I felt hope surge in my chest for the first time since watching that SUV drive away with Dante in the back. “So, we just need to get the Bensons back here. Get them to testify.”
“We?” Enzo turned that calculating gaze on me. “There is no ‘we’ in this, boy. This is family business.”
“I told you,” I said, meeting his eyes. “I’m family now. Whether you like it or not.”
Enzo stared at me for what felt like an eternity. Then, to my shock, he smiled. It wasn’t a warm smile, but it wasn’t hostile either.
“You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that,” he said. “Stupid, reckless balls, but balls nonetheless.” He turned to Angelo. “Tell Marco to book a flight to San José. Tonight. I want him on the ground by morning.”
“You’re sending Marco?” Angelo asked, surprised.
“I’m sending you both,” Enzo corrected. “You helped Dante set this up, you know the protocols. Marco knows where they are. Between the two of you, you should be able to convince the Bensons to come back and save my son’s ass.”
Angelo looked like he might throw up. “Boss, I don’t think?—”
“I don’t care what you think,” Enzo barked. “Move your fucking ass!”
Chapter 28
Dante
Part of me had been homesick for New Jersey since I’d moved out to Hell Creek. I thought, once Nick and I were settled, that maybe we could go back and visit someday. However, returning in handcuffs was not the homecoming I’d imagined.
For the past two days I’d been cramped into a tiny cell back in Montana. But now, thanks to a red-eye flight, I was back home in Jersey before sunrise for my arraignment. From the way Caruso had been bragging, it sounded like both the judge and the prosecution couldn’t wait to put me behind bars forever.
I didn’t sleep during the flight. How could I? Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Nick’s face in that driveway, saw the way he’d looked at me through the window of Caruso’s SUV. Like his whole world was ending. Like I was being ripped away from him before we’d even had a chance to really begin.
The plane touched down at Newark Liberty just as the sky was turning gray. Caruso had me cuffed the entire flight, drawing stares from the other passengers. I kept my head down, my jaw clenched, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me rattled.
A second set of cops met us at the gate, and they walked me through the terminal like I was some kind of trophy. I caughtglimpses of people recording on their phones, whispering to each other. By the time we made it outside, I was sure my arrest would be all over the local news.
The drive to the courthouse was a blur of familiar streets that felt foreign now. I’d grown up here, knew these neighborhoods like the back of my hand. But after months in Montana, with its wide open spaces and clean air, Jersey felt claustrophobic. The buildings pressed in too close, the traffic was too loud, the air tasted wrong.
We pulled into the underground parking at the courthouse, and my stomach dropped. This was real. This was actually happening. I was going to be arraigned for murdering an entire family and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
I’d already been processed back in Montana, but they did it again here. Fingerprints, photos, the whole degrading routine. Then they stuck me in a holding cell with three other guys who looked like they’d rather be anywhere else. One of them recognized me, his eyes going wide.
“Valenti?” he whispered. “Holy shit, what are you in for?”
I didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at him. I just sat on the bench and stared at the concrete wall, trying to keep my breathing steady.
Hours passed. Or maybe minutes. Time felt meaningless in that cell. Finally, a guard called my name, and I was led by two armed police officers to the courtroom. The corridor was narrow and fluorescent-lit, the kind of institutional lighting that made everyone look half-dead. My hands were cuffed in front of me now, and I could hear the shuffle of my feet against the linoleum, the jingle of metal, the heavy breathing of the guards flanking me.
They pushed through a set of double doors, and suddenly I was in the courtroom.
It was packed. Every seat in the gallery filled with people I didn’t recognize. There were reporters and photographers and what looked like every fucking random person they could fit in there off the street. I assumed it was Caruso’s doing, or the state prosecution. They’d been wanting to shame my family publicly for years, so they’d turned the courthouse into a goddamn circus. I glanced up at the prosecution table where three lawyers in expensive suits were already seated and looking smug.
And the defense table was empty.
My stomach lurched. Where the fuck was my lawyer? Had my father not sent anyone? Was I supposed to face this alone?
But then I saw movement near the back of the courtroom, and my breath caught.
Nick was there.
He was sitting in the front row of the gallery, his cowboy hat in his lap, his knuckles white where he gripped it. Our eyes met across the room, and I saw everything in his face. Fear, determination…love. He gave me the smallest nod, like he was trying to tell me he was here, that I wasn’t alone.
Beside him sat my father.
