"I mean it, Mr. Vitale. I won't be made complicit in perjury or witness tampering. My representation will be vigorous and within the bounds of legal ethics."
"Understood." I leaned forward slightly. "Ask your questions, counselor."
He went through them methodically. What happened that night. Who was present. What Matteo had witnessed. Why the security cameras malfunctioned. I answered truthfully—or at least, truthfully enough.
Yes, the Costello nephew had pulled a knife on our waitress. Yes, Matteo had intervened. Yes, the nephew's arm had been broken in the confrontation. No, the security cameras weren'tactually malfunctioning—we'd simply chosen not to preserve footage that might be subpoenaed.
Emilio's pen scratched across his legal pad. He didn't look up. Didn't react. Just documented everything with the same mechanical precision.
"The witnesses," he said finally. "Why did they recant?"
"They were compensated for their inconvenience and chose to forget what they saw."
"You paid them off."
"I ensured they understood that testifying against me would be more costly than remaining silent. There's a difference."
"Not a legal one."
"Perhaps not. But I'm being honest, as you requested." I watched him process that. Watched the conflict play across his features before he buried it. "Does that trouble you, Mr. Rossi?"
"My personal feelings are irrelevant. I'm your attorney, not your priest."
"Diplomatic." I stood and walked around the desk, perching on the edge close to where he sat. Close enough that he had to tilt his head back to meet my eyes. "But I'm curious about your personal feelings nonetheless."
He swallowed. I watched his throat work. "Mr. Vitale—"
"Sandro," I corrected. "We're going to be working closely together. Formality seems excessive."
"Sandro." My name sounded good in his voice. Uncertain. Wary. "I need to maintain professional boundaries."
"Of course." I didn't move. "Tell me about your divorce."
His eyes widened. "That's not relevant to—"
"I know everything about you, Emilio. May I call you Emilio?" I didn't wait for permission. "You graduated Harvard Law, top five percent of your class. Married Marco Delgado in 2019. He cheated. You filed in January. The divorce was finalized in April. You're in debt—student loans, primarily, butalso the settlement. You're desperate to make partner at Sterling because you can't afford not to."
Color rose in his cheeks. Anger or embarrassment, hard to tell. "You investigated me."
"I investigate everyone. Knowledge is the only currency that matters in my world." I leaned closer, into his space, watching him hold himself rigid. "You need this case, Emilio. Need the money and the career boost. That makes you useful to me. But it also makes you vulnerable."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's an observation. I don't threaten people I'm paying two hundred thousand dollars to defend me." I reached out, very slowly, and straightened his tie where it had gone slightly askew. He froze. Stopped breathing. "I'm simply ensuring we understand each other."
His voice came out rougher than before. "I understand that you're dangerous."
"Good." I stepped back, giving him space. "Danger is honest. Pretending otherwise would insult both our intelligences."
He stood, gathering his legal pad and briefcase with movements that were too quick, too jerky. Control slipping. "I should go. I'll prepare a defense strategy and send it to you by end of week."
"Emilio."
He stopped at the door. Didn't turn around.
"You did excellent work in court today. I want you to know I appreciate it."
"I'm doing my job."
