43. ANTONIO
That explains a lot. Now I understand why Lambert would talk to the devil himself—i.e.
, me—to save his daughter, and then use this little stunt of sequestering the jury.
He thinks he still has everything under control, and he’s willing to sacrifice himself to keep it.
He thinks he'll get Carlos convicted… and he knows that Carlos will release the coroner's report the moment his conviction is announced. The police will assume Lambert killed his wife. He will tell them she fell down the stairs, and he covered it up. Nobody will question it. Nobody will look at Scarlet. This is his way of keeping his daughter safe. It is a perfect plan, but it has one flaw. He doesn’t know that Scarlet and I are married.
In his mind, I still pose a large threat to her.
Still, I can’t help but admire the old man. It takes a lot of courage to do what he's about to do. He knows he won't survive jail any longer than Carlos. All the inmates will have it out for him.
Why the hell didn't he call the police in the first place?
But even as I ask, I know the answer. Because after the hospital report, it would have dragged his family through the mud.
The cops would have scrutinized him and his daughter.
Elle falling down the stairs… it would have seemed too convenient.
With her mother dead and Lambert possibly in jail, Scarlet would have been looking at foster care, and as a judge, Lambert knew all too well what could happen to her there.
So he risked everything to stage an accident. He had the know-how. He would have gotten away with it, too, had the coroner not decided to try and make some money off Carlos. I'll make sure Vito pays a special visit to that piece of shit.
Now there are two options, neither of which I like very much. Either Lambert is going to sacrifice his career and take the blame for his wife's death, or… and I like this even less, he's going to kill Carlos. That would most certainly ensure Scarlet's safety from Carlos and the press. And me.
My question of why Carlos abducted Scarlet when he had the other leverage over Lambert will have to go on the back burner for now.
He might have thought two irons in the fire were better than one.
It makes sense; Lambert was an emotional mess when he came to me—a broken man.
And broken men can become desperate. Or maybe the coroner hadn't given Carlos the information yet. Which also makes sense.
"Call your dad," I tell Scarlet, holding out my phone, "before he does something stupid."
Her eyes are red and puffy from crying, and there is nothing right now I want to do more than to pull her into my arms and make everything right, but if we don't act quickly, her dad will be in a shitload of trouble, one I'm not even sure I could pull him out of.
She sniffs and hits the dial button. It takes three rings. Three rings with my heart in my throat because I don't want Scarlet to get hurt more than she already has. Damn Lambert.
"Scarlet?" Lambert picks up.
"It's me, Daddy." She hiccups, and he's instantly alert.
"Baby? What's wrong? Has he hurt you?"
She shakes her head, "No, no. He would never." I glare at her, but she only rolls her eyes. I guess that part of the game is over.
"Daddy, I know. I know what you did for me. I know about Mo?—"
I wait for just this moment and take the phone from her.
"Lambert, there's been an interesting development.
It seems our mutual friend has lost another important piece of leverage.
" The phones are probably not tapped, but I’d rather play it safe.
I'm sure Lambert knows what I'm talking about because his sharp intake of breath is audible.
"What? How? Damnit, DeLuna, put my daughter back on the phone."
My jaw tightens at his audacity. I don’t take orders. Not from him. Not from anyone. The prick's fucking nerve raises my blood pressure. But then Scarlet’s pleading eyes land on me, soft and uncertain, a silent request cutting through the irritation clawing at my throat.
I exhale slowly and deliberately, and my grip on the phone tightens for a beat longer than necessary—a reminder that I’m the one in control here. Then, and only then, do I extend the phone to her. But not before I make one thing clear. "Watch your tone, Judge."
"I'm so sorry, Daddy. I didn't know."
"It's alright, sweetheart, you've been through enough. You don't need this on top of everything else."
I let them talk for a few minutes; Scarlet seems to understand that I don't want her talking about the accident and her mom, and she keeps things vague. Then I motion for her to give me the phone back.
"Antonio wants to talk to you."
"Alright, put him on. Bye, sweetheart. I love you."
"I love you, too." She sniffs.
"I want those names, Lambert."
"You won't hurt Scarlet."
"Maybe, maybe not, doesn't matter. I have the report."
"I'll give them to Alain." He sounds defeated. Alain is the security guard sending me the footage. Interesting. Lambert isn't supposed to know about this, either. The old coot is wilier than I gave him credit for.
"The sooner the better." Before Lambert hangs up, I add, "And don't do anything stupid."
Lambert cuts the line.
"Are you okay, passerotta?" I turn to Scarlet, finally able to be the man she needs me to be right now. She shrugs and winces. The shrug must have pulled on her injury.
"Do you need some painkillers?"
She ignores the question and goes back to the first. "No, I'm not. Part of me tried to believe that I didn't… I didn't kill my mom… but… it was a lie. I didn't help her. I refused to take her hand."
"You didn't kill your mom. It was an accident," I assure her. "And even if you did, it sounds to me like she deserved it."
Her smirk is lackluster at best.
"She abused you for years." I hate pointing it out, but I have a feeling she needs to hear this.
A small nod is proof that my words are penetrating her mind.
She pulls in her lower lip and bites on it.
"Mostly, I think I didn't want to think it was true because…
because…" Tears fill her eyes, and she bites harder down on her lip.
"Part of me thought it was right what I did, or better, didn't do. "
I don't have any experience in feeling guilty over killing anybody.
It's the opposite for me. I feel guilty that I haven't killed Carlos yet.
I'm not sure I'm the right person for her to have this conversation with, but I also know I'm the only person she can.
Fuck. I run my hand through my hair. "Even if you pushed her, Scarlet, it would have been justified. She bruised your fucking ribs."
Mentioning that I killed people for less probably won't help, so I don't say it out loud.
"She was my mother."
"Exactly. She was your mother . She was supposed to nurture and protect you.
To love you. Her abusing you speaks volumes about the type of person she was.
" Her eyes are still clouded with tears and doubt.
I sigh and rub the back of my neck. This is so not the kind of conversation I usually engage in.
I try to call up a few instances with Gigi where she needed me emotionally.
Most of the time, I had her smiling in no time by promising to kill the person who hurt her feelings. I can't do that here, though.
I try a different angle: "Okay, let's say you and I had a daughter. " The look of alarm on her face at the mention doesn't escape me, but that is a discussion for another day. “Would you ever lay a hand on her?"
Scarlet's eyes widen, her hand moves to her stomach, and she rubs it unconsciously. Vehemently, she shakes her head. "No, never."
"So you do understand that what your mother did to you was wrong?"
She nods.
"You were a child. So you didn't act when she held out her hand.
" I shrug. If it had been me, I would have kicked the old bat; again, I keep that thought to myself.
"You were hurt, confused, and scared. This was an accident, no matter how you look at it.
Worst case scenario, from what you told me, she was about to throw you down the stairs, which makes your actions self-defense.
" I put all my emphasis into my words, needing to convince her.
She's already carrying too much shit on her small shoulders.
"It was an accident. Do you hear me? An accident. "
She sniffs; her eyes tell me that she's not quite convinced yet. "Dad is in trouble because of me."
I shake my head, still holding her eyes. "Your dad is in trouble because he didn't man up when he should have. He should have called the cops. At that point, it was an accident; even with all the other shit, they wouldn't have done anything to him. He's a fucking judge."
I take a deep breath. "He didn't want the scandal, Scarlet. This has nothing to do with you."
Her vehemence surprises me. "He's risking everything now! For me."
"Something he should have done ten years ago," I argue, and she falls silent. I can see the wheels turning in her head. I have a feeling that because she had such a fucking, shitty mother, she put her dad on some fucking pedestal.
"Scarlet, did your father ever bathe you, change your diaper, or help you get dressed?"
Her brows furrowed, ferociously, she replies, "He never touched me."
I sigh. "No, not like that. But fathers do change their daughters' clothes when they're little."
Something I know for a fact, while I was in training for whatever martial arts were on the schedule, Gigi took dance classes and shit like that. There were times when dad took her and helped her into her… whatever they call those fucking outfits… leotards? Fuck, I shouldn't even know that word.
"My point is that you can't tell me that over the course of fifteen years—Fifteen years!" I raise my hand to make a point. “That your father never saw your injuries, which were bad enough to leave scars years later."
If she doesn’t stop biting her lip, I might have to stop her. I worry she'll bite so hard it'll bleed, but she's thinking, so I won't make an issue out of it—yet.
"There were times," she reluctantly confides. “But Mom always had an explanation. She fell, she played with the neighbor's cat, she ran through bushes…" She drifts off.
Her forehead scrunches up as she goes through her memories. It's adorable as fuck, but I give her time to come to her own conclusions. It doesn’t take long.
"You think my dad knew?"
I shake my head. "He has to have known something, but I honestly think he didn't want to see it."
Civilians are funny that way. They would rather close their eyes to the truth than confront it; very different from men like me, who are raised to always keep vigilant and never allow a potential problem to grow its own legs.
"Passerotta, the main thing here is you don't need to feel responsible for any of this. You were a child. Caught up in an impossible situation."
"So what am I supposed to do, just accept the fact that I may or may not have killed my own mother and move on?"
If she were anybody else, I would tell her exactly that, and my expression must have reflected it.
So I hasten to say, "Nothing good will come out of you obsessing over this; it'll only drive you mad or make you feel so guilty you won't know what to do.
Accept what happened for what it is. Something that happened to a very young girl who was hurt and abused.
If you keep dwelling on it, you might start hating yourself or your father, which won't make it any better. "
"Accept and move on?" She asks.
I nod.
"That is strange advice coming from you." Ah, my little aquila is showing her talons again.
"It may seem like that to you, but it's different.
" She arches a brow, needing further explanation.
"My father's killer is still very much alive and with us, something I can change.
Your adversary, your mother, is dead. If you want to call your father out on his part, I'm here and I will support you. "
"No, I don't want my dad…" she drifts off, understanding my point. "You're right." She nods. "Nothing good will come out of me accusing myself. But I'm not sure I can just stop it."
"That, passerotta, is what I'm here for," I fold her into my arms, and she snuggles into my side, where she, as always, fits fucking perfectly.