Chapter 13 Emilio
THE APARTMENT FELT too big after Sandro left. Too quiet. Too much space for thoughts I didn't want to have.
I stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows watching the city move below. People going about their normal lives. Jobs that didn't involve bomb threats or mob bosses or moral compromises that accumulated like debt I'd never be able to repay.
My phone sat on the counter where I'd left it.
Seventeen missed calls from my mother. She'd probably seen the news about the bomb scare at Sterling & Associates.
The office had been evacuated. Reporters had shown up.
It was exactly the kind of publicity Richard hated and exactly the kind of attention that put targets on backs.
I should call her. Reassure her I was safe. Tell her some sanitized version of events that wouldn't send her into a panic.
Instead I opened my laptop and pulled up the case files. Work was safer than thinking. Strategy was easier than processing the fact that I'd just listened to my lover—my client, my mob boss lover—calmly discuss murdering someone and felt nothing but gratitude.
The assault case was straightforward on paper.
Matteo DeLuca broke a man's arm. Three original witnesses recanted their statements after being paid off.
Three new witnesses appeared with stories that contradicted physical evidence and each other.
The prosecution's case relied on those lying witnesses because without them, they had nothing.
I could destroy them in court. I knew it. Sandro knew it. The Costellos knew it, which was why they'd escalated to threats.
But something nagged at me. The assault case felt almost too simple. Like it was a distraction from something bigger. I'd been so focused on the immediate trial prep that I hadn't looked at the broader picture.
I pulled up federal court databases and started searching.
Public records only showed so much, but patterns emerged if you knew how to look.
Grand jury subpoenas. Witness immunity deals.
The kind of paper trail that suggested federal investigators were building something larger than a simple assault prosecution.
My phone rang. Unknown number. I almost didn't answer, but curiosity won.
"Emilio Rossi," I said cautiously.
"It's Roberto Green." The prosecutor's voice was clipped. Professional. "We need to talk. Off the record."
"I don't have off-the-record conversations with opposing counsel."
"You do when I'm trying to save your career." He paused. "This case is bigger than you realize. There are things happening that you're not seeing because Vitale's keeping you in the dark."
I walked away from the windows. Paced toward the kitchen like distance from the view would somehow give me clarity. "What things?"
"Federal investigation. RICO charges. Grand jury testimony from multiple witnesses connecting Inferno to organized crime, money laundering, extortion." His voice dropped. "You're defending someone who's about to be indicted on charges that make this assault case look like jaywalking."
"If you have evidence of RICO violations, charge him. Otherwise this sounds like prosecutorial fishing."
"This is me giving you a professional courtesy.
A warning. Get out now before you're so deep you can't extract yourself.
" Papers rustled on his end. "Your name's already in the file, Emilio.
The FBI knows you're representing Vitale.
They know about your meetings at his estate.
They know he's been paying off your debts. "
My blood went cold. "What?"
"Credit card paid off two weeks ago. Speeding ticket from last year mysteriously resolved.
Student loan payment that came from a shell corporation traced back to Vitale interests.
" Roberto's tone was almost sympathetic.
"They're building a case that he's compromised you.
Bought your loyalty. When the RICO charges come down, they'll use you as evidence of his pattern of corrupting officials. "
"I'm not an official. I'm his attorney."
"You're an officer of the court. And you accepted financial benefits from a client under federal investigation.
That's textbook corruption in their eyes.
" He sighed. "I'm not telling you this to threaten you.
I'm telling you because you're a good attorney who made a bad choice.
You can still walk away. Withdraw from the case.
Return whatever money he gave you. Cooperate with the investigation. "
"Cooperate how?"
"Testify about your interactions with Vitale. His business practices. What you've seen. What you suspect." Another pause. "They'll give you immunity. Clean slate. You walk away from this without charges."
I leaned against the counter. Processed what he was offering. A way out. Protection from federal prosecution. My career intact instead of destroyed.
All I had to do was betray Sandro.
"No," I said.
"Think about it before you—"
"No." Firmer this time. "I'm not testifying against my client. I'm not cooperating with an investigation built on circumstantial evidence and witness testimony you bought with immunity deals. And I'm sure as hell not letting you use me to build a case because you can't do it legitimately."
"Emilio—"
"We're done here. If you want to charge me with something, do it. Otherwise stop calling me with offers I'm never going to accept." I ended the call before he could respond.
My hands were shaking. I set the phone down carefully and stared at it like it might explode.
The FBI knew about the debt payments. Which meant they'd been watching Sandro long before I took his case. Which meant every interaction we'd had was probably documented somewhere. Which meant I was already in far deeper than I'd realized.
I should be terrified. Should be calling Richard and withdrawing immediately. Should be taking Roberto's offer and saving myself.
Instead I opened my case files and kept working.
Because fuck Roberto Green and his warnings. Fuck the FBI and their fishing expedition. Fuck everyone who thought I was just some naive attorney who'd accidentally stumbled into dangerous territory.
I knew exactly what I was doing. I'd known from the first moment I took Sandro's case. I'd made my choice consciously, deliberately, with full awareness of the consequences.
And I was choosing to stay.
Three hours later I'd outlined our entire trial strategy. Twenty-seven pages of arguments, witness cross-examination plans, evidence challenges, and reasonable doubt construction. It was thorough. Aggressive. Exactly the kind of defense that would make a prosecutor nervous.
I was reviewing my notes when I heard the elevator. The private one that opened directly into the apartment. Only Sandro and his security had access.
He walked in looking exactly as he had when he left—composed, controlled, not a hair out of place. But there was something in his eyes. Something dark and satisfied that told me he'd done exactly what he said he would.
"How'd it go?" I asked, even though I wasn't sure I wanted details.
"Handled." He set his keys on the counter. Shrugged out of his jacket. "Angelo Moretti won't be delivering any more threats. And Costello received a very clear message about what happens when you target people under my protection."
"Did you kill him? Angelo, I mean."
"No. I let him go." Sandro poured himself a drink from the bar. "Gave him a choice—leave the city and never come back, or stay and face consequences. He chose wisely."
"That's uncharacteristically merciful."
"Mercy has its place. Angelo was just following orders. Killing him wouldn't accomplish anything except making the Costellos more desperate." He sipped his whiskey. "Costello, on the other hand, is going to spend the next few weeks very uncomfortable. Matteo's handling that personally."
I didn't ask what "handling that personally" meant. Didn't want confirmation of what I already suspected.
"Roberto Green called," I said instead. "Warned me about RICO charges. Said the FBI's building a case. Said I should withdraw and cooperate before I'm buried with you."
Sandro's expression didn't change. "What did you tell him?"
"No."
"Just no? Nothing else?"
"What else was there to say? He wanted me to testify against you. I told him to go fuck himself." I stood and walked to where he was standing. "He also said the FBI knows you've been paying my debts. That they're planning to use me as evidence of your pattern of corrupting officials."
"They've known about the payments since I made them. I'm not subtle when I don't need to be." He set down his drink and cupped my face. "Are you worried?"
"I should be. I'm probably going to be called before a grand jury. My career might be over. I could face charges for accepting financial benefits from a client under investigation." I met his eyes. "But no. I'm not worried. I'm choosing this. Choosing you. Consequences and all."
He kissed me. Hard and claiming and tasting like expensive whiskey and dangerous decisions.
When he pulled back, we were both breathing hard.
"You understand what you're saying?" His voice was rough. "You're choosing me over your career. Over your safety. Over everything you've built."
"I understand perfectly." I gripped his shirt.
"I'm choosing the man who came to get me at 2 AM when someone threatened me.
Who mobilized half his organization to keep me safe.
Who's treating me like I matter instead of like I'm disposable.
" I pulled him closer. "I'm choosing the man who sees me. All of me. And wants me anyway."
"Emilio—" Whatever he was going to say got lost when I kissed him again.
We made it to the couch. Barely. Clothes coming off between kisses. His hands everywhere, relearning my body like he'd been gone for days instead of hours.
"The case strategy," he murmaged against my throat. "What did you come up with?"
"Twenty-seven pages. Complete destruction of their timeline. Witness credibility challenges. Evidence inconsistencies." I arched as his teeth found my collarbone. "We're going to eviscerate them."
"That's my brilliant attorney." He bit down slightly and I gasped. "Show me later. Right now I need you."
"You have me." I pulled at his belt. "You've had me since that first meeting in your office."
He made a sound low in his throat. Possessive and satisfied. "Say it again."
"You have me. I'm yours." The admission should have felt like surrender. Instead it felt like freedom. "Whatever happens with the RICO investigation, whatever the FBI tries, whatever Roberto threatens—I'm staying."
He picked me up and I wrapped my legs around his waist. Familiar now. Easy. He carried me to the bedroom and laid me out on sheets that smelled like him. Like us.
"I'm going to make sure you don't regret that choice," he said, settling between my thighs.
"I already don't."
He took his time with me. Mapped my body with hands and mouth until I was trembling and desperate. When he finally pushed inside, I cried out his name loud enough that his security probably heard.
I didn't care.
Let them know. Let everyone know. I was Sandro Vitale's attorney and his lover and completely, irreversibly his.
He fucked me thoroughly. Possessively. Like he was claiming territory. I gave him everything—my body, my trust, my complete surrender to whatever this was between us.
When I came, it was with his name on my lips and his hand wrapped around my throat. Not choking. Just holding. Reminding me who I belonged to.
He followed me over with a groan that sounded almost pained. Buried himself deep and filled me completely.
Afterward, we lay tangled together, sweat cooling on our skin.
"The trial's in four weeks," I said quietly. "We need to prepare. Witness prep, evidence review, strategy sessions."
"Tomorrow. Tonight you rest." He kissed my shoulder. "You've earned it after the day you've had."
"The day I've had?" I laughed. "You're the one who interrogated a mob enforcer and sent a message to the Costellos."
"All in a day's work." His arm tightened around me. "You're the one who turned down federal immunity to stay with me. That's significantly more impressive."
"Or significantly more stupid."
"Brave. The word you're looking for is brave." He turned me to face him. "You chose something difficult over something easy. That takes courage most people don't have."
"Or I'm just too far gone to see clearly anymore." But I smiled when I said it.
"Maybe both." He traced my jaw. "Either way, you're mine now. Completely. No going back."
"I know." And I did. I'd crossed too many lines, made too many compromises, accepted too much of what he offered. There was no returning to who I'd been before I met him.
That person was gone. Replaced by someone who could listen to murder plans and feel grateful. Who could turn down immunity deals and feel proud. Who could fuck his mob boss client and feel satisfied instead of ashamed.
Sandro Vitale had corrupted me thoroughly.
And I'd let him.
Chosen it, even.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. Text from Richard: Board meeting tomorrow at 9. Need to discuss your safety and continued representation. Be prepared to make a case for staying on Vitale.
I showed Sandro the message. "They're going to try to withdraw me from your case. For my own safety."
"What are you going to tell them?"
"That I'm staying. That the threats don't scare me. That I'm fully capable of handling the risks." I set the phone down. "Think they'll listen?"
"Probably not. Richard's going to push hard for your withdrawal. The managing partners will support him because keeping you on the case exposes the firm to liability." Sandro pulled me closer. "But you're going to fight anyway."
"Of course I am. I don't abandon clients just because things get difficult."
"You mean you don't abandon me." He kissed my temple. "Say it clearly."
"I don't abandon you. Even when I probably should." I turned in his arms to face him. "Even when it costs me everything else."
"It won't cost you everything. I'll make sure of it." His expression was serious. Almost vulnerable. "Whatever you lose by choosing me, I'll replace it. Better career. Better life. Better everything."
"You can't promise that."
"Watch me." He sealed it with a kiss that tasted like certainty and possession and promises I wasn't sure he could keep but desperately wanted to believe.
We fell asleep like that. Tangled together. Me choosing him despite every logical reason not to. Him claiming me with a thoroughness that should have terrified me but only made me feel wanted.
Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed. The city's constant soundtrack. Violence and desperation and people making terrible choices for complicated reasons.
I fit right in.
And for the first time since I'd taken Sandro's case, I was completely at peace with that.