Maybe I was.
But I was also determined.
Determined to find the truth. Determined to protect Quentin. Determined to prove I could handle this assignment.
Even if it meant investigating on my own time. Even if it meant lying to my family. Even if it meant crossing lines I'd never crossed before.
I pulled out my laptop.
Started searching.
Who had motive to kill Big Sal? Who benefited from his death? Who had the capability and the ruthlessness to pull off that kind of hit?
The Morettis. Other rival families in New York. Business partners who'd been cut out of deals. I needed to make a list and go over it for motivating factors that would tie them to the Russo’s and to Vanetti. Someone who wanted us out of the picture so they could take over the deal.
I started there and spent the next three hours digging into the families. I worked until two. Making notes. Building theories. Digging into connections.
By the time I closed the laptop, my eyes burned and my head ached.
But I had leads.
Not proof. Not yet.
But leads.
Two weeks. I can do this.
I crawled into bed, exhausted.
Dreamed of storm-gray eyes and a voice saying my name.
Dreamed of the break room and what would have happened if his phone hadn't buzzed.
Dreamed of a future where I wasn't here to investigate him. Where we'd met differently. Where I could cook him dinner without it being complicated.
Where I could fall for him without it being deadly.
∞∞∞
I woke up Saturday morning, and the dream lingered.
And so did the determination.
Monday. I'll face him Monday. Act normal. Keep building trust. Keep digging.
Find the real killer before Silvio takes over.
Protect Quentin without him knowing he needs protecting.
And somehow—somehow—figure out how to stop falling for a man I'm supposed to be investigating.
Simple.
Except nothing about this was simple anymore.
My phone buzzed. Text from Carlo:How's it going?
I stared at the message.
