"We think so. But a small family wedding celebration with everyone present—it forces their hand."
"So you want to make yourselves targets at your own wedding." Carlo shook his head. "That's your plan?"
"Our plan is to control the circumstances," Quentin said. "We'll have security—my team and yours. Watching everything. If someone tries something, we'll be ready."
"Or they'll successfully kill you and we'll have a massacre at a wedding," Carlo pointed out. "That's not great for family image."
"The family image can survive a little massacre," I said. "We've had worse at weddings."
Carlo rubbed his temples. "Let's focus on the current potential disaster instead of reminiscing about past disasters?"
"Right. Sorry."
Carlo met my gaze like he was seeing me for the first time. "Explain the marriage part. The legal angle."
Quentin took over. "Spousal privilege. Julia can't be compelled to testify against me, I can't testify against her. If either family tries legal pressure, we're protected."
"It also sends a message," I added. "That we're united. That attacking one means attacking both."
"So it's strategic." Carlo’s voice sounded flat.
The word hung in the air like an accusation.
"It started that way," Quentin said carefully. "But—"
"But we caught feelings," I finished, trying to keep my tone light. "Inconvenient, poorly-timed feelings."
"You said you loved him?" Carlo studied me, looking for the lie.
My chest expanded. "Yes."
"Even though—"
"Even though," I interrupted. "Yes. I love him."
Carlo turned to Quentin. "And you? You love my sister?"
"Yes. Didn't plan to. Fought it as long as I could. But yes."
"Even though she was sent to kill you?"
"Especially because she chose not to."
Carlo sat back, considering. The silence stretched so long that I started mentally composing my obituary.
Finally: "Here's what's going to happen. I'm planning this wedding. Not you. Me. It'll be big, traditional, exactly what people expect for a Russo-Vanetti union."
“Big?”
“Yes. Jules—big. Thanks to Silvio, I know all about the shooting at the restaurant. The restaurant owned by the Morettis. If anything would have happened to you, it would have started a war between our families. So I think this goes deeper than you know, and if we’re going to do this right they have to be invited. So—yes. It’s going to be big.”
I nodded, hope flaring in my chest. "Does that mean—"
"It means I'm watching. Every guest, every vendor, every person within fifty feet of you. My people and Vanetti's people, working together." His gaze hardened. "And if someone makes a move, we'll be ready."
"Thank you," I breathed. "Carlo, thank you—"
"Don't thank me yet." He leaned forward. "Because here's the condition. You've got until the wedding to prove Vanetti's innocent. Not just show me evidence he might be innocent—actually prove it. Find the real killer. Give me a name."
