I set down my fork. Deliberately. Precisely. Let the silence stretch while everyone waited to see what I'd do.
"Roberto." I turned to face him fully. "How's your conviction rate looking these days?"
He blinked, thrown by the change in topic. "Seventy-three percent. One of the highest in the office."
"Interesting. I track those statistics differently." I smiled. "When you remove cases that relied on suppressed evidence or coerced witnesses, what does that rate drop to?"
His face started to redden. "That's not—"
"Approximately fifty-two percent, according to the data I've seen. Which means almost a third of your 'successful' prosecutions were built on questionable tactics." I paused. Let that sink in. "At least my clients choose me voluntarily. Can you say the same? Or did your supervisor assign you the Vitale case because they think you're expendable enough to risk losing a high-profile trial?"
The table had gone completely silent. Marco was staring at me like he didn't recognize me. Roberto's face had gone from red to purple.
"You—" Roberto started.
"Have a good evening, Roberto." I stood, dropping my napkin on the table. "Enjoy your entrée. I'm sure the veal is as overcooked as your legal arguments usually are."
I walked out of the ballroom without looking back. Made it to the lobby before my hands started shaking. Adrenaline and anger and something that felt almost like exhilaration coursing through me.
I'd just publicly humiliated an assistant district attorney at a fundraiser full of legal professionals. Defended my choice to represent Sandro in front of people whose opinions could affect my career. Burned a bridge I probably couldn't rebuild.
And it felt amazing.
My phone buzzed. Text from Sandro.
I heard what happened. Well done.
I stared at the message.How do you already know what happened? I just walked out.
The response came immediately:I have people everywhere. You were magnificent. Dinner tomorrow to celebrate?
I should have asked why he had people at a DA's office fundraiser. Should have been concerned about the level of surveillance he maintained. Should have done a lot of things.
Yes,I typed instead.Where?
My place. 7 PM. Come hungry.
I left the Plaza feeling reckless and alive in ways I hadn't felt since before my divorce. Maybe since before law school. I'd spent so long trying to be the perfect attorney, the perfect husband, the perfect version of myself that would earn approval from people who didn't matter.
Fuck approval. Fuck perfect. Fuck everyone who thought defending Sandro Vitale made me less than what I was.
I was brilliant at my job. I was building an excellent defense. And if people didn't like my client, that was their problem, not mine.
At home, I poured myself whiskey and sat in my shitty apartment thinking about the look on Roberto's face. About Marco's shocked expression. About how good it had felt to finally stop apologizing for my choices.
My phone rang. I almost didn't answer when I saw it was Richard.
"Mr. Rossi." Richard's voice was carefully neutral. "I heard about the incident at the fundraiser."
"I apologize if my behavior reflected poorly on the firm—"
"Don't." He cut me off. "Green deserved every word of that. His conviction rate is abysmal when you account for questionable tactics. You simply stated facts."
I blinked. "I thought you'd be angry."
"I'm impressed. You stood up for yourself and your client in a room full of people who were judging you. That takes courage." He paused. "However, you should know that Green will retaliate. He's petty and vindictive. Be prepared for that."
"I understand."
