The woman who'd killed him.
I looked around the conference room at the people who'd become my chosen family—Quentin, Stone, Serenity, Forrest. The team that had helped me find the truth even when it hurt.
"Thank you," I said to all of them. "For helping me. For believing in us. For... everything."
"That's what family does," Serenity said softly.
Not family by blood. Family by choice.
Maybe that was the better kind after all.
Chapter 38
Quentin
Ihadn't spoken to Bianca Vanetti in twelve years.
That didn’t mean I hadn’t kept track of her. If she even suspected how much I knew about her life, she’d probably never speak to me again. But she was my only sister, and, estranged or not, that meant taking drastic steps to make sure she was safe.
I stared at the number on my screen for a full minute before dialing.
"Hello?" Her voice sounded older. More guarded. Like she'd built walls I wasn't sure I could climb.
"Bia. It's me." I'd called her Bia—BEE-ah—since we were kids. The last time we spoke, she was angry at me for bringing up the past. "Can we talk?"
Silence lingered. Not the comfortable kind.
"Quin?" The way she said my name sent warning signals through my brain. Surprise, yes. But also something else. Relief? Fear? "Is everything okay? Did something happen?"
"Everything's fine. I just—" I stopped. Started again. "I wanted to tell you something. Something good."
"Good." She repeated the word like she'd forgotten what it meant. "Okay. What is it?"
"I've found someone special. We're getting married. I'd like you to be there."
Another silence. Longer this time. I could hear her breathing—fast, shallow, like she'd just run up the stairs.
"You're getting married?" Her voice cracked. "That's—that's wonderful, Quin. Really. When?"
"In less than three weeks. On the rooftop of the St. Regis."
"In New York?" The question came out sharp. Too sharp.
"Yeah."
When our grandparents were killed in a mob hit in New York, our father took us west to get away from the danger and the memories. We stopped in the middle of the country and set up business. As soon as she was old enough, Bianca headed to Los Angeles. Hollywood. The movie business. She'd sworn she'd never go back to New York. Not for anything.
"I know it's a lot to ask," I said carefully. "But it would mean everything to me if you came. If you met Julia."
"Julia." She was quiet for a moment. "What's her last name?"
The question caught me off guard. "Russo. Julia Russo. From New York, actually. Why?"
"Just curious." But her tone had shifted. Calculating. "Russo. That's Italian, obviously. Is she—I mean, what does she do?"
"She's my executive assistant. Smart, capable, beautiful." I paused. "Why all the questions, Bia?"
"I'm just trying to get to know my future sister-in-law." A forced laugh. "You can't blame me for being curious after you drop a bomb like this."
