Chapter 7 Emilio #2
"The financial records," I started. "In the discovery materials Sterling sent over, I reviewed the quarterly reports for Inferno and your associated businesses."
"And?" Sandro had returned to his position against the desk. Professional distance restored, though we both knew it was performance.
"There are discrepancies. Small ones, but systematic." I pulled out the copies I'd made. "Over the past three months, approximately fifty thousand dollars has moved through shell accounts that aren't listed in your primary business structure."
Something shifted in his expression. Not surprise—something else. Interest, maybe. Calculation.
"How did you notice that?" he asked.
"I'm good with numbers. And I'm thorough." I showed him the highlighted sections. "The amounts are small enough that they wouldn't trigger automatic audits. But the pattern is clear once you're looking for it. Someone's skimming."
Sandro took the documents, but I noticed he wasn't studying them the way someone would if they were seeing this information for the first time. He was studying me instead.
"You already knew," I said slowly. "You knew about the embezzlement before I found it."
"I did." He set the documents aside, a small smile playing at his lips. "My partners and I have been conducting a quiet investigation."
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I wanted to see if you'd find it on your own.
If you were as thorough as I suspected." He leaned forward.
"Most lawyers wouldn't have caught this, Emilio.
Wouldn't have looked beyond the case file to the broader financial picture.
The fact that you did—unprompted—tells me everything I need to know about how your mind works. "
I felt heat creep up my neck. "This was a test."
"Everything is a test when you're building trust." No apology in his voice. "And you passed brilliantly. You found exactly what I'd found, drew the same conclusions, and brought it to me instead of ignoring it. That's valuable."
"Do you know who's doing it?"
"We have suspicions. Our accountant, Vincent Paglia, is the most likely candidate.
But we're gathering evidence before we move.
" He pulled out his phone and made a note.
"The question you raised is the right one, though.
Is this connected to the assault charge?
Is someone creating chaos deliberately?"
"You think the Costellos have someone inside your organization," I said. "Creating problems to weaken you before they make a move on your territory."
"It's possible. The timing is certainly suspicious.
" He looked at me with something that might have been respect.
"To build the defense you're suggesting—proving this is part of a coordinated harassment pattern—I'll need to show you all of our financial records.
The real ones. Not the sanitized versions we provide to the courts. "
"I need to see everything if I'm going to build an adequate defense."
"Everything includes evidence of activities you might not want to be aware of. Things that would make you complicit if you testified about them." He looked at me steadily. "Are you sure you want that burden?"
I thought about what he was asking. Access to records that would prove illegal activity. Knowledge that could destroy me professionally if it came out. The kind of information that made attorneys accessories after the fact.
"I'm sure," I said. "I need the complete picture to defend you properly."
"Then come to my estate tonight. Bring your laptop. This will take several hours." He smiled slightly. "And Emilio? Once you see those records, once you know what I really do—there's no walking away. You'll be in too deep."
"I'm already in too deep."
"Not yet. But you will be." He stood and crossed to the windows, looking down at the empty club below. "Your car made concerning noises when you arrived. I could hear it in the parking lot."
I blinked at the subject change. "It's been doing that for a while. I need to get it looked at."
"You need to get a different car. That one's a death trap." He pulled out his phone again. "I'm having it towed to a reputable mechanic. They'll fix it properly and send me the bill."
"You can't just—"
"I can and I am. You're no use to me dead in a car accident because you couldn't afford basic maintenance." He looked at me. "Consider it a business expense. I need my attorney functional."
"Sandro—"
"Not negotiable. Thomas will drive you home after our meeting. Tonight he'll pick you up at seven and bring you to the estate." He returned to the desk and pulled out a business card. Wrote an address on the back. "Don't be late."
I took the card. Stared at the address in Westchester. "This is very controlling."
"Yes." No apology. No justification. Just acknowledgment. "Do you want to leave?"
I should. Should walk out right now and call Richard and withdraw from the case and salvage what was left of my professional integrity.
"No," I said. "I don't want to leave."
"Good." He kissed me again. Softer this time, but no less claiming. "Tonight, Emilio. We finish what we started Saturday."
"What if I change my mind?"
"Then you tell me no and I take you home. I'm many things, but I don't force people into my bed." He traced my lower lip with his thumb. "But you won't change your mind. You want this as much as I do."
He was right. I hated that he was right. But I couldn't deny it anymore.
We spent the next hour discussing actual trial strategy. Witness preparation. Jury selection criteria. The arguments we'd make in opening statements. It was almost normal, except for the way his gaze kept dropping to my mouth. The way my attention kept drifting to his hands.
At 4 PM he stood. "Thomas is waiting downstairs. He'll take you home. Tonight, seven PM. Don't forget your laptop."
"I won't." I gathered my things, hyperaware of his presence behind me as I moved toward the door.
"Emilio."
I turned back.
"Wear something comfortable. We're going to be working late."
The words were innocent. The look in his eyes was anything but.
I left before I could do something stupid like cancel my evening plans and demand he take me to bed right now. Made it to the elevator before my knees went weak.
Thomas was indeed waiting in the parking lot. Black car, tinted windows, the kind of vehicle that screamed money and discretion. My beaten Honda was conspicuously absent.
"Mr. Vitale had your vehicle taken to Premier Auto," Thomas said as I slid into the back seat. "They'll have it ready in a few days. Good as new."
"Of course he did." I leaned back against the leather seats and closed my eyes. "Does he always make decisions for people without asking?"
"Mr. Vitale is a man of action, sir. He sees problems and solves them." Thomas pulled smoothly into traffic. "Where can I take you?"
I gave him my address and spent the drive home thinking about tonight. About what I was agreeing to by showing up at Sandro's estate. About how completely I was compromising myself and how little I seemed to care.
At home, I showered and changed into casual clothes like Sandro had suggested. Jeans and a button-down. Packed my laptop and the case files I'd need. Tried not to think about the fact that I was packing an overnight bag for a man I barely knew but couldn't stop wanting.
At 6:45 PM I was ready and pacing my apartment. At 6:55, my phone buzzed.
Thomas is downstairs. Don't keep me waiting.
I grabbed my bag and laptop and headed down to where the black car was idling at the curb. Thomas opened the door without a word. I got in.
The drive to Westchester took forty-five minutes through early evening traffic.
I spent it reviewing financial documents and trying not to think about what came after the work was done.
Trying not to imagine Sandro's hands on me.
His mouth. His body pressing me into expensive sheets while the estate sprawled around us in darkness.
Failing completely.
We pulled up to gates that opened automatically. Beyond them, a long driveway wound through manicured grounds to a house that was more mansion than home. Modern architecture. Glass and stone. Flood lights illuminating gardens that probably required a full-time staff.
This was where Sandro Vitale lived. Where he'd invited me to spend the evening reviewing financial records and then—
Then whatever happened next.
Thomas opened my door. "Mr. Vitale is expecting you in his study. Through the main entrance, first door on the right."
I walked up to the massive front door on legs that felt unsteady. It opened before I could knock.
Sandro stood in the doorway, still in his work clothes but with his shirt untucked and his tie removed. He looked relaxed. Dangerous. Exactly like a man who'd gotten everything he wanted and was prepared to take more.
"Emilio. Welcome to my home." He stepped back to let me in. "Come in. We have work to do."
I stepped across the threshold knowing I was making a choice that would change everything.
Knowing I couldn't turn back now even if I wanted to.
Knowing I didn't want to.
The door closed behind me with a soft, final click.
And I was exactly where I'd been heading since the moment I'd first seen Alessandro Vitale's photograph in that case file.
In too deep to save myself.
And not caring nearly enough to try.