“You don’t understand,” she says, anger giving way to what I consider her lawyer voice. “This isn’t just any case. This is the type of case that can make or break a career. Can get you any job in the country. The kind that makes partners out of people who were never going to be partners. He was passed over.”
“Because of you,” I say.
“Maybe,” she says. “Truth is, he was never going to lead the case. He doesn’t have it in him. Whether it was me or not, he was always just going to be part of the team. But when I came in, I handpicked my team. And he wasn’t on it.”
“Maybe he thought otherwise. Maybe he thought he’d be leading if you hadn’t come,” I consider.
She shakes her head. “But that was months ago. If it were just about the assignment, he could’ve tried to sandbag me from the start. Why now?”
“Maybe it wasn’t only the assignment,” I offer. “It could be who he lost it to. He can live with being passed over. But a woman shows up from another district, takes it, and then… well…” I drop my eyes to her growing belly. “Maybe it’s that you’re with me and botched it.”
She gives me an offended look and takes on a very prim voice. “I didn’t botch anything. My case was solid. If I wasn’t carrying your baby, you’d be back in prison.”
I bite my lip to suppress the grin. “Noted.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Watch it. I might still send you back.”
“Agree to disagree.” I smile, then get serious. “Regardless. Not my words. I’m simply trying to get into the mind of that simple idiot. People have killed for less.”
Silence falls, but she fills it with thought. It’s fascinating how I can actually see her mind working. I can see the filing, the mental cross-examining, the grim acceptance.
“Well, what are you going to do?” she asks finally.
“It’s being done already,” I say. “I sent Vito.”
She goes very still again. “You sent Vito to what?”
“Retrieve him,” I say.
Her eyes sharpen. “Retrieve?”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” I say.
“I am worried about it,” she says, and there’s heat in the words. “He can’t kill him, Luca.”
I flex my jaw before I answer, because the first answer isn’t the one she wants. “It’s being handled.”
“No.” She plants both feet on the floor and leans toward me. “I will not have someone killed on my behalf.”
“You won’t,” I say, and it’s almost true. “That isn’t the move today.”
“Not today?” she repeats, incredulous.
“Elena,” I say quietly. “Listen.” I lower my voice even more. “He put a hit on you. On my child. He made a call that sent men with guns after you, the baby,andCaterina. My son was shot at. There is a place for men like that in my world. Boxes, buried deep.”
She shakes her head, furious and scared. “No. We need to do this right.”
“Define right,” I say, and I’m tired already because I know the answer and I hate it.
“We report him,” she says. “OPR, the bar, the office. Let them take him apart.”
“And prove it how?” I ask. “You want me to hand them what we have and explain how we got it? They’ll throw it out on chain-of-custody issues before they read the first line.”
“We can tip it,” she fires back. “Anonymous. The same way he did. They’ll be forced to pull the logs themselves, confirm the headers, trace the token. They’ll have to take it seriously.”
I study her. She’s steadying as she speaks, knuckles still white but mind locking in. It’s the version of her that wins cases: stubborn, disciplined, principled to a fault.
“Elena…” I start.
