Pen Pal (Ashwood Prison #1)

Enzo

"Do you mind if I bring my intern with me?" my lawyer asked over the phone.

Great, another generation of blood-sucking vermin who only looked out for themselves. I didn't want anyone else to be this close to my case.

Then again, maybe I could have some fun. I should really teach this lawyer-in-training a lesson about how fucked up the system is and how they could make a difference. Or I could scare them so badly that they'd immediately make a career change.

Decisions, decisions.

"I don't mind," I replied dryly. "Bring him to our visit later."

"Good, she'll be happy to meet you. See you tomorrow,"answered, and the line went dead .

She?

Oh, I would definitely have fun with that one.

I smirked as I hung up the phone, strolling to my cell. Some inmates scowled at me, but I didn't care. They were too cowardly to mess with me. Once I was transferred to this prison, I bathed in the blood of the top dog here, and no one gave me shit again.

Vitali nodded his head in greeting as I sat on my bunk. "Any progress?"

I shook my head. "Gerald just wants to bring in one of his interns."

Vitali curled his lip with distaste. "I hate it when they do that shit."

I shrugged. "I think it'll be fun. The intern's a woman."

Vitali's eyes glinted dangerously. "When's the last time you even saw a woman that wasn't your sister, Enzo?"

"That one deputy," I remembered vaguely. "But she retired years ago."

Vitali grinned. "I pity the woman, then. She won't know what hit her."

"Lights out, inmates!" a deputy called, banging his baton against a cell door.

"Already?" Vitali exclaimed, shooting me a pointed look. "Good thing you got that phone call in when you did."

"Ricci, lights out," the deputy called, and I realized it was Russo, one of the deputies I had a connection with on the outside.

"Yeah, yeah," I sighed, rolling my eyes as I sat on my bunk.

Russo glared at me before moving on, harassing the other inmates before all lights closed and the prison was plunged into darkness.

The painted-over brick walls were white, the concrete floor was gray, and a permanent musty odor drifted in the recycled air. Condensation stuck on the moldy shower curtains, and the toilets constantly emitted a low hiss. The sink's faucet dripped intermittently enough that the guards either didn't notice or didn't care. The fluorescent lights hummed when they were on, bright and blinding, and our only respite was nighttime when they were shut off.

"You're not going to get any sleep, are you?" Vitali mused.

"Probably not," I admitted. My mind was most active at night, and now that I knew I was meeting someone tomorrow, it was all I could think about .

"Always the over-thinker," Vitali muttered as he turned over in his bunk. "Talk to you in the morning."

I turned to the desk behind my bunk and removed my glasses, resting them on it as I lay in my bed. The mattress was thin, barely a cushion for the hard metal frame underneath. The only way to avoid back pain was to change positions frequently. If I slept too deeply, I paid for it in the morning.

Gerald was a shit lawyer, and he wasn't getting me anywhere in my case. I was found guilty of murdering my sister's rapist, so at least that part of my rap sheet was over. But since I killed the top dog, a known child molester, I was on trial again. I was facing life in prison this time, but I didn't give a shit. When they gave me twenty years for my sister's rapist's murder, I knew that the justice system was fucked.

When my sister stopped visiting me, I knew that I had lost the only family that I had. My parents lost custody of us when we were young, so my father didn't bother to visit me now. It didn't matter that he was the Italian mafia boss. All he cared about was himself and having an heir to pass his kingdom to.

So, I made a decision; I didn't plan on surviving my stay. My sister had a life of her own now. She was married and pregnant, so I knew that she would be fine. It actually brought a smile to my face, knowing that my father wouldn't have a son anymore to pass his legacy to, so he would be forced to give everything to my sister.

Everything was the least that she deserved after everything he put her through.

My mind raced with memories, mostly bad. I remembered hearing my sister's cries in the night as our father beat her. When I couldn't stand it anymore, I stormed into her room and knocked my father on his ass, and since that night, he only beat me.

When I showed up to school with two black eyes and a broken arm, only then did they finally call the police.

My sister and I were removed from our home and bounced around from foster home to foster home. No one wanted to adopt teenagers, and they were afraid my family would retaliate if they did. All we maintained was our names. Everything else was stripped from us.

So Sofia and I did what we could to survive, and when I was locked up for killing our high school coach when I was sixteen, I never saw her outside of these bars again.

When she turned eighteen, she was kicked out of her foster home and left to fend for herself. She went back to my father, but instead of hitting her this time, he saw her as a pawn in his game. He wanted to marry her off, setting her up with many different mafia princes.

She eventually chose one and refused to marry anyone else. Sofia fell in love and got married, and now she lived in his house with him.

I had my people watch them, and they confirmed that he treated my little sister like a queen. She deserved the life she had now, so I accepted it when she stopped seeing me.

I met Vitali when I was in juvenile hall, and we both got long sentences. We bonded over our shitty childhoods and mafia families, and now we were part of the same crew. Other than a few new faces here and there, no one messed with us.

All I could do now was pass the time and wait. Court dates were months apart, so I had to keep busy somehow. I mostly read books and worked out since there wasn't much else to do around here.

I closed my eyes, trying to will myself to sleep, but as usual, it eluded me. All I could do was try to relax my body and rest as the night dragged on.

I tossed and turned until I heard the dreaded words. "Count time!"

I groaned as I dragged myself from my bunk, getting to my feet along with Vitali. It was seven o'clock in the morning, and the count was also at seven o'clock at night. Deputies and guards counted each inmate in the prison, making sure everyone was accounted for.

Romano, another one of my family connections, was the deputy on shift this morning. He glanced at Vitali and me before moving on to the other cells.

"Get any sleep?" Vitali wondered.

"No," I scowled. "You did, though."

"I accept my fate, so now I sleep like a baby," he shrugged. "Maybe you should try it sometime."

"I'm not done yet," I smirked. "Maybe I'll get found innocent."

Vitali laughed. "That's funny, Enzo. They've got you on video killing the guy."

"Would be a shame if Romano lost the video," I mused.

"I don't know what you have on him, but I doubt it's good enough for him to risk his career," Vitali chastised. "I know you might think so, but even you aren't invincible Enzo."

Maybe he was right. But until I was sentenced to life, there was still hope, however fast it was dwindling.

"Chow time, line up," Romano announced .

The cell doors unlocked, and inmates streamed out of their rooms, but I stayed rooted to the spot. Visiting hours sometimes started during breakfast, and I didn't want to miss my lawyer's visit.

I wanted to fire Gerald, and I wanted to do it in front of his intern.

I sat on my bunk and waited, and soon enough, Romano began calling out names until he reached mine.

"Ricci, Salinas, Stevenson," he rattled on until finally, he ran out of names. "Visitation time, line up."

I stood and walked to the line, slowly forming as inmates hurried to scarf the remainder of their food down their throats. The door to our block opened, and we followed the guard out the door to the visitation area.

I was ushered into the legal visitation room. When the door closed behind me, I was on autopilot as I shuffled to the chair and sat, my eyes lifting to meet Gerald's.

"Hi, Lorenzo," he began. "Ready to go over your case?"

I could smell a hint of perfume, and my eyes searched the room. The intern wasn't here, but she had been. Did she step out, or did she get cold feet ?

A knock sounded on the door, and it creaked open as the click of heels sounded behind me. Her perfume wafted into the room, and I stiffened. She smelled fucking divine.

The instant she walked into the room, I knew that she didn't belong here. Not in a place like this, where the damned went to rot behind bars. She walked in like a spark flickering in a place drenched with gasoline, too delicate and clean.

She rounded the table and stood by Gerald, not daring to take a seat as my heart nearly stopped.

She radiated with a light no one could touch, and I felt like a moth drawn to her flame. She had light, sandy hair and stormy eyes swirling with curiosity. She wore a fitted suit, her curves perfectly highlighted by the fabric, brown and plain, trying her damnest not to stand out.

My fingers curled against the table, metal biting into my skin. I could already feel the shift in the air—every set of eyes on her, tracking her movement as the door stayed open behind me. But none of them mattered because she was already looking at me.

The door clicked shut behind me, and she was alone with us. A greedy, money-hungry son-of-a-bitch, and a murderer .

She hesitated a fraction of a second before moving forward, sliding into the seat next to Gerald. Her pulse fluttered at her throat, but she forced herself to meet my gaze.

She was a brave little thing.

I smiled the kind of smile that had gotten me out of numerous dangerous situations, the kind that promised trouble.

"Lorenzo Ricci," she said, her voice steady, challenging.

I leaned forward, elbows resting on the cold table between us. "And you are?"

Her lips pressed together like she didn't want to tell me.

Interesting.

"You already know who I am," she replied instead. "I'm your lawyer's intern."

Mine. The word rolled through me, slow and dangerous.

She didn't realize what she'd done. She didn't know that stepping into my world—sitting here, speaking my name—meant that she was already tangled in my web. And I never let my prey go .

"You don't look like an intern," I mused. My gaze dragged over her—the crisp lines of her blouse, the way her hands tightened into fists against her skirt. "You look like something I could ruin."

Her breath caught. She hid it well, but I saw the way her fingers twitched and the way her throat worked as she swallowed.

"Let's keep this professional," she said, her voice clipped and stern.

I smirked. Oh, my little lawyer, you think you have a choice?

She shifted, reaching into her bag for the files she brought. I reached out just enough for my fingers to brush hers.

She froze, and I swear I felt it—like a current running through her, like recognition.

Her lips parted slightly, but she snatched her hand back before I could get a real grip.

So she felt it, too. The pull, the tension, the fact that no matter how much she pretended that this was just another case, she was already losing.

She could fight it all she wanted. She could keep her voice cool and her eyes sharp, but I saw her. I didn't lose the things that I wanted.

"My name is Amara Branson," she conceded, pulling some papers from her bag.

"Amara," I enunciated, testing her name on my tongue. "My little lawyer." It suited her; pent-up, frustrated, putting up a front she thought that I couldn't see. But I saw right through her, and she was easy to read.

She wanted to make a difference in the world; they all did. I wondered how long it would take her to realize that I was a lost cause and that we all were.

Gerald leaned back, watching us, but I paid him no mind. All I could see and think about was Amara. Maybe he was testing her to see if she could hold up under pressure. Perhaps he wanted to see how she would react in the same room with a killer.

Whatever his reasoning, it didn't matter. Amara was here now, and she consumed me.

"You're being charged with the murder of Keith Rollins," she began. "Did you do it?"

I smiled as she glanced at me, gauging my reaction as she studied me.

"What do you think?" I asked.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she looked at her papers, flipping through them as she shuddered .

"Why did you kill him?" she asked.

"Does it matter?" I grinned. "I'm not sure the state cares why."

"Humor me," she challenged. "I see here he had an extensive record, mostly sexual assault against minors. Were you aware?"

I gnashed my teeth in disgust. Keith was the worst of the worst, and I couldn't hear him boast about the children he hurt anymore. He told anyone who would listen that he was getting out soon, and if the judicial system wouldn't stop him from hurting another child, I sure would.

And I did.

"You were," she answered, searching my face. "Do you feel the killing was justified?"

I lifted my gaze to hers. "Yes."

Her head tilted slightly in curiosity. I knew it would be her downfall; she was too interested in criminology, too curious for her own good. Gerald was disgusted when I told him why as if Keith was a saint and I killed a good man.

"Do you think it's right to make yourself the judge, jury, and executioner of your fellow inmate?" Amara pressed .

"For pieces of shit like that? Yes," I admitted. "The justice system failed his victims. He was going to do it again. Now he can't."

Her eyes rounded in understanding, and she glanced at Gerald. He nodded, confirming what I said was true, and she looked at me with new eyes. Like I wasn't the monster people painted me to be.

Like I was someone she could save.

"We can work with this," she nodded, stacking her papers neatly. "I can tell the judge and jury about his past record and how he was at a high risk of reoffending. You'll still get prison time, but everyone hates child molesters. You might just get manslaughter, which is a lesser charge than murder."

Something stirred inside me, a part of myself that I thought was long gone.

Hope.

Manslaughter had a minimum sentence of five years, and it would be over before I finished my sentence for killing my sister's rapist. I wouldn't get any additional time, and I could live some semblance of a life, getting out when I was thirty-six.

Gerald looked between us. "By God, I heard of a woman's touch, but I didn't believe it. I never got close to this far with him," he muttered to Amara.

"Maybe stop assuming all prisoners are irredeemable," she rebutted, smiling to quell the sting of her words.

She turned to me, picking a few papers from her folder before sliding them to me.

I looked at them. They were self-reflection worksheets customized to fit prisoners with violent crimes.

"Mail these to me as you finish them," she said. "I can come to see you every week, and we can delve into the why and how things could've been different."

"I don't regret what I did," I warned, giving Amara a pointed look. "Not for Keith, and not for that coach."

She hesitated before sighing, looking at Gerald and then at me. "They were bad men, Mr. Ricci. I can understand your lack of remorse. What I want you to understand is that it wasn't your job to kill them. We have systems in place for that—"

"That failed miserably," I muttered. "Did you miss the part where I said Keith was being released and bragged about the next kid he would abuse?"

She cringed with disgust, looking to Gerald and back to me. I could tell she was conflicted. The ends justified the means, as far as I was concerned.

How dedicated was she to make the world a better place if she wouldn't break a few rules to make it happen?

"So my question is this, Amara. Who's really the monster? The penal system that gives a slap on the wrist to habitual sexual offenders, or people like me, who prevent them from destroying more lives?" I snapped.

Her lower lip quivered just a little, subtle enough for others not to notice. But I was watching her intently.

I wondered what would really happen here; would she redeem me, or would I corrupt her?

"I think that's enough for today," Gerald announced, the chair scraping against the ground as he stood. "I'll relay this new information to the judge, find out which deputies worked that shift, and subpoena them. They probably heard what he said before you attacked him, and information like that might stop a jury from convicting you."

Amara cleared her throat and stood, placing her neat little papers back in her bag. Gerald walked around her, exiting the room and leaving me alone with her.

My hand snapped forward, wrapping around her wrist. She gasped, regarding me warily as my grip tightened .

"If I do these worksheets and mail them in, will you write me back?" I wondered. "It gets awful lonely in here for men like me."

She tried pulling out of my grip, but she couldn't. "W-we'll see," she stammered. "If you can be honest and vulnerable in your reflection, I'll reply."

I could be honest, but being vulnerable would be a challenge. I never opened up to anyone, not even Vitali.

"I'll hold you to that, Amara," I breathed, releasing her wrist.

She scurried for the door, and I turned, watching her ass bounce as she took quick steps before disappearing behind the door.

Maybe I'll try this vulnerable thing, I thought. If it would get her to come back and keep in touch with me, I was tempted to open those floodgates to my fucked up past.

But I won't let her pretend she's not mine for long.

The guards took me back to my cell, and I immediately sat at my desk, looking over the worksheets. I chose one and filled it out as honestly as I could, but it wasn't enough. I wanted her to write back, not just about what I wrote in the worksheets, but about her as a person.

Dear Amara,

I thought I should warn you, my little lawyer. I don't do self-help. I don't sit in circles and cry about my past. I don't believe in second chances or fresh starts. Men like me don't get those.

But you want me to fill this out, so I did. Not because I give a damn about "growth" or "rehabilitation." But because it means you'll read my words. Because it means, for a few minutes, I'll have your attention.

You asked me to list my biggest regret. There's a lot I should regret. Things I've done. Things I will do. But my biggest regret? I regret that you walked into my life when I had nothing left to offer you but the wreckage of who I am.

You also asked me to write down my biggest fear. Men like me don't get scared, Amara. But if I did—if I ever lost sleep over something—it wouldn't be the life sentence hanging over my head. It wouldn't be the bars that keep me in, the fights, or even the possibility of an early, bloody end. It would be this.

An empty cell. A stack of letters that never get answered. Silence where your voice should be.

I don't expect you to fix me. I don't expect you to save me. But don't make the mistake of thinking I don't need you. You might be the only thing keeping me human. Don't give up on me yet.

And if you ever try to disappear from my life, Amara… I'll find a way to bring you back. One way or another.