"That's not what I want for you," she said softly.
"I know." My voice gentled. "But it's not your choice. It's Carlo's."
The silence stretched between us.
Finally, Filomena nodded. "You're right. It's his decision." She looked out the window. "But Julia? Even if Quentin doesn'tkill you the moment you walk through his door—you won't be able to kill him. Will you?"
The question hung in the air.
"Will you?" she repeated.
"He's innocent," I whispered.
"That's not what I asked."
I couldn't answer. Because we both knew the truth.
Even if Quentin was guilty—which he wasn't—I couldn't pull the trigger.
Not anymore.
"That's what I thought." Filomena's expression was sad. Resigned. "When Carlo finds out, it won't end well for you."
"I know."
"And you're still going back?"
"Yes."
She shook her head slowly. "Then God help you,bambina. Because I can't."
∞∞∞
I flew back Sunday morning on autopilot—numb, exhausted, hollowed out.
The few hours of restless sleep at the JFK hotel had left me worse than if I hadn't slept at all. Every muscle ached. My eyes burned. My thoughts moved through thick fog.
I knew better than to try sleeping on the plane. I'd only wake up feeling worse, more disoriented. Besides, the anxiety would have kept me awake anyway—heart racing, mind spinning through worst-case scenarios I couldn't stop.
Seven days. Seven days to prove he's innocent. Seven days before Silvio comes for him.
As soon as I got home, I went straight to bed. Didn't unpack. Didn't change. Just fell face-first into the mattress and crashed hard, like someone had cut my strings.
When I finally dragged myself back to consciousness late Sunday afternoon, I felt like I'd been hit by a garbage truck. Then backed over. Twice.
Everything hurt. My head pounded. My feet throbbed. My body was stiff and sore, and I smelled like airplane and stress sweat and desperation.
I didn't want to move. Didn't want to face reality.
But I couldn't sleep anymore either. My mind was too loud, too full of Carlo's ultimatum and Filomena's cold instructions and Nonno's venomous curses.
Kill him. He must die. Rat bastard. Snake.
I forced myself out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom like a zombie.
One look in the mirror and I groaned. "Crap."
Dark circles under bloodshot eyes. Hair a tangled mess. Skin pale and drawn.
