Quentin.
Had he ordered my father’s execution? It didn’t seem possible. Not when I remembered the way he'd smiled when I'd challenged him about the chair. The warmth in his expression when I'd talked about racing. The electricity when he'd stood close in that lobby. The heat from his body as he sat beside me. The subtle smell of his cologne.
Had my feelings clouded my judgement? I didn’t think so.
I knew from experience that even the most loving person could hide a monster inside. People were like that. The serial killer who’d been a friendly neighbor. The man who lovingly kissed his wife, then beat her in a drunken rage.
The mob boss who ordered an execution for revenge. The woman whose anger demanded justice. Was that me? If I killed Quentin Vanetti, would I lose a part of myself to the dark?
Would I become like Silvio?
∞∞∞
After the meeting, I found a quiet corner and pulled out my phone.
No messages from Quentin. Not that I expected any. Not that I should want any.
But I checked anyway.
"Waiting on him?" Silvio's voice startled me.
I shoved my phone in my pocket. "Just checking emails."
"Right." He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. That signature smirk that made me want to punch him. "You know, if Vanetti doesn't hire you, this whole thing gets a lot simpler."
"Simpler how?"
"Carlo makes his decision based on what we already know. Vanetti's been muscling in on our territory. He had motive. He had opportunity. We handle it and move on."
"Without proof?"
"We have enough."
"Do we?" I met his gaze. "Because I'd like to be sure before we execute someone."
"Since when do you care about being sure?" His eyes narrowed. "You've been gone less than a week and you're already going soft on him."
"I'm not soft. I'm being thorough."
"You're stalling."
"I'm being smart. There's a difference."
Silvio pushed off the wall, stepped closer. "Just remember what we're here for. Justice for Big Sal. Don't let Vanetti's charm make you forget that."
He walked away before I could respond.
I stood there, hands shaking slightly. That jerk. I used to let comments like that go, but this time was harder. I didn’t like being bullied. Ever. But part of me wondered if he was right.
Am I stalling? Am I letting feelings cloud my judgment?
Maybe.
But I was also starting to wonder if we had the right target at all.
And if we didn't...
Then who killed my father?
