“Seven and the other boys have been playing a game calledPaladinfor what? Ten years? Fifteen?” Jericho answered. “They have a guild: Knights of the Kids’ Table. They’ve gotten pretty popular, not just because of Felix but because their guild has been around so long. But when my brother went from Felix Navarro to Felix Navarro Mulvaney, fashion designer, they definitely started to get more attention online.”
Seven stared at Jericho with wide eyes. “I can’t believe you know all that.”
Jericho looked hurt. “I know about all the stuff that’s important to you.”
Seven felt a sob building and covered it with a cough. “I doubt the press cares enough about our little guild to know who I am. Someone had to have tipped them off about this. It hasn’t even been two hours.”
“Probably whoever’s responsible for framing Neith in the first place,” Freckles mused. “Create chaos, muddy the waters. Give the DA a reason to deny bail.”
“They won’t do that, will they?” Seven asked, jerking his head to look at Enzo.
“I’m not gonna let that happen. But we need to move to the courthouse. If I’m late, Olivera will be a nightmare.” Enzo looked at Jericho and Freckles. “You know the drill.” To Seven, he said, “Keep your head down. Stay glued to my side. Saynothing. They’re gonna try to bait you. Don’t let them. It’ll be hard but just…hang in there.”
Seven nodded, then let Enzo guide him past the guards and out the double doors. He blinked rapidly, his brain telling him to freeze, but he couldn’t. Enzo was propelling him forward with atight arm around his shoulders, fingers digging into his biceps. Seven squinted against the midday sun, raising his hand so he could see in front of him.
It was like something out of a movie. The reporters were like a hoard of zombies, closing in on him. How were there so many of them? Did their city even have this many news channels?
Enzo hugged him close. Jericho remained plastered to his right side, walking in lockstep with him. Freckles was behind him. But there was nobody to stop the crush of reporters walking backwards across the street as they shoved microphones in his face and shouted over each other.
“Did your mom steal that money?”
“Is it true she’s ‘the Ledger’s’ ex-wife?”
“Does that make him your father?”
“If your mom didn’t steal that money, how is she able to afford Lorenzo Conti as her attorney?”
“Is it true she’s connected to the Contis?”
“Is it true she’s dating Rocco Conti?”
Seven’s head snapped up. “What?”
“Ignore them,” Enzo muttered into his ear. “Keep walking.”
How did he ignore them? How did they know all this? Who tipped them off? And why?
“Is this Conti family loyalty or just family business?”
“Why are the Mulvaneys involved?”
“Atticus, are you covering the bill for this?”
Finally, they reached the inside of the courthouse. Seven had never been so happy to see a Sheriff’s Deputy standing next to a metal detector. They all dropped their devices into the little bin and walked through the scanner. Seven’s belt triggered the machine so the deputy wanded him, then waved him through.
Once Enzo grabbed their belongings and stuffed them in his bag, he took Seven’s arm and speed-walked them to the courtroom. Seven just…went. He let Enzo guide him, then saton the wooden pew where the older man deposited him. It was relatively empty. Enzo sat beside him. A moment later, Jericho and Freckles joined them.
The judge in the case looked like she was in her sixties. She had black hair and tan skin and glasses that perched on the tip of her perfectly straight nose. Her name plate said Hon. Christina Olivera. She looked bored. She was chatting with her bailiff—a tall, skinny man who looked like Lurch fromThe Addams Family—and the court stenographer—who looked like Ms. Frizzle fromThe Magic School Bus.
Seven fought the urge to laugh, afraid that if he started he might not stop. The door behind the judge opened, and a deputy led in a defendant in an orange jumpsuit. The judge immediately broke off their conversation to give them her full attention.
Seven zoned out as the judge set bail for three more people, two in orange jumpsuits and one in street clothes. Would his mom be in an orange jumpsuit like his dad? Seven’s stomach heaved at the idea. At least he hadn’t eaten in hours. There was nothing to throw up.
He dug his thumbs into his closed eyes, the pressure temporarily causing sparks behind his eyelids, distracting him for a few precious seconds. But when he opened his eyes, they were still there. Still in this stupid fucking courtroom. Still waiting for a bunch of strangers to decide his mother’s fate.
His breath caught as the door opened and the deputy walked his mother in. His lungs seized as his eyes fell to the handcuffs around her wrists. She was still in her work clothes, a black pencil skirt with a red blouse with a giant bow at the neck. She was wearing flip-flops instead of the heels she’d had on that morning. It was clear she’d been crying, but other than that, she was flawless.
Even the judge looked surprised.
