"What?" I stared at him. "You just said it was too risky."
"It is. But Stone's right—this might be our only chance. We go in prepared. Stone, Forrest, Serenity—all of you positioned around the restaurant. Exits covered. Surveillance active. At the first sign of trouble, the team moves in."
I shook my head. "I don't like it."
"Neither do I." Quentin turned to face me. "But we're running out of time. Five days, Julia. If we don't find proof in five days, Silvio kills us anyway. At least this way, we're choosing when and where to face the threat."
He was right. I hated it, but he was right.
"Okay." I sighed. "We go. But we're smart about it. Body armor. Backup weapons. Multiple escape routes."
"Agreed." Quentin turned to Stone. "Set it up. Full tactical. I want eyes everywhere."
"On it. One more thing—Isobel knows about the vision?"
"Not yet. I'll call her. She'll be prepared."
"Good." Stone paused. "Boss, be careful. Serenity's visions aren't always clear. You might survive, but she couldn't see how badly you'd be hurt."
"Understood."
Stone left the office.
I raised a brow. "So—finally. Date night at a restaurant. Too bad someone might try to kill us there."
Despite everything, Quentin's mouth twitched. "Some of my best dates end in gunfire."
"That's really not reassuring."
"Wasn't trying to be."
I stepped to the window. The city stretched out below—ordinary people living ordinary lives, completely unaware that two people in this building were planning for a potential shootout tonight.
"What if Serenity's wrong?" I asked quietly. "What if we don't survive?"
"Then at least we go down fighting together." He stepped toward me, and I saw something in his eyes that made my breath catch. "Julia, if this goes sideways tonight—if something happens and we don't make it—I need you to know something."
"Don't." I pressed my fingers to his lips. "Don't say goodbye. We're going to survive this. We have to."
He pulled my hand away but didn't let go. "I need to say it anyway. Working with you, investigating, building the case—I've seen who you really are. Not Julia Russell the assistant. Not Julia Russo the assassin. Just Julia. And I—"
His phone rang again.
We both jumped.
He checked the screen. "It's Isobel."
He picked it up, put it on speaker. "Isobel. We need to talk about tonight."
"That’s why I’m calling." Her voice was sharp, urgent. "There’s more I didn’t tell you earlier. I have a source—someone who's been doing financial work for the Russo family for years. She has documentation. Transfer records, communication logs, patterns that point to who ordered the hit. But she's nervous. She'll only meet at Il Giardino because she works there doing the Morettis' books. It's the only place her presence won't raise questions."
"So we're walking into a Moretti-owned restaurant to meet someone with evidence against the Russos," Quentin said flatly.
"I know how it sounds. But this woman has records going back five years. If anyone can prove who's behind this, it's her. And Quentin—" She paused. "Be careful. I think someone knows I've been digging. My office was broken into last night. Nothing taken, but files were moved. Someone was looking for something."
Quentin's grip on my hand tightened. "Are you safe?"
"For now. I've got security. But Quentin—whatever's going on, it's bigger than we thought. The documents I found—they implicate someone high up in the Russo family. Someone with serious power."
