"Matteo Pagano, to what do I owe the visit?" I point to the chair in front of me and ask him to sit down. "Santino received your message this morning. Even though we are far from home, youhave always been a good associate." I nod in agreement and sigh because the price to officially leave the Outfit was not low.
"I brought your Pizzo. Don Santino asked me to deliver it personally for saving his heiress." He hands me what appears to be a dozen of pearls. "Use it wisely."
"I hope I won't need it, but thank you for everything, Matteo." He repeats his greeting and leaves as if nothing had happened. Luckily,
Matteo Pagano is the most discreet of all the Outfit members. I would say it was luck, but Matteo definitely chose to come to the office at a quieter time. I realize this because, little by little, people are arriving and taking their seats.
In fact, for cases involving the organization, he usually uses his law office instead of being on the front lines. I would say he is one of the smartest.
Peter must be with his mistress, since he didn't sleep at home last night and claimed to be visiting his mother. It's a shame he thinks I'm stupid enough not to have his location shared and know exactly where he is.
I devote myself to the simplest cases and type up the sentences of those whose verdicts need to be virtual until the day comes to an end. Just like the next ones. Almost a week after making the decision to file for divorce, I send a message asking my future ex-husband to be at my office in two hours.
It's official, I'm going to file for divorce before the end of my shift. Not that I'm really married. We live in the same house, but the bedrooms, bathrooms, and offices are completely separate.
If it were up to me, the entrances would also be separate, so I could avoid seeing his face every morning.
Peter has always been ambitious, and I expected him to use my family name, which is well known in legal circles, to advance his career at law school.
What I never expected was that he would forge my signature on decisions concerning clients he was interested in.
He even almost put my head on a silver platter by using my signature in a simple case involving the niece of a member of the Outfit, and I had to ask Matteo to mediate the conversation.
Maybe that's why I threw a glass at him that day, it was as if the glass is like my patience. Empty, but exhausted from being there and needing to break it to move on.
I just turned thirty-four, I'm one of the top district judges in the United States, and I'm between a rock and a hard place. Or more accurately, between a career leap and my comfort zone. Going to the event in New York in December means accepting that I will no longer be a district judge and will become a federal judge.
Perhaps the relationship is not really about marriage, but about my fear of accepting the new. Facing the unknown and dealing with new people, new teams, and new cases is like a leap into the dark without familiar ground. I glance at the clock on the dashboard and see that it's not even nine in the morning, and with my head exploding from a migraine, I already want to kill everyone around me.
Amidst daydreams, closed signs, and obvious traffic jams, I arrive at the courthouse ready for three hearings that day when I see one of the attorney general's aides heading my way. That's it.Today is the day I storm the American Bastille and cut off heads in court.
"Your Honor, an urgent case has arisen and we need you to evaluate it."
"How many died?" I look at the boy, who is panting as he speaks, his eyebrow arched, and then I glance at the folder in his hands as I walk toward my office.
"No one, ma'am. It's a case involving Offshore Calama. They've been indicted for tax evasion and falsification of customs documents here in Wilmington." As if no one else in the state did that. I take the folder of documents and head to my office, raising my hand to indicate that he should leave without adding anything else.
He smiles confidently, and I hope this company belongs to a super drug lord who is an enemy of the companies that subsidize part of my retirement, so that it's worth breaking out of my routine and adding another case to the pile that surrounds me and that I intend to finish before my transfer.
I enter the office, greet the intern on the floor, who promptly hands me an espresso with plenty of cream and says they are ready for the morning's series of hearings.
After lunch, I pick up the folder handed to me by the intern, whose name will not come to mind, and as soon as I open it, I hear two knocks on the door. It's Peter. And I completely forgot about his existence. At almost six feet tall, he enters the room with a smirk.
He knows he screwed up, but he doesn't know how long I've been waiting to finally get rid of this contract. It's been eight years of marriage, fourteen years of relationship. Here I am,trying to keep up the facade of a faithful and committed wife. He's wearing a black pinstriped suit, and I wonder if I pay for these clothes.
Especially knowing that he has another family in Jacksonville. Honestly, coming here only makes him look more pathetic. His hair is slicked back with gel, without too much excess. He's always been quite handsome, despite being a jerk. "Megan, you left yesterday without letting me explain myself," he says as he unbuttons his blazer and sits down in the chair across from me with his legs crossed.
He's always been a gentleman. At least in terms of etiquette. I take a deep breath with my fingers on my temple. It's the second time I've done this today, because the first was after hearing a man's justification for delaying child support payments. "I'm trying to talk, but you haven't been home. I'm going to New York."
"And come back so we can spend Christmas with my parents?" I rest both hands on the table, crossing my fingers as if making a purely business decision.
In this case, I am the business, and he is the supplier of excessive heteronormativity.
"No, Peter. I'm releasing you from this contract. Go live your life, and I'll sign the papers on this trip to accept the position in DC. I don't want to continue in this godforsaken place solving customs problems while my husband, as I motioned with air-quotes, husband uses my name, my signature, and my reputation to get clients.
"You wouldn't dare." I see his hands clench into fists and I get pissed. After all, I'm the one being used. "I'm in thismess because of you. I accepted everything your old bastard father ordered, and now what do you do?" He raises his arms questioningly. "Are you going to live your life in Washington after a little vacation in New York? Are you going to keep reading those dirty books and acting like a queen? Megan, you need me." He grits his teeth on the last sentence, and I hold back my laughter so as not to mock him even more.
"Well, then let's get down to business."
