Chapter 8
8
ASH
I loved being a lawyer. I’d known it was my calling since I was ten and watched a show that starred a lawyer, and in the episode, he was in court. He’d wiped the floor with the prosecution and charmed the jury—had them practically eating out of the palm of his hand.
It might also have helped that the man being prosecuted was a corrupt politician.
I’d never regretted my decision until the moment I had to leave Nora in my bed, naked and sexy as hell with her adorable bedhead and perfect tits.
King and Blaze were in my office when I stomped inside, scowling.
“Sorry to take you away from your woman.” Blaze’s apology was clear in his voice. He was married and as obsessed with his wife as I was with Nora, so I knew he understood how shitty this situation was.
I nodded and held my hand out for the files he was holding. Taking them with me, I sat in the chair behind my desk and began to scan them.
“Where is Francesca?” I asked, referring to Isabella DeSantis, the lead lawyer on the legal team that handled their mafia shit.
“Her grandfather is sick,” Blaze explained. “They’re pretty sure this is it, so she went back to North Carolina.”
It was hard to be pissed at her when she was taking care of her family. But I could still be plenty mad at Rafa.
“And the rest of the fucking army of lawyers they have working for them?” After just reading through a few pages, I knew the answer but asked the question anyway.
“This was top priority. They didn’t trust anyone but Isabella to handle it.”
I nodded and kept flipping pages, familiarizing myself with the case. Francesca had been valedictorian at Yale for her undergrad and graduated summa cum laude from Harvard Law. Her GPA had been almost as high as mine when I’d graduated.
Considering I was stepping in to fill her shoes at the last minute, it was also a good thing I had one more step up on her. I had an eidetic memory.
“Rafa will meet you at the courthouse with the client two hours before court so you can talk with him,” King instructed.
I took a little more time to familiarize myself with the case details, then packed a briefcase and headed out. Since I’d ridden my bike, I needed a ride back to my house to grab my car—the Mercedes I drove when I had business at the courthouse.
Cross was coming out of the kitchen as I entered the lounge. Perfect.
He always had at least one of the cars he was restoring in the garage at the clubhouse. “Yo. You got a working car here?”
“It runs,” he replied with a chuckle.
“I need a ride back to my house.”
“Sure.”
“Thanks. And can you have a couple of prospects grab Nora’s car from work and bring it here?”
“Can do.”
Cross had always been a man of few words, so I didn’t expect anything more.
After picking up my Mercedes, I drove to the courthouse well before Rafa and my client arrived.
I went through the process to get inside, then went to one of the small conference rooms to wait. When I was inside the quiet space, I dialed Francesca’s number.
“ Grazie a Dio per te ,” Francesca sighed when she answered. “I owe you, Ash.”
“Big time,” I agreed.
“ Stronzate ,” she muttered, calling bullshit. “Like I haven’t covered for your ass before.”
“On a case this big? Nah.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that. This is the boss’s godson, and I don’t fancy being the next body floating in the East River.”
“So you put that on me, huh?”
Francesca laughed. “Oh, shut up, big shot. I gave you everything you need to wrap this up with a neat little bow on it. Assuming you’re still as good at handling a jury as you used to be.”
I scoffed. “Even if I had lost my touch, I’d still kick your ass in the courtroom, kid.”
“If you want to believe that, fine. Whatever it takes to get you to win this case.”
“Tell me what the file doesn’t,” I requested as I took a seat and put my feet up on the table.
After an hour, I was even more impressed than when I’d read the brief and notes for her strategy that she’d left for me.
“Excellent plan, Francesca.”
“Thanks. Now go execute it like the badass lawyer you are.”
“Done,” I replied before hanging up.
The defendant had been charged with possession of stolen property and conspiracy. What Francesca and I “didn’t” know was that the charges weren’t completely without merit. The southern branch of the DeLuca Crime Family focused primarily on smuggling art and antiquities.
The property in question was a shipment coming off a freighter from Italy. Bronson had been there to take possession of it, but the police had rolled in after the smugglers left and before Bronson had even laid a finger on the stolen artifacts.
They’d arrested him, and over the course of the trial, they’d nearly convinced the jury of his guilt. They’d skirted around illegal search and seizure by the skin of their teeth, keeping the case from being thrown out before it even began.
The prosecutor was a surprisingly good one, and he’d kept the jury from falling for Francesca’s attempts to insinuate that they fabricated evidence and had unreliable witnesses.
But Francesca had known she would lose on those points. They were setting up her long-term strategy.
She had been building a connection between them and Bronson. He even “tripped up” during his cross-examination, making himself appear lost and unsure and giving the jury the impression that the prosecutor was a bit of a bully and possibly coercing him into incriminating himself. She didn’t care what they thought of her as long as they liked Bronson.
After speaking with him for a few hours before our session was called, I was confident he knew what to do.
Rafa had sat quietly and listened the whole time. When we stood to leave, he shook my hand. “I’m impressed. Are you sure you don’t want to come work for me?”
I raised an eyebrow and met his stare. “You can’t afford me, Rafa.”
He laughed and turned to walk out of the room. “I don’t know about that,” he tossed back.
“I’m not going to pretend that my brotherhood never skirts the line, Rafa.” He stopped and looked back at me. “And I might create a false narrative for the jury to believe, but only through assumption. I will not lie in court.”
Rafa cocked his head and studied me for a moment. “Do you think Francesca would?”
He had me there. “No.”
“I would never ask her to,” he returned. “But everyone has a price, Ash.”
“Not if it means betraying a bond that is unbreakable to me.”
He watched me again for a moment, then nodded. “ Lealtà prima del sangue ,” he said in a low voice. “Loyalty before blood. It’s something I understand and respect.”
With that, we left the small space and entered the imposing courtroom. A cold room made of marble and wood, with a dour-faced judge, a prosecutor who looked like he thought I was the scum of the earth, and twelve people who I saw as blank slates. No matter what had happened previously in the trial, they were my masterpiece to mold.
With the exception of my home and the clubhouse, this was the place I felt most at home.
The thought startled me because I suddenly realized it was no longer true.
Nora. She was my home. Wherever she was, as long as I was with her, it was home.
Refocusing on my surroundings, I mentally smiled. That wouldn’t stop me from kicking ass. And just like that, the charismatic, intelligent Texan emerged.
By the time I was done, I’d convinced the jury that my client was basically an innocent bystander with no knowledge that the art was stolen, no direct ties to the merchandise, and no criminal intent. I’d even managed to infer that the police had so many unsolved smuggling cases that they were going after my client unjustly in order to make themselves look good.
All this without telling a single fabrication…or an outright accusation. The jury was convinced they’d come to these conclusions on their own, and I’d simply given them the tools to figure out the mystery through their own intelligence.
After the verdict, declaring my client not guilty, I told my client to keep his ass out of trouble and packed up, eager to get back to my woman. She’d sent me a text earlier, and I hated that I’d had to wait until now to respond. She hadn’t come right out and said anything, but I was willing to bet she’d had an argument with her mom. So I sent her the information for my house and the code I’d already programmed for her.
Rafa stopped me on the courthouse steps with a hand on my shoulder.
I glanced back at him, and he smiled. “You’re one hell of a lawyer, Ash. Thank you. And though I know I will never get the call, I still have to put the offer out one more time. If you’re ever interested in coming to work for The Family, you will be received with open arms.” His grin widened, and he glanced at my extremely expensive, perfectly tailored suit before adding, “And bank accounts.”
The corners of my mouth lifted slightly, and I shook my head. “You want me to drain those bank accounts? I’m not opposed to that. But you’ll have to get King’s permission.”
Rafa’s expression turned frustrated.
This time, I actually laughed. “Yeah, good luck with that.”