"I miss working with you."
"I know. I miss it too. But this is better. No ethical violations. No conflicts of interest. Just us choosing to be together without professional complications."
He was right. This was better. Even if Diana's trial preparation was boring compared to Emilio's brilliance. Even if I had to get used to competent instead of extraordinary.
What we had now was worth the trade.
I fell asleep in Emilio's arms thinking about mercy and second chances and the way love could make you choose differently than you ever had before.
Vincent Paglia was gone by morning. My investigator confirmed he'd boarded a flight to Phoenix at 6 AM. Probably had family there. Somewhere to disappear into normalcy and never look back.
I could have killed him. Should have, by the standards of my world. But I'd chosen mercy instead.
Because Emilio had asked me to be better.
And I was learning that being better felt surprisingly good.
CHAPTER 19: EMILIO
MY NEW OFFICEwas smaller than the one I'd had at Sterling & Associates. No window overlooking the city. No mahogany desk that cost more than most people's cars. Just functional furniture in a building in Tribeca that had character instead of prestige.
I loved it.
Diana Martinez & Associates occupied the third floor of a converted warehouse. Exposed brick. High ceilings. An atmosphere that said we're here to win cases, not impress corporate clients. The entire firm was five attorneys, three paralegals, and a receptionist who looked like she could kill someone with her stapler if they annoyed her sufficiently.
"You settling in okay?" Diana appeared in my doorway holding two cups of coffee. She handed me one without asking if I wanted it. I'd learned in a week that Diana operated on assumptions that were usually correct.
"Still getting used to the change." I gestured at the case files covering my desk. "But the work's good. Thank you again for taking a chance on me."
"Taking a chance? Emilio, you're the best hire I've made in five years. Clients are already asking specifically for you." She leaned against the doorframe. "Though I suspect some of that's because they want to say they hired Alessandro Vitale's boyfriend's firm."
I winced slightly. "Is that going to be a problem?"
"Are you kidding? It's fantastic for business. Half the criminals in New York want representation from someone who'sconnected to the Vitale organization." She sipped her coffee. "The other half think you're corrupted and compromised, but fuck them. They can hire someone else."
This was why I liked Diana. No pretense. No judgment. Just pragmatic assessment of how things worked in the real world.
"Speaking of your boyfriend," she continued, "trial starts in two weeks. I'm ready, but if you've got any insights on the prosecution's strategy, now would be the time to share."
"Roberto Green's going to try to paint Sandro as a career criminal who's corrupted everyone around him. He'll use the assault case to establish a pattern of violence and intimidation." I pulled up the notes I'd been keeping despite not being on the case anymore. "But his witnesses are weak. I identified seventeen contradictions in their statements. If you hammer them on cross-examination, the timeline falls apart."
"I've got the contradictions. Your notes were incredibly detailed." She smiled. "You miss it, don't you? Being on the case."
"Every day. But this is better. No ethical violations. No conflicts." I paused. "Even if it means watching from the gallery instead of the defense table."
"You'll be watching from the gallery?"
"Every day of the trial. Sandro wants me there." I met her eyes. "Is that going to be a problem?"
"Only if you try to pass me notes during testimony. Then I'll have the bailiff remove you for being a distraction." She pushed off the doorframe. "Otherwise, sit wherever you want. Just remember you're a spectator now, not his attorney."
After she left, I returned to the brief I was writing for a different client. White-collar fraud case. Embezzlement charges. The kind of work I'd been doing at Sterling but without the suffocating oversight and political maneuvering.
My phone rang at 8 PM. I'd been working late, trying to clear my desk before the trial consumed all my attention. I glanced at the screen and felt my stomach drop.
Marco.
My ex-husband hadn't called me in weeks. Not since that tense conversation after the DA fundraiser where I'd destroyed Roberto Green publicly. We'd exchanged a few texts about dividing the last of our shared property, but nothing substantial. Nothing that required actual conversation.
