"Because I wanted to see if you'd find it on your own. If you were as thorough as I suspected." He leaned forward. "Most lawyers wouldn't have caught this, Emilio. Wouldn't have looked beyond the case file to the broader financial picture. The fact that you did—unprompted—tells me everything I need to know about how your mind works."
I felt heat creep up my neck. "This was a test."
"Everything is a test when you're building trust." No apology in his voice. "And you passed brilliantly. You found exactly what I'd found, drew the same conclusions, and brought it to me instead of ignoring it. That's valuable."
"Do you know who's doing it?"
"We have suspicions. Our accountant, Vincent Paglia, is the most likely candidate. But we're gathering evidence before we move." He pulled out his phone and made a note. "The question you raised is the right one, though. Is this connected to the assault charge? Is someone creating chaos deliberately?"
"You think the Costellos have someone inside your organization," I said. "Creating problems to weaken you before they make a move on your territory."
"It's possible. The timing is certainly suspicious." He looked at me with something that might have been respect. "To build the defense you're suggesting—proving this is part of a coordinated harassment pattern—I'll need to show you all of our financial records. The real ones. Not the sanitized versions we provide to the courts."
"I need to see everything if I'm going to build an adequate defense."
"Everything includes evidence of activities you might not want to be aware of. Things that would make you complicit if you testified about them." He looked at me steadily. "Are you sure you want that burden?"
I thought about what he was asking. Access to records that would prove illegal activity. Knowledge that could destroy me professionally if it came out. The kind of information that made attorneys accessories after the fact.
"I'm sure," I said. "I need the complete picture to defend you properly."
"Then come to my estate tonight. Bring your laptop. This will take several hours." He smiled slightly. "And Emilio? Once you see those records, once you know what I really do—there's no walking away. You'll be in too deep."
"I'm already in too deep."
"Not yet. But you will be." He stood and crossed to the windows, looking down at the empty club below. "Your car made concerning noises when you arrived. I could hear it in the parking lot."
I blinked at the subject change. "It's been doing that for a while. I need to get it looked at."
"You need to get a different car. That one's a death trap." He pulled out his phone again. "I'm having it towed to a reputable mechanic. They'll fix it properly and send me the bill."
"You can't just—"
"I can and I am. You're no use to me dead in a car accident because you couldn't afford basic maintenance." He looked at me. "Consider it a business expense. I need my attorney functional."
"Sandro—"
"Not negotiable. Thomas will drive you home after our meeting. Tonight he'll pick you up at seven and bring you to the estate." He returned to the desk and pulled out a business card. Wrote an address on the back. "Don't be late."
I took the card. Stared at the address in Westchester. "This is very controlling."
"Yes." No apology. No justification. Just acknowledgment. "Do you want to leave?"
I should. Should walk out right now and call Richard and withdraw from the case and salvage what was left of my professional integrity.
"No," I said. "I don't want to leave."
"Good." He kissed me again. Softer this time, but no less claiming. "Tonight, Emilio. We finish what we started Saturday."
"What if I change my mind?"
"Then you tell me no and I take you home. I'm many things, but I don't force people into my bed." He traced my lower lip with his thumb. "But you won't change your mind. You want this as much as I do."
He was right. I hated that he was right. But I couldn't deny it anymore.
We spent the next hour discussing actual trial strategy. Witness preparation. Jury selection criteria. The arguments we'd make in opening statements. It was almost normal, except for the way his gaze kept dropping to my mouth. The way my attention kept drifting to his hands.
At 4 PM he stood. "Thomas is waiting downstairs. He'll take you home. Tonight, seven PM. Don't forget your laptop."
