Ricardo #3
“Julia is employed by my company,” he says. “She is not in my custody.”
The words are quiet.
No one outside our circle could possibly understand why Suzanne’s face freezes for half a second.
Patrick sets his glass down as well. “I gave the wrong impression.”
“Perhaps,” Mario says.
There is my brother.
No raised voice. No threat. No scene.
Just a closed door where a moment ago there had been an opportunity.
Whatever business we might have had with Judge Patrick O'Brien is no more. And I, for one, am glad of it.
Patrick studies him for another second, and whatever calculation follows must tell him to retreat. His smile returns, smaller and more careful. “I am glad to hear she is doing well. Truly.”
Mario accepts that with a nod.
Victoria’s expression softens just enough to make the next words impossible to accuse. “I think she would appreciate hearing that from you.”
Suzanne blinks.
Patrick says nothing for one beat too long.
I wonder if he has any idea what his daughter wants to hear from him.
Not approval for where she has landed. Not commentary on the job. Not assessment of her choices like evidence admitted before the bench.
Something simple, perhaps.
You look happier.
I am sorry.
I trust you.
I am proud of you.
Small sentences.
Impossible for some people.
Before the silence stretches, a man from the museum board approaches, smiling too broadly. “Judge O’Brien. Mr. Conti. I’m sorry to interrupt, but the mayor is asking for you near the west gallery.”
A rescue, then.
For them or for us, I am not sure.
Patrick turns with practiced ease. “Of course.”
Suzanne smiles at Victoria. “Lovely to see you.”
“You too,” Victoria says.
Patrick offers his hand to Mario again. “Mario.”
“Patrick.”
Then to me. “Ricardo.”
“Judge.”
His grip is firm. Mine is also firm.
There is no contest in it.
There does not need to be.
The O’Briens move away toward the west gallery, absorbed almost immediately by another cluster of well-dressed people who want proximity to power and plausible deniability.
For a few seconds, none of us speaks.
Then Victoria says, softly, “Well.”
Mario exhales through his nose.
“You have been working on restraint,” I tell him.
“Do not start,” he says tightly.
Victoria glances between us. “He was very restrained.”
“He was,” I agree. “By family standards, almost saintly.”
Mario’s gaze remains on the place where Patrick disappeared. “I dislike that man. Intensely.”
“Yes,” I say. “That became clear.”
He looks almost offended. “I was diplomatic.”
“You were diplomatic nearly the whole time,” I agree.
He narrows his eyes at me, then notices Victoria pressing her lips together.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You are laughing.”
“I am absolutely not laughing.”
“For a lawyer, you are a horrible liar.”
She lets a laugh loose.
“Neither of you was very diplomatic, either,” he says. “Which is odd coming from you, Ricardo.”
He turns his gaze on me.
How can I explain to him just what seeing Julia sitting on the floor and talking about her parents in that small voice made me feel?
How can I explain to him that hearing the good judge and his perfect wife criticize Julia made me want to smash their heads in?
I keep it simple. “Let’s just say I've gotten a little bit of an inside look into the lives of the O'Briens, and diplomatic is not something I think I can manage where they're concerned.”
Mario studies me for a moment, but he does not press. Whatever he sees in my face must be enough. “I see.”
Victoria looks toward the west gallery, her expression cooling again. “They speak about her as if she has to be managed,” she says in disgust.
I take a slow breath and let it out through my nose.
Then my attention drifts back across the ballroom to Patrick O’Brien.
He stands near the mayor now, laughing at something. Suzanne is beside him, one hand resting lightly on his arm. A beautiful couple. Well-matched. The kind of people who understand their places in rooms like this.
They do not look cruel.
Cruelty in families is rarely as dramatic as strangers imagine it to be. Often, it is polished. Reasonable. Concerned. Masked as something other. It wears good jewelry and hosts a lovely dinner party.
It conceals control with words like guidance and experience.
Mario is silent beside me, his gaze still on Patrick O’Brien.
Victoria takes one measured sip from her glass. “I suddenly understand Julia a little better.”
“So do I,” Mario says.
I hear what he doesn’t say as well.
Mario hired Julia because she was qualified, yes. Because she was recommended by Dante, yes. Because her father might one day be useful, also yes. My brother is sentimental in ways he denies, but he is never careless in business.
Tonight, the equation changes.
Patrick O’Brien is still useful.
He is also a man to be handled with more caution than before.
I will deal with him if I must.
I will use him if it serves the family.
And that is all.
For tonight, I let the subject go because Patrick O’Brien has already taken more of my attention than he deserves, and because the night still has obligations left in it.