I got to the office early and pulled up Quentin's financial records again—the ones I'd been anxious to comb through all weekend. I had just enough time to cross-reference them with Big Sal's movements before Quentin came in.
Nothing.
No suspicious wire transfers. No contact with anyone in New York during the week Papa died. No motive.
In fact, Quentin's records showed active business partnerships with Papa that were still profitable. Papa's death had cost Quentin money—millions in ongoing deals that died with him.
He didn't do it. I know he didn't do it.
But knowing wasn't the same as proving.
And worse—if Quentin didn't do it, someone else did.
At eight, I had to stop and get to work. Real work. Even though nothing was more important to me than finding the proof I needed.
∞∞∞
The next few days flew by. Something big was going on with Stone, and now that I knew, I realized it had been going on for a while now. Quentin was distracted, and spent a lot of his time helping Stone. It worked out great for me, since it gave me a few minutes here and there to do some snooping without Stone watching over my shoulder.
The times that I saw Stone, Serenity was glued to his side. He barely glanced at me, and looked like he’d been in a fight, with cuts and bruises marring his handsome face. Whatever was going on, it had to be serious.
In the following days, I picked up that there had been several attempts on Stone’s life. If that was the case, it made sense that my presence had taken a back seat. Still, it seemed ironic that the hitman had a hitman after him. Who would have guessed?
As often as I could manage, I poked around, combing through every file I could access.
Quentin's calendar from three months ago. His travel records. His phone logs. His emails.
Nothing connected him to Papa's death.
But I found something else.
A series of emails between Quentin and a business contact in Los Angeles. Discussion of territorial disputes with "the New York families"—plural. Not specific to the Russos. Just general tension about East Coast families trying to expand westward.
Standard mob business. Nothing that suggested murder.
More importantly: the emails showed Quentin actively trying to avoid conflict. Negotiating. Compromising. Offering concessions to keep the peace.
Not the behavior of a man planning to assassinate a rival.
I saved copies of everything to my thumb drive. Evidence of innocence.
Now I just needed to understand what really happened.
∞∞∞
Thursday afternoon, Stone and Serenity came in together, holding hands. After speaking with Quentin in his office, they left, taking a couple of men with them. It looked like they were on a mission, and someone was going to pay.
On his way out, Quentin winked at me. “Hold down the fort. We’ll be back soon.”
I nodded, barely stopping myself from gawking. What was it about a man who held power and confidence in his hands that was so attractive to me?
Later, he returned, relaxed and sure of himself. “I’ve been neglecting you this week. Let’s go to dinner tomorrow night. Just you and me.”
I raised a brow. “Are you making me an offer I can’t refuse?”
A smile lit up his face. “I hope so.”
“Then it’s a date.” My eyes widened. “I mean a plan. I’ll plan on it.” How could he fluster me so easily?
