My stomach dropped. "And if we can't?"
"Then afterward—" He looked at Quentin with cold calculation. "We revisit the question of justice. And spousal privilege won't save you."
"Understood," Quentin said, his face set in stone.
"And Jules?" Carlo's expression softened slightly. "If you're wrong about him—if he betrays you—I'll handle it. You won't have to. That's my gift to you."
He said it so casually. Like executing Quentin would be a favor, not the end of my world. I straightened, holding his stare. "I'm not wrong. You'll see."
"I hope so." He stood, and we all stood with him. "Because I want you to be happy. But not at the expense of justice for our father."
He came around the table and pulled me into a fierce hug.
"I love you," he murmured. "Even when you make decisions that give me gray hair."
"I love you too."
He released me, extending his hand to Quentin again. This handshake lasted longer.
"Hurt her, you die. Betray this family, you die. Prove yourself innocent and make my sister happy, you'll have my full support. We clear?"
"Crystal."
"Good." Carlo clapped him on the shoulder—too hard to be friendly, not hard enough to be hostile. "Now let's eat. You two must be starving. Plus, we have a wedding to plan."
∞∞∞
Three hours later, after more pasta than should be legal and discussions about venues, guest lists, and color schemes, we emerged into the New York night.
Stone materialized from the shadows. "Still alive. Good start."
"He's helping," I said, slightly dazed. "Carlo's actually helping."
"Which means he's all in on the trap," Stone observed. "We'll need his resources."
We walked toward the car Carlo had arranged for us. The city pulsed around us—sirens, voices, the endless energy of New York at night.
"You okay?" Quentin asked.
"No. Carlo's going to throw me a beautiful wedding while we use it to catch a killer. And if we fail—" My voice cracked.
"We won't fail."
"But if we do, he'll kill you." I stopped walking, turned to face him. "This is insane, Quentin."
"Completely." He cupped my face in his hands. "But it's our only play."
"Is it worth it? Are we worth all this?"
"Ask me again after the wedding. When we're both alive."
"And if we're not?"
"Then at least we tried." He pressed his forehead to mine. "At least we had this. Whatever this is."
"Love," I whispered. "It's love. Complicated, dangerous, possibly fatal love."
"Yeah." A small smile. "That."
