"Chiara, you're amazing."
“You got that right. I’ve got to check the oven so I don’t burn dinner.” She moved the camera closer to her face and whispered. “I know there’s something you’re not telling me, but I trust you. I’ll do all I can to help. Check your email in a couple of hours and let’s work out a way to divide and conquer.Ciao!”
I stared at the blank screen. There was something innocent and kind about Chiara and I hated keeping my wedding secrets from her. But I’d promised Quentin.
She’s a good friend and she’ll understand.
What scared me were the potential ramifications of a Moretti play on Quentin’s life and business that could have been hidden from her to shield her from exposing those plans to me. It wasn’t a secret she and I were long-term friends. I wouldn’t hold it past her family’s leaders to use that to their advantage.
Families.
A place where secrets, lies, and betrayal cost you ten times the pain.
∞∞∞
With that accomplished, I strode into the conference room we were using as a command center, looking through all the evidence for that smoking gun we needed to prove Quentin’s innocence.
We had less than three weeks, and no time to squander.
Quentin stood by the window, arms crossed, staring out at the city. Stone was reviewing security plans for New York. Forrest had three laptops open, tracking financial transactions. Serenity sat quietly in the corner, occasionally offering insights that made my skin crawl with how accurate they were.
"Walk me through it again," I said, spreading Margaret Chen's documents across the table. "The authorization code. The one used for all twelve suspicious transfers, including the payment to Lucchese."
Forrest pulled up a spreadsheet. "Same code pattern every time. It's not a standard family account—it's restricted access. Only four people had it."
"Filomena, Dominic, Silvio, and my father." I traced my finger down the list of transactions. "But Papa's dead. So one of the other three used his code to hire his killer."
"We need more than financial patterns," Stone said. "We need proof. Something definitive."
"The code itself would be proof," Forrest pointed out. "If we could see the actual authorization number, we could potentially trace it to who entered it. But these offshore accounts don't keep that level of detail in accessible records."
I pulled out my phone, scrolling through the photos I'd taken at Papa's house. The notebook. The security panel. The—
I stopped.
The slip of paper fromThe Count of Monte Cristo.
"What is it?" Quentin moved closer, reading my expression.
I zoomed in on the photo. Ten digits. I'd assumed it was a phone number. But...
"Forrest." My voice came out strange. "What's the format for offshore account authorization codes? The restricted access ones?"
He rattled off the pattern without looking up. "Ten digits. First three indicate the account type, next four are the user identifier, last three are the security sequence. Why?"
My hands started shaking.
"Julia?" Quentin's hand on my shoulder. "What is it?"
I turned the phone toward Forrest. "Is this a phone number or an authorization code?"
He studied it for a long moment. Then his eyes widened. "That's... that could be a code. The format matches." He started typing rapidly. "If I run this through the financial databases, cross-reference with the Russo family accounts..."
The room went silent except for his keyboard clicking.
"Holy shit," he breathed. "That's it. That's the authorization code. The one used for all twelve transfers, including the two hundred thousand to Lucchese."
The room tilted. I gripped the edge of the table.
