Well. That's what I was here for.
"You're overthinking," Susan said, pulling me back to the present.
She had no idea.
Lori Johnson swept past us twenty minutes later, chin high like a thoroughbred who'd just won at Belmont. "Good luck, ladies."
The arrogance was palpable. I'd seen that attitude before—it always came back to bite you.
Susan caught my eye, and we shared a knowing look.
"Susan Chambers," the receptionist called.
I watched her walk down the hallway, soldier-like. Professional. I wondered briefly if she was more than she seemed. Anyone could be. But my cover was solid—years in the making. Quentin Vanetti wouldn't see me coming.
I waited, forcing myself to breathe normally. To look calm.
By the time they called my name, I'd reminded myself of everything that mattered: Carlo's trust. Filomena's faith in me. My father's memory.
And the absolute certainty that I wouldn't fail.
"Julia Russell?"
I stood, smoothed my suit, and smiled.
"You're up." Susan smiled like a circling shark. "I'm sure you'll knock 'em dead."
The irony wasn't lost on me. I gave her a nod and walked down the hallway, every step deliberate. Professional. Confident.
By the time I reached his door, I'd become Julia Russell completely.
Julia Russo would have to wait a little longer.
∞∞∞
Quentin Vanetti wasn't what I expected.
The photos hadn't done him justice. Tall, broad-shouldered, with salt-and-pepper hair that somehow made him look distinguished instead of old. Sharp suit. Confident posture. And those eyes—dark, assessing, the kind that saw too much.
My stomach did an unfortunate flip.
Oh no.
This was a problem.
He extended his hand. "Miss Russell."
"Mr. Vanetti." I took it, hoping my palm wasn't sweating. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
His grip was firm. Strong. Just enough pressure to establish exactly who was in charge without crossing into intimidation. My pulse kicked up in a way that had nothing to do with my mission.
Get it together.
"Please, have a seat." He gestured to the chair across from his desk.
We both sat. He picked up a folder—my fake résumé—and flipped it open.
"Impressive background," he said, scanning the pages.
