Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty Two
Elena
The room Luca gave me is the simplest in the house, at my request. White walls, a narrow table brought in for me, one chair.
Nothing to give away where I am. I put my laptop down on the small table, plug it in, and check the connection twice.
I planned to tell Miles about last night—about the parking garage and how close it was—before anything else.
The calendar alert pops. I click Join.
His face fills the screen. Shirt sleeves. Neutral background. No small talk.
“Elena,” he says. “Thanks for making the time.”
“Of course.” I sit up straighter. “There’s something I need to—”
“I’ll be direct,” he cuts in. “You’re terminated, effective immediately.”
I don’t understand the words initially. “I—what?”
He doesn’t blink. “We received another anonymous tip late last night. It claims you’ve been compromised by the Conti family and that you’re carrying Luca Conti’s child.” He holds my eyes through the camera. “Is that true?”
Air stalls in my lungs. I open my mouth and nothing comes out.
He takes the silence as an answer. “Then I have no choice. Your employment with the U.S. Attorney’s Office is terminated.
I will be reporting you to the Office of Professional Responsibility and the bar’s disciplinary board for misconduct.
” His tone stays even, almost flat. “This is not personal. It’s about the integrity of the office. ”
I grip the edge of the table to keep my hands from shaking. “Miles—”
He keeps going. “Do you have any case files outside of your office? Physical or digital. Notes, draft briefs, discovery, anything.”
“No,” I say. “Everything is on the system or in my office.”
It’s true. Not wanting to deal with work after our meeting yesterday, I left everything at the office before heading out.
“Good.” He nods once. “Security will box your personal items. Provide a mailing address, and we’ll have them shipped.
Your building access has been revoked. IT will be barring you access to this laptop as soon as this meeting is over.
You will send it back as soon as possible.
HR will send separation paperwork by end of day. ”
I swallow. “You didn’t even ask for my side.”
His jaw ticks. “Your side should have been disclosed the second there was a conflict.” He pauses and just looks for a moment. “I could’ve helped you, Elena. If you had just told me.” He pulls in a sharp breath. For a second, he looks sorry.
Then it disappears, and he’s the hard ass federal prosecutor again. “If you retain counsel, direct communications through them. Do not access any office systems. Do not contact witnesses or agents. That’s all. I wish you luck.”
The screen blinks as he ends the call.
The platform returns to my own reflection and the black square where his video was. I don’t move. The cursor wakes and goes still again. My laptop fan hums.
A moment later, I’m logged out and staring at a blinking cursor that won’t accept my password anymore.
I sit there anyway, hands in my lap, facing nothing.
It’s gone. The cases, the courtroom, the late nights, the wins and losses, the belief that all of it added up to something solid. Even if I’m not disbarred, the whisper will follow me wherever I go. Compromised. Disgraced. The one who crossed the line.
I try to list next steps—call a lawyer, call the board, write down what happened last night, save the garage footage—but my mind won’t organize. It’s just empty. I press my thumb into my own skin until it leaves a mark.
I told myself I could hold both things at once: my work and this new life. I was wrong. The board will read an anonymous tip and write the rest of my story for me.
I don’t cry. I don’t move. I just sit and feel the life I built come apart in my hands.
There’s a soft knock, and then his voice through the door. “Elena.”
I blink like I’m waking. The screen has been blank for… I don’t know how long. My hands are in my lap; fingers pressed into the grooves of my knuckles.
I don’t answer.
The latch clicks. He steps in and stops a few feet from the table like he’s approaching a ledge. White walls, one chair, me. His eyes take in the closed laptop, the way I’m sitting.
“How did it go?” he asks quietly. “Did you report it?”
“I didn’t have a chance to,” I whisper. “I was fired. Effective immediately.”
He doesn’t move for a breath. Then he comes to the table, closes his hand over the lid, and closes it before easing the laptop aside so he can see my face.
“Tell me,” he says.
“Anonymous tip,” I manage. “Said I’ve been compromised and that I’m carrying your child.” I laugh once without humor. “He asked if it was true. I couldn’t answer. He took it as a yes. He’s reporting me to OPR and the Bar. The Office of Professional Responsibility.”
His hand tightens on the edge of the table and releases. “Elena. I’m sorry.”
“That’s it,” I say, numb. “Everything is over. Everything I’ve ever worked for. Gone.”
He looks like he wants to break something and is forcing every muscle not to. “They don’t understand.”
“I didn’t even get to tell him about the garage,” I continue in the same tone. “That was the plan. I didn’t even get that far.”
“Look at me,” he says.
I raise my eyes. His are dark and steady on mine.
“You’re here,” he says. “You’re safe. We handle what’s in front of us.”
“What’s in front of us is that everything I built is gone,” I say, and it comes out flat. “Even if they don’t disbar me, I’m done. No one hires the woman who slept with the defendant. Had his baby. They don’t care about nuance.”
“I care,” he says.
“You’re not in the market for a prosecutor, Luca,” I say, finally breaking the monotone voice. Now I’m getting angry. “You can’t fix this with a phone call or a security detail. My name is shit.”
He takes it. Doesn’t flinch, doesn’t argue. “I’m not trying to hire you,” he says quietly. “I’m telling you you’re not finished.”
I laugh, sharp and ugly. “Says the man who lives in a world where the worse the reputation, the better!”
He doesn’t rise to it. “I don’t take pride in what happened to you, Elena,” he says. “I want you whole.”
“I don’t feel whole,” I shoot back. “I feel fired and contaminated and—” I stop, press my thumb into the edge of the table. “I feel stupid.”
“You’re not stupid.” He comes closer, slow, palms open. “You were targeted.”
“And I gave them the match,” I say. “I went to your house. I let myself—” My voice frays. “I knew better.”
“You’re human,” he says.
“I slept with a defendant. I’m having his baby, for God’s sake. They were right to fire me.”
“We’ll fix this,” he assures me.
I stare at him. “You can’t clean this with muscle and brute force.”
“I’m not going to,” he says. “You get a lawyer and prepare a defense for the board. Maybe you won’t be a prosecutor anymore, but you can still be a lawyer. Then we figure out who gave your name up, and who tried to run you down.”
The fight drains out of me in a slow exhale. “Okay.” Something in my chest loosens and hurts at the same time. I tip forward until my elbows find my knees and press my fingertips to my hairline. “Okay.”
He drops to a knee beside the chair so we’re level. “What do you need right now?”
“A lawyer who understands OPR and the Bar.”
“No,” he says and gently takes my hands in his so I can look at him. “Right now. What do you need right now?”
“I need ten minutes without a decision to make,” I say. I’m surprised at how honest that is. “Just ten minutes to think about nothing.”
“Good,” he says. “But let’s do one better. How about an hour?”
“I don’t think anything could keep my mind off this for an hour,” I say.
“I’ll bet I can think of something,” Luca says, then presses his lips to mine.
I pull away and look at him with a small tilt to my lips. “Is everything about sex with you?” I whisper.
“Most things, yes,” he responds, then yanks me out of the chair and over his shoulder.
I let out a shriek. “What are you doing?”
He stands. “One hour starts now. Not a minute to waste, Panini.”
He smacks my ass and starts for the door.