The question hung in the air.
Would I?
I thought of the moment I'd chosen not to kill Quentin. Of every choice since that had led me away from my orders and toward him.
"I would," I said quietly. "But I wouldn't betray my family to do it. I'd find another way."
"There was no other way," she whispered.
"There's always another way." I felt tears on my cheeks. "You taught me that. You taught me to be smart, to be strategic. You could have come to Carlo, to the consigliere, to me. We would have found a solution."
"You don't understand—"
"I understand that you killed my father." My voice broke. "That you looked me in the eye at his funeral and lied. That you pushed to blame Quentin, knowing he was innocent. That you would have let him die to cover your tracks."
Silvio moved toward me. "Jules, she was protecting—"
"You." I turned to my cousin. "She was protecting you. And maybe you deserved protection—but not like this. Never like this."
Carlo gestured subtly. Two men appeared from positions around the room—family security I hadn't even noticed.
"Take them," Carlo said quietly. "Both of them."
"Carlo—" Filomena started.
"You murdered the Don." His voice was absolute. "You betrayed this family. And you—" he looked at Silvio, "—you helped cover it up."
"We needed someone to blame," Silvio said, defiant. "You have to understand that."
"You framed me," Quentin said, his voice low and dangerous.
"Yes," Silvio said. "And I'd do it again."
I couldn't breathe. My aunt—my beloved aunt—had killed my father. To save her son. To save herself.
And I understood.
God help me, I understood.
Carlo met my gaze. "Jules. He was your father. What do you want?"
The question hit like a fist.
What did I want?
"I want my father back," I whispered. "But I can't have that." Tears streamed down my face. "I understand why she did it. I hate it. But I understand."
I looked at Filomena, then at Silvio. "If someone threatened to kill Quentin for being who he is, for not following orders—what would I do?"
The parallel was clear. Painful. True.
"Exactly," Filomena whispered, hope flickering in her eyes.
Carlo nodded slowly. "Then here's my judgment." His voice was formal, absolute. "Filomena Russo. Silvio Russo. You are exiled from this family. Permanently. You leave New York tonight. No contact with the family except through me. You attend no family events. You conduct no family business."
Filomena's face crumpled, but she nodded.
"You're alive because of what Papa did," Carlo continued. "Because he forced your hand. Because Julia chooses mercy." His voice hardened. "But you're dead to this family. My word is law. Does anyone challenge this?"
