He set down his fork. "What are the terms?"
"Matteo pleads to simple assault. Six months suspended sentence. Three years probation. No jail time if he completes anger management courses and community service." I sipped my wine. "It's actually generous by their standards."
"Are you considering it?"
"No." I didn't hesitate. "I don't accept plea deals. Ever."
"Why not? This one keeps Matteo out of prison and gets the Costellos off your back."
"Because accepting a plea deal means admitting guilt. Means letting them think they won. Means showing weakness to every other family watching this situation." I leaned forward. "I don't lose, Emilio. Not in court. Not in business. Not in anything that matters."
"You'd rather risk a trial? Risk Matteo going to prison if we lose?"
"We won't lose. You've already proven the witnesses are lying. The prosecution's case is built on manufactured evidence.We go to trial, we destroy them publicly, and we send a message that coming after us has consequences." I caught his hand across the table. "That's what I hired you for. To win. Not to negotiate acceptable losses."
He was quiet for a moment, processing. "You're very confident we'll win."
"I'm confident in you. In your ability to eviscerate their case the same way you eviscerated Green last night." I traced his knuckles with my thumb. "I saw what you're capable of when you stop apologizing for being brilliant. You're going to destroy them in court."
"And if I can't?"
"Then we'll deal with that when it happens. But I don't plan for failure, Emilio. I plan for victory and I acquire the resources necessary to achieve it." I smiled slightly. "You're my most valuable resource right now. I have complete faith in what you can do."
Color rose in his cheeks. "You're very good at this."
"At what?"
"Making me feel like I'm more than I am. Better than I am. Like I'm actually capable of the things you think I can do."
"You are capable of them. You just needed someone to believe it before you could believe it yourself." I stood and pulled him to his feet. "Come on. I'll show you my wine cellar. Then we'll see about dessert."
The wine cellar was in the basement—temperature controlled, humidity regulated, rows of bottles worth more than most people's houses. I'd built the collection over fifteen years, selecting vintages the way some people collected art.
Emilio wandered the rows, reading labels, occasionally pulling out bottles to examine. "This is obscene. Some of these are worth thousands."
"Some are worth considerably more than that." I pulled out a 1947 Cheval Blanc. "This one cost me forty-five thousand at auction. I'm saving it for a special occasion."
"What qualifies as special enough for a forty-five-thousand-dollar bottle of wine?"
"I'll know it when it happens." I returned it to its slot and pulled out something more reasonable. A 2010 Sassicaia. "This one we can actually drink. Come on."
Back upstairs, I poured us both glasses and led him to the living room. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the grounds. Comfortable furniture that cost more than it should but was actually pleasant to sit on. I'd designed this room for seduction—intimate without being obvious about it.
Emilio settled onto the couch and I sat beside him. Close. Our thighs touching. The kind of proximity that made intentions clear.
"Tell me about your marriage," I said. "Really tell me. Not the sanitized version."
He looked at me over his wine glass. "Why?"
"Because I want to understand you. What shaped you. What broke you. What made you the man sitting here with me now instead of the man you were a month ago."
He was quiet for so long I thought he might not answer. Then: "I married Marco because I thought I was supposed to. He was smart, ambitious, came from a good family. Everything looked perfect on paper."
"But?"
"But we were never really partners. I was always the supporting role in his story. His career came first. His needs. His priorities. I convinced myself that was normal. That marriage meant sacrificing what you wanted for what the other person needed." He drank deeply. "Then I found out he'd been fuckinghis paralegal for six months. Suddenly all that sacrifice seemed really fucking stupid."
"Hence the immediate filing for divorce."
