The numbers—the unbelievablescaleof suffering—was mind-boggling.
As predicted, Knox was talking on his cell phone when we piled into the entryway. He gestured us toward the media room with a serious expression, but added a reassuring thumbs-up as we passed.
In the stroller, Julia began to cry fitfully. Heath scooped her up and cradled her against his broad shoulder, patting her back soothingly. My mother lifted her sister Mariah into her arms, shushing her as she, too, began to fuss.
Gage was waiting for us inside the dark-panelled room with one wall taken up by a massive flat-screen TV. A frozen scene of a reporter standing outside an official-looking building stared out at us.
“Oh, you guys are gonnalovethis,” he greeted. “Settle in and enjoy the show.”
He leaned over and took Mariah from my mother, bouncing gently on his toes to quiet her. With his free hand, he tapped the trackpad on his laptop, and the scene on the TV began to play.
The reporter lifted a hand to her earpiece. “We’re outside the US Court for the Northern District of Illinois, and I’ve just received word that the sentencing for the co-conspirators in the high-profile Vozzina omega trafficking case is about to be handed down.”
She paused, listening through her earpiece. I bit my lower lip hard enough to hurt, my hand creeping toward Tony, who took it in his and squeezed. My mother grabbed my other hand, standing close enough that our shoulders brushed.
“On count one, trafficking of minors across state lines for the purposes of prostitution, the sentence is life in prison without parole.”
My breath caught in my lungs for a second before escaping explosively.
“One count two, conspiracy to commit human trafficking, the sentence is life in prison without parole.” Another pause. “On count three, conspiracy to commit money laundering in an amount above one hundred million dollars, the sentence is fifteen years and a fine of one hundred fifty million dollars. On count four...”
We listened, rapt, as the sentences piled up, one on top of the other. After several minutes, the reporter gave a decisive nod and lowered her hand from her ear.
“Sentences to be served consecutively, not concurrently,” she finished. “Back to you in the newsroom, Todd.”
Gage lowered the volume as the camera cut back to a man seated behind a desk, who started talking about the historic nature of the trial and the severity of the sentencing. I let go of Tony’s hand and felt behind me for the couch before sinking onto it heavily. Mom followed me down, still holding my other hand.
“Well,” Tony said faintly. “I guess that’s that.”
Movement in the doorway caught my attention. Knox braced a hand against the doorframe, a grim smile on his face.
“So it is,” he agreed. A look of deep satisfaction glinted in his gaze. “I suppose someone should have warned Paolo up front that there’s no federal death penalty for human trafficking.”
Gage grunted. “Guess he’s going to need that glandectomy after all. At least, he will if he doesn’t want to be bonded to a jailbird for the next several decades.”
I tried not to take satisfaction in the idea of Paolo listening in horror to the sentencing, realizing that he was about to be stuck with a miserable asshole inside his head after all.
“Maybe one of the state trials will involve a gas chamber or an electric chair,” Heath said. “There are still a few other jurisdictions going after him, aren’t there?”
“There are,” Knox confirmed. “But as of today, the Vozzina pack is officially someone else’s problem. Lorenzo and his lackeys are out of our lives forever.”
A tremor shuddered through me as an invisible, crushing weight lifted from my shoulders, leaving me lightheaded. Three presences inside my head crowded closer, humming with comfort and satisfaction.
“Are you okay, baby?” my mother asked, her fingers giving mine a grounding squeeze.
I licked my lips and swallowed a couple of times, not sure if my voice was going to cooperate or not.
“I think...” I began. “I think I’m more okay than I’ve been in a very long time.”
“I think maybe we all are,” Tony agreed.
Knox’s smile widened as he picked up the remote and powered the TV screen off. He moved in front of me and leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. Then he reached out to clasp Tony’s shoulder, giving it a gentle shake.
“The good news is,” he said, “this is just baseline levels of ‘okay.’ From here. it only gets better.”
“Right?” Gage said, stroking Mariah’s wisp of red hair with a fingertip. “I bet if we try, the eight of us can dowaybetter than just beingokay.”
Mom bumped my shoulder with hers. “I’m game if you all are.”
