I noticed she didn't actually answer my question.
"When was the last time you saw Papa?" I asked, keeping it conversational. "Before he died, I mean."
"I already told everyone. I’d been there earlier that night. Why?"
“What did you talk about? Did he worry that someone might want him dead? Did he tell you that?”
“No. We spoke of other things. Family things. You.”
“Me?”
“Yes. He regretted pushing you into the business. Wondered if you’d be married by now with a couple of kids.”
“Oh.” I swallowed past the lump in my throat.
"The police went through everything, Jules. So did Carlo's people. So did I." A car horn blared in the background. "Look,Tesoro, I appreciate that you're being thorough. But you're way out on a limb here. Quentin Vanetti is dangerous. He's manipulative. And I know you've been working closely with him—"
"I'm just doing my job."
"Are you?" Her voice dropped. "Because it sounds like you're defending him."
I'd pushed too hard. Time to pull back.
"I'm not defending anyone. I'm investigating." I let frustration bleed into my tone—not hard, since I was actually frustrated. "But I need to be sure, Zia. Think of what happens if we're wrong. If we go after Quentin and he's innocent, we start a war for nothing. The Morettis, the CS13—they'd tear us apart while we're fighting the Vanettis."
"We're not wrong."
"How can you be so sure?" I pressed. "If you can't tell me your source, at least tell me what evidence they have. Something concrete I can verify."
"I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"Because that's not how this works!" Her patience was fraying. "If people can't trust me to keep their confidence, I'm useless to this family. I'm dead. You understand that, don't you?"
"I understand." But I also understood that she was hiding something."I just—I need to be one-hundred percent sure before I do this."
"You can be sure. I'm telling you, Jules. Quentin Vanetti killed your father."
The conviction in her voice was absolute. Either she truly believed it, or she was an exceptional liar.
Or both.
"Who benefits?" I asked quietly. "If Quentin's dead and we're at war with the Vanettis, who benefits from that?"
Silence.
"I don't like what you're implying," Filomena said finally, her voice cold.
"I'm not implying anything. I'm asking questions. Papa taught me to always ask questions."
"Your father also taught you about loyalty. About trust." She softened slightly. "I've been watching over you since the day your mother brought you home from Saint Camillus. You know this,Tesoro. You know I would never lie to you. Never lead you astray."
Tesoro.Treasure.
Something cracked inside my chest. She'd called me that when I was little, when she'd hold me after nightmares. Zia had been the one who taught me to cook, to laugh, to believe I mattered beyond my last name.
"I know," I whispered, hating the doubt creeping through me like poison. "I know you wouldn't, Zia."
