CHAPTER ELEVEN
Patrimonium
Girls, where's today's meetup? #Dantezetes
(@deisebloombastic)
“How long are they going to camp out there?” Celie peeked through the office window. The phone rang nonstop, and it had only been forty-eight hours since I'd officially taken on the Darwin v. Marino case.
The Marino family sent me flowers while the Darwin family released a statement to a local news channel calling it absurd that a prosecutor's daughter would defend a cold, cruel criminal like Dante.
My father had asked my mother to take my photo down from his office, which to her was practically the same as disowning me. And me? I just wanted to do my job in peace.
My phone rang. Betty's name flashed on the screen. I didn't have to answer, but I owed her one—she'd helped me on another case. Time to pay up.
“I was getting desperate,” Betty said the moment I picked up. “My colleagues are fighting tooth and nail outside your door.”
“And you, clever girl, are sitting in the newsroom working your contacts.”
“I earned every single one of them.” The clatter of fingers on a keyboard echoed in the background. “Now tell me… were you playing this close to the vest?”
“No.” I leaned back, glancing at my agreement with Dante sitting on the desk. “We made a deal.”
“Got any big statements to make about the case? People are obsessed with it. I even heard there's a bar hosting a Mystery Night.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“People get together to drink and come up with theories about the case that rocked quiet little Heritage.”
Heritage isn't that small a town, but it acts like one. News travels fast—through every home and bar. Within hours, everyone knows everything. And half the time, people get together just to gossip.
“Idle hands are the devil's workshop,” she said, triggering memories of the deal I'd made with the devil himself.
“Betty, just ask what you want to know,” I said, cutting to the chase.
“Right.” She shifted into her journalist voice. “The prosecution seems to have built a strong case against Mr. Marino, yet you still chose to defend him, even though it puts you in direct conflict with your own family. Why?”
I hadn't anticipated that question. I'd expected her to ask about next steps or something like that. Not something so… personal.
“Hmm… well.” I took a deep breath. “I swore to defend and uphold the constitution. This is bigger than me, or my father.”
“Prosecutor Quinn was your classmate, right?” Betty pressed.
“As were many in this town.”
“Don't you think the fact that you two were so… close could influence the outcome of the trial?”
Betty, you're fishing for a story. That's what this is.
“I'm confident I speak for both myself and Mr. Quinn when I say that we are equally and firmly committed to doing our jobs with honor and respect. Mr. Quinn wants to bring closure to the family, and my job is to ensure my client receives a fair and respectful trial.”
Betty typed a few more keystrokes.
“Last question, Helena.” Betty paused to take a breath. “What's your opinion on this women's movement surrounding your client?”
Damn it, Betty. I was already regretting picking up. My opinion? I think it's pathetic that these girls are willing to spend hours in the cold trying to get the attention of a potential murderer—while at the same time, I understand what they see in him. That's my opinion. But I can't say it.
“Helena?”
“I believe my client very much appreciates this show of popular support.” I wasn't lying. He was probably feeling pretty smug about it. “We're done for today, Betty.”
“Perfect. I've already got enough material for three columns.” Betty sounded triumphant, which gave me chills.
I hung up and turned my attention back to the laptop screen, where I was in the middle of an email to Prosecutor Quinn.
When I'd gone to his office to discuss the supposed conflict of interest, he'd given me the runaround and left before I could speak with him.
Yesterday I'd tried to reach him and found out he wasn't coming in.
So I decided to put my attempts in writing.
“You're being offensive again,” Celie said from behind me, reading over my shoulder. My finger found the backspace key again, and I deleted everything for the eighth time.
“You know what? You handle this while I go see the Marinos.” I handed her the laptop, grabbed my purse, and headed for the mountains where the Marino family had what was practically a family compound.
The weather was mild, and the snow cover seemed to be thinning out. As I drove up the mountain, I took in the view of Heritage spread out below. I could live up here, far from the chaos, surrounded by trees, mountains, and waterfalls.
The Marino gate bore the family crest, and the same emblem appeared throughout the garden—in the landscaping, the walkways, and the benches.
At the entrance to the Italian-style house, there was greenery that I had no idea how it was surviving the cold.
Staff greeted me and led me to the family living room to wait for the matriarch. Candice Marino.
The room, despite its enormous size, had that familiar warmth typical of Italian architecture.
The rich textures, frescoes, and marble created a striking contrast that somehow still felt like home.
Generational family photos in ornate frames spoke to the pressure of upholding the Marino principles and morals.
A photo of Dante beside his sister Maressa caught my eye—it sat on the sideboard beneath the family tree.
“I hope I didn't make you wait too long.” Candice appeared through a door opposite the one I'd entered.
She was a short, slender woman with wavy hair that fell in large curls.
Her eyes were the same striking blue as Dante's.
She dressed like the typical Heritage socialite—classic, understated luxury.
“Did they offer you something to drink?”
“No, it's fine, Mrs. Marino.” I extended my hand to greet her.
“You can call me Cice,” she said with a smile. “I was pleased when you accepted my invitation.”
“The timing worked out well—I needed to go over some things with the family,” I responded politely. “And of course, to meet you.”
She studied me closely—not with uncomfortable judgment, but with the watchful eye of a caring mother.
“Let's go to the winter garden. We can have some tea and talk there.”
I followed her through the same door she'd emerged from. We walked in silence to the winter garden, which looked more like a crystal palace. Colorful flowers in warm tones filled the space, interspersed with statues and lush greenery.
A table in the center awaited us, laden with a veritable banquet. We sat down and a servant served us. Once they stepped away, she spoke.
“Do you usually drink tea?” She took a sip of the steaming liquid.
“Yes,” I lied. In winter I'd venture a cup now and then, but what really warmed me on cold nights was a good glass of whisky. An unfortunate habit I'd picked up from my father.
“Dante loves having tea with me,” she said, her voice a mix of joy and sorrow.
“He's doing well,” I said, trying to reassure her even though she hadn't asked. “Considering the situation.”
“Maressa went to see him over the weekend. She said he had a cut on his face.”
“Unfortunately, the notoriety of this case is a double-edged sword,” I explained. “I guarantee it won't happen again.”
“I hope not. It's agonizing to see my boy in that situation.”
“Of course. I understand. We'll work to ensure he receives fair treatment and that everything is resolved soon,” I responded, reaching for my notes. “By the way, do you mind if I ask some questions? I need this information before my next meeting with the prosecution.”
“That's fine.” She set her cup on the table.
“Did you know Quentin Darwin?”
She held my gaze.
“Yes. I think everyone in Heritage did.” She picked up the knife and cut a piece of cake for me. “Our families were rivals in business, but we got along well… in general.”
Her hesitation caught my attention.
“Did Dante and Quentin have any connection? Did they have a good relationship?”
“Yes.”
“Excuse me, Mrs. Marino.” I glanced at my notes. “But some witnesses reported that they had something of a personal rivalry.”
“Teenage stuff,” she said dismissively.
“Do you know the reason?”
“A bit of everything. Girls, football, the usual competition between men.”
“All right.” I realized I wasn't going to get anywhere this way. “One thing that could help me is understanding what Dante was like in his day-to-day life. Understanding who he is to other people can give me something the jury can connect with.”
She smiled.
“My Dante is a gentleman. He worries too much sometimes, and he's a bit stubborn. But he's always taking care of us. Especially Maressa.”
“What was he like in school?”
“The best,” she said proudly. “Dante is extremely intelligent and meticulous. There was nothing he couldn't do. He loved inventing electronic gadgets, and taking apart every device, remote, and appliance in the house had been his playground since he was little.”
I smiled involuntarily.
“You know what? I'll show you.” She stood up and I followed her. “Leave that there.”
She instructed, and I left my bag and notes behind, following her deeper into the residence toward the second floor. We walked down a long, imposing hallway to the door at the end.
Candice opened the door, and I realized she was taking me to Dante Marino's sanctuary.
“He hadn't lived here for a few years, but I decided to keep the room intact. Whenever he came to town, I'd make him sleep here.”
“He didn't live in Heritage?”
“Not exactly,” she replied, walking over to the fireplace where several picture frames were displayed. “Dante had an apartment in the city, but he was rarely there. He was dating a girl from Alta.”
Girlfriend? There’s no girlfriend in my files.
“Do you know her name?” I asked suddenly. “She might have some information that could help us…”
“Maressa knows more than I do. You can talk to her when we’re done,” she replied. “She’s at physical therapy right now.”
“Right.” My attention shifted to a photo of Dante at his engineering graduation. His smiling, carefree face looked nothing like the dark expression he sometimes wore.
“He’s handsome, isn’t he?” his mother said from behind me. “Girls always competed for his attention. But Dante is determined. Once he chose someone, the others didn’t stand a chance.”
The information hit me like a punch to the gut, and I struggled to breathe. Dante was full of contradictions.
“Feel free to look around,” Candice said. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to see if Maressa is done.”
She left me alone with Dante’s past.
The room was too large for a teenager. It seemed to be the biggest room in the building.
Besides the usual bedroom furniture—a bed and closets—there was also an electric piano, several different types of balls: soccer, baseball, golf, basketball.
Photos of Dante were scattered everywhere, along with books. Lots of them.
From complex novels to fantasies like Harry Potter. A sketchbook on the desk caught my attention. Technical, precise drawings. Lines so straight not even a ruler could match them. He was methodical. Even though it was a teenager’s room, absolutely everything had its place.
“Hi.” A female voice came from behind me. When I turned around, I recognized the girl from the photo in my files. “My mother said you needed me.”
Maressa entered the room with difficulty.
About a year ago, she’d suffered an accident at the equestrian center while training with her horse.
Her parents had devoted everything to getting her walking again, which she did almost ten months later.
But not completely, ending any chance of her returning to competition.
She was on crutches and wore a brace that helped her stand, along with supports to keep her legs straight.
I helped her sit down and took a seat on the edge of the bed.
“Nice to meet you, Maressa. My name is Helena Torres, and I’m the lawyer handling your brother’s case.”
“I know you,” she said, smiling at me. “I mean, not directly. But Dante told me about you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. He told me how you defended him at the police station,” she replied. “And he made me scour half the world looking for the black rose.”
“Oh…” I felt awkward. “You didn’t need to go to so much trouble.”
She laughed.
“You know my brother. He doesn’t rest until he gets what he wants.”
I knew that well.
“You’re the right person for him,” she said suddenly.
“I’m glad I can help him.”
“That too.” She caught me off guard again. “Now tell me, how can I help?”
“Your mother mentioned a girlfriend…”
“Ahh, don’t worry about Coleman.” Maressa was funny, much more so than her brother. “She’s insignificant to Dante.”
“What’s her full name? I might need to talk to her. Maybe she has some information the police don’t have yet.”
“Her name is Pietra Coleman. She’s a model in New York but was spending some time in Alta. That’s when they met.”
“Were they still together?”
“No. D broke up with her a week before, you know.” She shrugged. “Toward the end, they’d been fighting a lot. Ugly fights.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know exactly. Dante always told me he was fine. But you could tell he was upset.”
“Are you two close? You and Dante.”
The smile returned to her face.
“He’s my best friend and my biggest protector. He’d do anything for me.” She drew into herself. “And I’d do whatever I could to save him.”
“Everything will be fine.” I touched her knee.
“Do you think he’ll be released soon?” Maressa looked at me.
“I’ll do my best.”
“I know.” She put her hand over mine. “And he knows it too.”
“One last question…” I took advantage of the opening. “What was his relationship with Quentin like?”
Maressa pulled her hand back, hugging herself.
“Quentin was a damn bastard. He got what he deserved.”
I stared at her, trying to process what I was seeing. A very different reaction from Candice’s. Maressa’s words seemed to carry a grudge.
“Thank you, Maressa.” I smiled at her.
“I’ll give you my number. If you need anything, you can call me.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and typed something on the screen that made my phone vibrate a moment later. “There you go.”
She stood up with difficulty and moved toward the door. I walked with her.
“Dante was right.” She smiled at me. “You seem like a good person.”