Chapter 58 – Amanda
Istaggered into the ladies’ room. Going to the sink, I turned on the cold water. My first trial—my first freaking trial! And it was defending the man I loved more than life itself.
Rinsing my hands, I pressed the backs against my burning cheeks.
The urge to be sick on the floor had subsided as my training took over. The words seemed to flow from my very heart. I didn’t have to think about what to say. I just spoke.
“The jury seems to be in your hands,” a gravelly voice muttered as the door banged open.
I jumped. “Liam! What the hell?”
The mobster swept a look through the space. “You’re my charge until Messina is free. Don’t go sneaking off like that.”
That. That right there was the difference between the two men. Vincenzo knew that I needed space. He gave it, even if he would rather not. Liam was invasive. Overwhelming.
I would choke him in his sleep if I was his wife.
Luckily, that tragedy was not my fate.
“This is the women’s bathroom.” I slapped the faucet off.
I didn’t want to be too harsh with him. Liam was the man I worked with—not for, with—after all. And he was also the man who’d made sure Maksim Varga’s body was scattered up and down the eastern seaboard.
With some help from an underworld assassin, Liam caught the warlord before he could leave the country, put a bullet between his eyes, and neutralized the threat. Varga would never try to collect the debt my dad racked up with him again.
I couldn’t wait to tell Vincenzo.
I have to free him first. I looked at myself in the mirror. I could do this. “Do you need something, Liam?”
“Yeah, time to go. The jury’s being seated,” Liam clipped out.
“Why the hell didn’t you say that?” I screeched, hustling to grab my briefcase.
As I dashed into the hall, my gaze collided with a stormy blue one. I faltered, nearly tripping. Liam growled and reached out to steady my elbow.
“If I lose my hand for touching you—” he warned.
I shook him off. Righted myself. And met my sire’s glare.
There was no pride there. He’d seen me conduct my first trial. Any parent should be beaming with pride at the accomplishment. His anger was a tangible slap.
Fuck him.
Tipping my chin up, I hustled back into the courtroom. The judge was just emerging from his office as I scooted to the desk assigned to me.
Vincenzo looked like a stone in his seat. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I hadn’t this whole time. I would have started balling to see him cuffed. And if I failed—
I won’t.
I couldn’t.
So, I resisted looking directly at him once again. I focused on the next steps, playing the cards as they were dealt.
The foreperson, the member chosen to speak on behalf of the jurors, didn’t sit. He stood there, paper in his hand.
I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper.
Judge Stegen nodded to the juror. “Have you reached a verdict?”
The foreperson stretched out his hand. “We have, your honor.”
Air caught in my throat. The muscles of my chest clenched tight. My vision tunneled on that sheet of paper.
All the things I could have done differently swam to the surface. Had I been convincing enough? Did I play the part right? Why—oh why—hadn’t I spent more time on trial law instead of mastering contracts and mergers? I freaking knew why. It was all to please the one person who would never see me.
And now the person who did depended on me.
And I might have failed him.
Oh, lord, no. I couldn’t let Vincenzo down. There was always an appeal, but I couldn’t be away from my soulmate that long. Couldn’t exist knowing he suffered behind bars—his worst fear realized.
The judge scanned the paper. His face was unreadable.
Nothing could be discerned by the pause.
Clearing his throat, Judge Stegen rumbled, “On the charge of attempted murder….”
The room swayed.
I gripped the desk, nails straining and threatening to break under the pressure. The bite of pain grounded me, and I leaned into that.
“We, the jury, find the defendant….” The judge paused for dramatic effect.
I wanted to scream.
My foot took a step, unbidden. I was about to rush the bench.
“Not guilty.”
Silence.
Total, crushing silence.
My gaze whipped to Vincenzo’s. His was laser focused on me. Calm, sure and swift, radiated from him.
He never doubted me.
I sagged against the desk. I’d done it. I’d freaking done it!
Vincenzo continued to stare at me, the depth of his feeling piled into that look. I ached for his strength. Wanting more than anything to wrap it around my body and let it shelter me from the storm.
My throat worked as I swallowed past my heartbeat.
I didn’t smile. I didn’t break.
I breathed in the stolen seconds and let the idea of freedom sink into my bones. The danger had passed. They would never find the warlord’s body. This would end here.
From a distance, Judge Stegen murmured, “Mr. Messina, you’re free to go.”
I ran.
The officers didn’t have time to undo the cuffs before I threw myself over the partition and wrapped my arms around Vincenzo’s neck. Tears leaked from my eyes as I buried my face against his neck.
“Bravissima, fiore,” he murmured in a voice that calmed storms.
That was all I needed to hear.
I pulled myself straight with a laugh. Dabbing at my eyes and blinking away the moisture before it ruined my makeup, I waited impatiently for the cuffs to be removed.
Vincenzo leapt over the partition and looped an arm over my shoulders as I hurried to gather the documents from the desk. He didn’t release his hold—his claim—on me as we walked out of the court.
Liam fell in step with us, and outside the room, we were joined by other members of the crew. They kept the reporters and crowd at bay as we moved to the side doors. Only members of legal firms were allowed back here. The door fell closed, cutting off the reporters.
“Your bike’s out front,” I laughed softly.
“Mmm, how’d that get here?” Vincenzo’s fingers kneaded into the tired muscles of my shoulder.
I let out a snort of protest. “Please. I drove it.”
“We both know that’s a lie,” he teased.
“If ya two love birds are good, I’m going to bail,” Liam drawled.
We paused to wave goodbye. I knew Vincenzo would want to follow up with him, but the way he held my waist said he had other interests took priority.
I was here for that. When the retreating footsteps faded, I resumed the playful conversation.
“No, really,” I insisted. “I drove the bike.”
“Mandy, you can barely drive a car, let alone handle a crotch rocket.”
“I’ve been practicing, and Bill helped—”
“You just can’t stay locked up,” a voice barked in hatred.
I rounded on my dad, who stepped out of a side room. He didn’t seem powerful. Maybe it was the light, but I swore more of his hair was grey, frizzing at the edges.
Vincenzo pulled me softly to the side, placing his body at an angle to become a barrier if the need arose. I was glad he didn’t shelter me like some helpless creature. He was there if I needed him.
“Hi, Dad,” I said with a resigned breath. “Guess the cards are on the table, aren’t they?”
“I should have killed you instead of sending you to prison,” Dad snarled.
My spine snapped straight. Did Dad really just admit to that? It was better than I could have hoped! I needed to pretend to be ignorant, play the part of the dumb blonde daughter who didn’t know he was the mastermind behind every broken chord in our song.
“What the fuck did you just say to him?” I demanded.
Back here, away from the press, it was mostly private. Yet just in case, Dad spoke low enough that there was no threat of witnesses. What he didn’t know was that I’d anticipated this.
“You heard me,” Dad menaced.
I held up a finger. This needed to be crystal clear. “You said you didn’t prosecute him. You looked me in the eye. You said—”
“Of course, I did that,” Dad spewed.
“I read the case file; the charges seemed paper thin.” Come on, Dad.
He dug the hole deeper. “I did what I had to do to put him away. His kind don’t deserve to walk the streets.”
“You committed perjury?” I tried to sound shocked. It seemed to work.
“It’s not perjury if I know it’s true.”
“You’re supposed to prove it,” I insisted.
“Eight years,” Vincenzo muttered.
I shot him a look, pleading with him to stay calm. It’s almost over.
“Why, Dad? I loved him.” I lifted my hands and dropped them helplessly to my side.
His face grew uglier as he sneered. “I didn’t want you stuck in the ghetto! I had big plans for you, Amanda, and you were a child.”
“Like selling me to a war criminal?” I baited.
“That was circumstantial.” He crossed his arms. “Maksim is waiting for you in Karsovia.”
Vincenzo snarled, but I pressed my fingers into his arm.
“What’s he waiting for?” My foot tapped against the smooth, marble floor. I stopped it the moment I realized it might cause an echo.
“Amanda, don’t play games.” Dad’s eyes were wild. “You know what’s at stake. He’ll hurt all of us if you don’t marry him.”
Varga can’t hurt us. No thanks to you….
“You can’t sell me,” I countered.
“You agreed—”
“You can’t sell me,” I repeated, “because I’m already married.”
I slid my hand down Vincenzo’s sleeve, looped our rings fingers, and held them in the air. “You’ll have to find another way to pay your debts.”
“Filthy, street scum!” Dad spat on the ground.
This was the polished, poised businessman whom I idolized. He was stressed, crazed, and completely changed. Maybe he wasn’t always like this, or maybe I was too eager not to see it. Either way, my eyes were open now.
I squeezed my finger tighter around Vincenzo’s.
“You’re a dead man, Messina.”
I just shook my head. So stupid….
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I showed the screen. The device had recorded the whole conversation.
“The statute of limitations hasn’t passed. Even if it had, with this second trumped-up charge, I can find plenty of judges in the city to scrub his felony. Thanks, Dad, that’s the best wedding present you could have given me.” I uploaded the voice recording to my drive as I spoke.
Dad let out a terrified yell and lunged. Fists raised, he would have struck me if Vincenzo wasn’t lightning fast. He grabbed me, spun me, and moved us both to safety.
He didn’t engage.
That kind of restraint spoke volumes. I wanted to kiss him!
Dad tumbled a few steps, spun on his heel, and made to attack again. This time, Liam came around the corner at a jog, three robust police officers in tow.
I gripped Vincenzo around the waist. “You’re safe,” I promised. “I’ve got you.”
He held me tightly as my dad was arrested on the spot for aggravated assault with intent to commit murder.
It was a pity he didn’t have a clever daughter, willing to go to trial in his defense. Tucked under the shelter of Vincenzo’s arm, his steady presence draped over me, we left the courthouse.
Liam met us by the bike, his helmet already on. He was in the middle of pocketing his half mask.
“What took you so long?” I grumbled, taking my own helmet and yanking it on my head.
I felt the Irishman’s glare from the other side of the visor.
“See you Monday,” was all he said before tearing off.
“Amanda, wait.” Vincenzo gripped my waist. “What you did for me back there—”
“Pretty badass for a Made Woman, don’t you think?” I grinned.
His lips twitched, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You realize that even if your dad is in prison, Varga can still have him killed for the hundred-million-dollar debt.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but my monster spoke over me. “If you want, I’ll pay Varga. I know how important to you your dad is.”
If I wasn’t holding onto the bike, I would have toppled. This man, who hated my father with every fiber of his being, was willing to lay aside his anger…for me.
I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond.
“I would much rather torture him slowly,” Vincenzo said, sensing my confusion. “But I’ll make sure Varga doesn’t put a hit on him in prison.”
“Varga is dead. Dad will rot in prison for his crimes.”
The moment I dropped that information, time slowed. Vincenzo, strong, fearless Made Man of the city, bowed his head. A stilted breath choked in his throat. “It’s over.”
I squeezed his hand. “It’s over.”
Vincenzo slid his hand into his pocket, pulled out his personal effects, which had been returned to him. “Then I guess we’re free to use this.”
It took a moment while he fumbled with the screen, blinking hard. I didn’t embarrass him by pointing out that a big, hard, ruthless man wasn’t supposed to have moisture glistening in his eyes.
But my underworld prince had gone through hell. I let him have his emotions.
Vincenzo turned on his phone and showed me a resort reservation for two weeks. While the date was wrong, the booking was in our name.
“The private jet can be ready in an hour, and my guys can change the reservation.” Vincenzo stepped close to me. Gone was the haggard, blistered look in that black, bottomless gaze. In its place was a scorching, fierce hunger. “Just say the word, and we’ll be on our way to a Caribbean island.”
Vincenzo leaned down to press his lips against my forehead. “Fourteen days.”
His lips traveled to my cheek. “Sand.”
He kissed my jaw. “Sea.”
He pulled back, our noses nearly touching. “A fresh start.”
“No.” I found his lips. “A new chapter. We have too many memories to wipe the slate clean.”
“Let’s go to the airport then; you can call in sick for work from the plane,” he tugged me toward his bike.
I slung my leg behind him, laid my head on his shoulder, and relished the fact that where one thread of our story ended, there was another we could weave as the future unfolded before us.
A proper honeymoon after the chaotic wedding was exactly what we needed.
A chance to breathe. A place where we could be us—Mandy and Enzo.