But tonight was the rehearsal dinner. Tonight, if Filomena had used that code, the alert would finally come through.
If it was going to happen, it would be now. Part of me hoped that I was wrong. That it wasn't her.
But deep down, I already knew.
Quentin took my hand under the table and whispered, "Whatever happens, I’m here for you."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
Toasts began after the main course.
Carlo stood first. "To family. To loyalty. To bonds that hold us together even in the hardest times." His eyes swept the table. "My father built this family on honor, respect, justice. Tomorrow, my sister marries into the Vanetti family. Papa would have been proud." His voice caught. "To Big Sal. And to Julia and Quentin."
"Salute!" Everyone chorused.
Vinny went next with jokes about how I never lost an argument and could debate my way out of anything. Laughter. Some tension released.
Then Filomena stood.
My stomach dropped.
She looked elegant in a dark dress, perfectly styled. But her hands shook slightly as she raised her glass.
At her throat—a delicate gold chain with a small ring pendant.
"To my beautiful niece," Filomena began. "Julia, you've grown into such a strong woman. Your father—my brother—loved you more than anything."
She touched the ring. "Sal gave me this years ago. Told me it symbolized family. Loyalty. Bonds that can never be broken." Her eyes glistened. "I've worn it every day since he died. To remember him. To honor what he built."
My phone buzzed against my thigh.
Not now. Please, not now.
"I loved your father, Jules. More than I can say." Her voice trembled. "I would have done anything for him. Anything to protect this family. To protect the people I love."
I shouldn't look. I should wait. But my hand moved on its own, angling the phone under the table where no one could see.
PAYMENT PROCESSED
Account: ***7392
Authorization Code: 8472930188
Amount: $12,847.00
The number from Papa's book. The one I'd memorized. The one that had haunted my dreams for three weeks.
The room tilted.
"Even things," Filomena continued, her gaze meeting mine across the table, "I'm not proud of."
She knew.
In that moment, looking into her eyes as she finished her toast, I understood. She knew I'd figured it out. That last line wasn't part of the toast—it was a confession. An acknowledgment.
"To Julia and Quentin," she raised her glass higher. "May you have the courage to do what's right, even when it costs you everything."
Everyone drank.
