CHAPTER 17: STEFAN
THE JURY RETURNEDafter three days of deliberation.
Three days of waiting. Of Matteo pacing the apartment like a caged animal. Of me pretending to work on financial reports while my mind replayed every damaging piece of evidence. Of both of us lying awake at night wondering if these were our last days of freedom together.
Now we sat in the courtroom waiting for the verdict. Matteo at the defense table with Sandro, Elio, and Luca. Me in the front row of the gallery where I'd spent every day of this trial. Diana Martinez sat beside her clients, perfectly composed, but I could see tension in the set of her shoulders.
The courtroom was packed. Media. Federal agents. Prosecutors. Everyone waiting to see if the government had successfully buried four men under a mountain of evidence.
Matteo looked back at me once before the jury entered. His expression was carefully neutral—the enforcer's mask he wore when he was terrified and couldn't show it. But I could see through it. See the fear underneath. The certainty that this was the end.
I tried to project confidence I didn't feel. Tried to remind him with my eyes that whatever happened, he wasn't alone in this.
The jury filed in. Twelve people who held our entire future in their hands. I tried to read their faces. Tried to find some indication of what they'd decided. But they were carefully blank. Professional. Giving nothing away.
My heart pounded so hard I thought everyone could hear it.
The judge entered. We all stood. The formalities felt endless.
"Please be seated," Judge Morrison said. "Has the jury reached a verdict?"
The foreperson stood. A middle-aged woman in a cardigan who'd taken extensive notes throughout the trial. She held a stack of papers.
"We have, Your Honor."
"Please hand the verdict forms to the bailiff."
The exchange felt like it took hours. The bailiff walking the forms to the judge. Judge Morrison reviewing them. His expression giving nothing away.
Finally: "The defendant will rise."
All four of them stood. Matteo's hands were steady but I could see the tension in his jaw. The rigid control holding him together.
"The clerk will read the verdict."
The clerk took the papers. Started reading in a monotone that made every word feel like a hammer blow.
"In the case of United States versus Vitale, DeLuca, Marino, and Romano, Case Number 24-CR-1847, on Count One: Racketeering Conspiracy..."
This was it. The most serious charge. Life in prison if convicted. Everything hinged on this moment.
The clerk's voice: "We, the jury, find the defendant Sandro Vitale... not guilty."
The courtroom erupted. Gasps. Whispers. Someone in the back shouted something. Judge Morrison's gavel cracked down.
"Order! I will have order in this court or I will clear the gallery."
But my ears were ringing. Not guilty. They'd beaten the biggest charge.
The clerk continued: "We, the jury, find the defendant Matteo DeLuca... not guilty."
My vision blurred. Tears I couldn't hold back anymore. That was the charge that would have buried him. Life in prison. Decades apart. And the jury said not guilty.
Not guilty.
We had a chance. A real chance.
"We, the jury, find the defendant Elio Marino... not guilty."
