Chapter 12 Sandro #2
I ended the call and found Emilio watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"You're going to kill them," he said. Not a question.
"I'm going to handle them." Careful phrasing. Plausible deniability. "What happens after that depends on how cooperative they are. But yes, Emilio. If they don't give me very good reasons not to, I'm going to make sure they never threaten anyone I care about ever again."
"That's murder."
"That's justice in my world." I stood and pulled him to his feet. "You knew what I was when you agreed to defend me. You knew what I'm capable of. This shouldn't surprise you."
"It doesn't surprise me. It should horrify me." He looked at our joined hands. "But it doesn't. That's what scares me. That I'm standing here listening to you plan someone's murder and all I can think is 'thank you for keeping me safe.'"
"Then you're learning." I kissed his forehead. "Welcome to my world, Emilio. Try not to let the moral compromises destroy you."
He laughed. Bitter and sharp. "Too late for that."
Maybe. But he was still here. Still standing with me despite knowing exactly what that meant. Still choosing this path even as it led him further from everything he'd built his identity around.
My phone buzzed. Text from Luca: Heard about the situation. Need anything?
I typed back: All handled. Keep your eyes open. Costellos are getting desperate.
His response came immediately: Always am. Let me know if you need extra security.
The four of us—Sandro, Matteo, Elio, Luca—we'd built this empire together. Survived impossible odds. Trusted each other with our lives and our secrets. When one of us had a problem, it became all of our problem.
And Emilio was my problem now. Which meant he was under all of our protection.
"Come on," I said. "You need to eat. Then we're going over every detail of the assault case. If the Costellos want to play games, we'll destroy them in court instead of just threatening them in alleys."
"You're still planning to handle them personally."
"Of course I am. But the legal victory will hurt them more than anything I do in private." I pulled him toward the kitchen. "They wanted to scare you off because they know you're going to eviscerate their case. So let's make sure you're prepared to do exactly that."
We spent the next three hours going over witness depositions, timeline inconsistencies, evidence that didn't match testimony. Emilio was brilliant when he focused. Found connections I'd missed. Pointed out weaknesses in the prosecution's narrative that we could exploit.
By the time we finished, he'd filled six pages with notes and built a strategy that would make any prosecutor nervous.
"This is good," I said, reviewing his work. "This is exactly what we need."
"This is circumstantial at best. We're still missing the key piece—proof that the Costello family planted those witnesses." He tapped his pen against the legal pad. "Without that, we're just arguing that their story doesn't make sense. That's not the same as proving they're lying."
"Leave that to me. I'll get you proof." I already had ideas about how to accomplish that. Ideas that involved Vincent and some very persuasive conversations with people who owed me favors.
"Legally obtained proof? That I can actually use in court?"
"Legal enough." I smiled. "You're learning to ask the right questions. Most people never get that far."
"Most people aren't sleeping with their clients and compromising every ethical standard they ever had." But he smiled slightly. "What happens now? Do I just hide up here until trial?"
"For today, yes. Tomorrow we'll assess the threat level and make decisions about your security going forward." I stood and stretched. "Right now I need to meet with my investigator. You should rest. You didn't sleep much last night."
"Neither did you."
"I'm used to running on minimal sleep. You're not." I pulled him up from the couch and into my arms. "Stay here. Lock the door behind me. Marcus has men stationed in the hallway. You're completely safe."
"What about you? If the Costellos are escalating—"
"I've survived worse than the Costellos. I'll be fine." I kissed him. Slow and thorough. A promise and a claim. "Besides, I've got something worth coming back to now. That's more protection than bulletproof glass."
He held onto my shirt. "Don't do anything stupid."
"I never do anything stupid. Risky, yes. Calculated, always. But never stupid." I pulled away before I could get distracted by how good he felt in my arms. "I'll be back in a few hours. Call me if you need anything."
"Sandro?" He caught my hand as I turned to leave. "Thank you. For this. For protecting me even though it's complicating your life."
"You're not a complication. You're a priority." I squeezed his hand. "Get used to it."
I left him standing in my apartment looking simultaneously grateful and terrified. Good. He should be terrified. He'd just crossed a line he couldn't uncross. Accepted my protection. Accepted what that meant.
Accepted me.
By the time I reached the warehouse where Vincent was waiting with Angelo Moretti, I'd made seventeen calls and sent thirty-two texts. Mobilized resources. Gathered information. Built a strategy that would ensure this never happened again.
The warehouse was in Red Hook. Industrial. Abandoned. Perfect for conversations that needed to stay private.
Vincent met me at the entrance. "He's inside. Hasn't said anything useful yet but he's scared. Once he sees you, he'll talk."
"How confident are you that he's working alone?"
"Zero percent. This feels coordinated. Someone higher up gave orders. Angelo's just the delivery boy." Vincent handed me a file. "Background check. He's got a girlfriend. A mother in assisted living. A gambling problem. All the usual pressure points."
I reviewed the information quickly. Angelo Moretti. Twenty-eight years old. Barely making ends meet doing enforcement work for the Costellos. Desperate enough to take stupid jobs. Stupid enough to threaten my attorney.
"Let's have a conversation," I said.
Inside, Angelo was zip-tied to a chair. Young. Scared. Trying to look tough and failing completely.
"Mr. Vitale," he started when I walked in. "Look, I was just doing what I was told. It wasn't personal. I didn't even know who the guy was until—"
"Stop talking." I pulled up a chair and sat across from him.
Close enough to be intimidating but not close enough to seem aggressive.
"I'm going to ask you questions. You're going to answer them honestly.
If you lie to me, Vincent here will know.
And then things will become very unpleasant for you. Understand?"
He nodded frantically.
"Good. Who ordered you to deliver the threat letter to Emilio Rossi's apartment?"
"I—I can't say. They'll kill me."
"I'll kill you if you don't. So you've got a choice about which death you prefer." I kept my voice conversational. Like we were discussing dinner plans instead of his mortality. "Quick and clean if you cooperate. Slow and painful if you don't. Your call."
He broke. Of course he did. They always did when you presented the options clearly enough.
"Costello. The nephew. The one who got his arm broken at your club." Angelo was talking fast now, words tumbling over each other. "He's the one who ordered it. Said to scare the lawyer off. Make him drop the case. He gave me the address, told me what to write, paid me five grand to deliver it."
"And the package at Sterling & Associates?"
"That was me too. He said it didn't have to be real, just had to look real enough to get the bomb squad called. Create chaos. Make the lawyer think twice about going to trial." He was sweating now. "I swear that's all I know. He handled the planning. I just did what he told me."
I looked at Vincent. "Verify this."
Vincent stepped forward and spent five minutes asking follow-up questions. Cross-referencing details. By the time he finished, we had a complete picture. Costello orchestrating threats. Using low-level enforcers. Trying to intimidate Emilio into withdrawing.
"He's telling the truth," Vincent confirmed. "Matches what we suspected."
I stood and looked down at Angelo. "You're going to deliver a message for me. Tell Costello that threatening my attorney was the last mistake he'll ever make. Tell him I'm coming for him. Tell him he better hope the legal system protects him because nothing else will."
"You're letting me go?" Angelo sounded shocked.
"I'm giving you one chance to walk away from this.
Take it. Disappear. Leave the city. If I ever see you again, if you ever work for the Costellos again, if you ever even think about Emilio Rossi again, I will bury you so deep no one will ever find the body.
" I nodded to Vincent. "Cut him loose. Make sure he understands the terms."
Vincent pulled out a knife and cut the zip ties. Angelo stumbled to his feet, rubbing his wrists.
"One more thing," I said as he headed for the door. "If he asks who grabbed you, tell him the truth. Tell him it was me. Tell him I said we can handle this in court or we can handle it other ways. His choice."
Angelo ran. Actually ran out of the warehouse like the building was on fire.
Vincent watched him go. "You think he'll deliver the message?"
"Doesn't matter. Costello will get it either way." I pulled out my phone and called Matteo. "Need your help with something. The Costello nephew's getting too bold. Time to remind him why that's a bad idea."
"Finally." Matteo sounded pleased. "What do you need?"
"Nothing that leaves marks. Nothing that creates evidence. Just a reminder that there are consequences for threatening people under our protection." I paused. "Make it memorable."
"Always do."
I hung up and turned to Vincent. "What else do we have on the Costello family?"
"Financial records showing they're overextended. Real estate holdings that are underwater. Legitimate businesses that are barely breaking even." Vincent handed me another file. "They're vulnerable. One good push and their whole operation collapses."
"Then let's push." I reviewed the documents. "I want every pressure point exploited. Every debt called in. Every supplier turned against them. By the time we're done, the Costello family will be begging us to accept a plea deal just to make it stop."
This was what I did. This was what I was good at. Taking threats and turning them into opportunities. Taking enemies and crushing them so thoroughly they never posed a risk again.
And now I had an additional motivation. Emilio. Safe in my apartment. Under my protection. Mine in ways that went beyond professional or physical.
I'd told him I protect what's mine. Time to prove exactly what that meant.
My phone buzzed. Text from Emilio: Are you okay?
I smiled and typed back: Fine. Handled the situation. Be home soon.
Home? he replied.
That's what I said. Get used to it.
No response to that. But I could imagine his expression. That mix of exasperation and reluctant acceptance that meant I was winning.
I was always winning.
And now I had everything I wanted. The case. The attorney. The man. All of it wrapped up in one brilliant, ethical, compromised package named Emilio Rossi.
Three days. That's all it had taken to make him mine completely.
The Costellos thought they could scare him off. Thought they could break what I was building.
They had no idea who they were dealing with.
But they were about to learn.