stared at my hands, counting heartbeats, trying to prepare for whatever was coming.
We arrived just before three. The pizza place was perfect—the kind you only find in Brooklyn, where the crust is thin and crispy and the grease runs down your wrists.
I ate mechanically, barely tasting it, my stomach cramping with anxiety despite the food.
"I needed that." I wiped my face, forced a smile. "Thank you."
"I didn't want to talk until you had something in your stomach." Filomena studied me with those sharp eyes that missed nothing. "Feeling better?"
"Yes. Thank you." I searched her face for clues. Was this going to be gentle guidance? Harsh discipline? A warning?
Her expression gave nothing away.
"So what's on your mind that couldn't be said at the meeting?"
She smiled—soft, almost maternal—and my blood ran cold. Did she know I’d been snooping? Found something thatimplicated her? I swallowed. I'd seen her smile like this right before she delivered bad news. Right before she'd told me things I didn't want to hear but needed to know.
"You know I love you, Jules. This week is going to be hard, but you need to grow up and finish the job." Her voice was gentle. Implacable. "Quentin must die."
The pizza turned to lead in my stomach.
"But he's innocent."
"No." The gentleness vanished, replaced by steel. "You've allowed your feelings for him to compromise your judgment."
My stomach dropped. "What?"
"Don't play innocent with me, Julia." She leaned forward, and I saw it then—the ruthlessness that made her dangerous. That made her survive in this world. "Silvio told me everything."
Heat flooded my face. "That's not—I was getting close to him. Building trust. That's what you taught me—"
"I taught you to be smart. Professional." Her voice cut like a blade. "Not to fall into bed with your target."
Crushing shame cut through me.
"Maybe I was just sleeping with him to gain his trust," I tried desperately. "That's tradecraft, isn't it? Using whatever tools—"
Filomena's expression turned pitying. Disappointed.
"Don't forget who you're talking to. Are you really asking me to believe you'd take a man to bed like a prostitute, just to extract information?" She shook her head. "I know you, Julia. I've known you since you were born. Stolen candy. Breaking curfew. Taking your father's car for joyrides with Vinny." Her voice softened slightly. "And I know when you're lying to yourself."
I hung my head, unable to meet her gaze.
"You love him," she said flatly. "Don't you?"
I couldn't answer. Couldn't lie. Not to her.
