Chapter 15 Emilio #2
"Mrs. Ashworth," Sandro said smoothly. "Always a pleasure. Have you met Emilio Rossi? He's one of the finest attorneys in the city."
"I'm sure he is." Her tone suggested she thought the opposite. "I wasn't aware you were... dating, Sandro. How unexpected."
The pause before "dating" was deliberate. Loaded with implication.
"Life's full of surprises," Sandro replied, his hand tightening slightly on my back. "Emilio's been an extraordinary addition to my life. In every capacity."
Her expression soured further. "Well. I suppose everyone has their... preferences. Do enjoy the evening." She swept away in a cloud of expensive perfume and barely concealed disdain.
"Charming woman," I said through gritted teeth.
"Vicious old bat who's been trying to marry me off to her granddaughter for five years. She's just angry I'm not interested in her dynasty-building schemes." He steered me toward the bar. "You handled that well."
"I wanted to tell her to fuck off."
"I know. That's what made it satisfying to watch you smile politely instead." He ordered us both drinks. "Welcome to my world, Emilio. Where people smile to your face and sharpen knives behind your back."
"Your world is exhausting."
"My world is honest about its dishonesty. That's better than most." He handed me a glass of champagne. "To surviving old money judgment and ex-husband sightings."
I clinked my glass against his and drank.
The evening progressed in a blur of introductions and thinly veiled curiosity. Everyone wanted to meet Sandro's mysterious companion. Everyone had opinions they were barely hiding.
Some were kind. A few fellow attorneys congratulated me on the Vitale case, said they'd heard good things about my work. Others were cold. Judges who'd always been cordial suddenly looked at me like I'd betrayed some unspoken code.
And then I saw Roberto Green.
The prosecutor stood near the silent auction tables. He spotted us at the same moment I spotted him. His expression went carefully blank.
"The prosecutor," Sandro murmured, following my gaze. "Want to avoid him too?"
"No. I want to face this head-on." I set down my champagne. "Let's go say hello."
We crossed the room together. Roberto watched us approach with the wariness of a man watching a predator close distance.
"Counselor Green," I said when we reached him. Professional. Polite. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"Counselor Rossi." His eyes flicked to Sandro, then back to me. "I could say the same. This doesn't seem like your usual scene."
"I'm expanding my horizons." I kept my voice neutral. "You remember my client, Alessandro Vitale."
"Hard to forget." Roberto's tone was carefully modulated. Not friendly but not openly hostile. "Mr. Vitale. I trust you're enjoying the evening."
"Immensely. Especially the company." Sandro's hand settled on my lower back again. Claiming. Public. Impossible to misinterpret. "Emilio's been invaluable in preparing our defense."
Roberto's jaw tightened. "The trial will determine whose case is stronger."
"The trial will be a formality. We both know your witnesses are lying. The question is whether you'll withdraw the charges before we prove it in open court or whether you'll force us to embarrass the DA's office publicly." Sandro smiled. Cold. Dangerous. "Your choice."
"I don't take direction from defendants." Roberto looked at me. "Emilio, I warned you about this. About getting too close. About compromising yourself. You didn't listen."
"No, I didn't. Because your warnings were about protecting the DA's narrative, not protecting me." I met his eyes steadily. "I'm exactly where I want to be. Doing exactly what I should be doing. If that makes you uncomfortable, that's your problem, not mine."
"It'll be your problem when the bar association asks questions about your relationship with a client under investigation."
"Then I'll answer those questions honestly.
Yes, I'm in a relationship with Sandro. No, it doesn't affect my professional judgment.
Yes, I'm confident we'll win because your case is built on manufactured evidence and lying witnesses.
" I stepped closer. "Is there anything else you'd like to know, Roberto? Or are we done here?"
He looked between us. Then shook his head slightly. "You're making a mistake."
"Maybe. But it's my mistake to make." I turned away, dismissing him. Sandro's hand remained on my back as we walked away.
"That was brutal," Sandro said once we were out of earshot. "I'm impressed."
"I'm tired of apologizing for my choices. Tired of people acting like I'm some naive idiot who doesn't understand what he's doing." I grabbed another champagne from a passing server. "I know exactly what I'm doing. I'm choosing you. And fuck anyone who has a problem with that."
"There's my Emilio." He pulled me into a shadowed alcove away from the main crowd. Pressed me against the wall and kissed me hard enough to smudge my carefully neutral expression into something obviously satisfied. "You're magnificent when you're angry."
"You're impossible when you're possessive."
"I'm always possessive. Especially about you." His hand slid into my hair. Gripped just hard enough to make me gasp. "Everyone in this room knows you're mine now. Saw how you defended me to Green. Saw how you let me touch you. Saw everything."
"That was the plan, wasn't it? Make it public. Control the narrative."
"The plan was to show everyone you're not ashamed of being with me.
The reality is I got to watch you eviscerate a prosecutor while wearing a tuxedo I bought you.
That's significantly better than the plan.
" He kissed me again. Slower this time. Thorough.
"We should stay another hour. Make the rounds.
Donate enough money that they can't complain about us making a scene. "
"We're not making a scene."
"Not yet. But the night's young." He pulled back and straightened my bow tie. "Come on. There's a city councilman I need to talk to about zoning permits. Try to look less thoroughly kissed."
"Whose fault is that?"
"Mine. And I regret nothing."
We rejoined the crowd. Sandro worked the room with practiced ease, introducing me to people whose names I'd never remember and whose influence I'd probably never need.
I played my role. Smiled. Made conversation about topics I didn't care about with people who were only talking to me because I was attached to Sandro.
But every so often I'd catch someone staring.
Judging. Whispering behind their hands. Marco watched us from across the room with an expression that looked almost sad.
Mrs. Ashworth glared every time we passed.
Roberto stood near the exit looking like he wanted to warn me one more time but knew it was pointless.
"Are you okay?" Sandro asked during a quiet moment.
"People are staring."
"Let them. They're going to stare whether we give them something to look at or not. Might as well make it worth their while." He pulled me onto the dance floor where a few couples were already swaying to the string quartet's rendition of something slow and romantic.
I'd never danced with a man before. Never had reason to. Marco and I had gone to exactly two formal events during our entire marriage, and both times he'd been too busy networking to dance.
Sandro led with confidence. One hand on my waist, the other holding mine. Close enough that anyone watching would know this wasn't platonic. Close enough that I could feel his heartbeat.
"You're thinking too much," he murmured.
"I'm thinking about how many people are watching us right now. How many photos are being taken. How many conversations are happening about what this means."
"Then stop thinking and just feel." He pulled me closer. "Feel how well we fit. How right this is. How little their judgment matters compared to what we have."
I closed my eyes and let him lead. Let the music and his steady presence block out everything else.
For three minutes, I wasn't a compromised attorney dancing with his mob boss client.
I was just someone dancing with someone I cared about.
Someone who made me feel valued and wanted and worth fighting for.
When the song ended, he didn't let go immediately. Just held me there in the middle of the dance floor while people watched and whispered and judged.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
"For what?"
"For this. For making me face it instead of hiding. For showing me that being public doesn't have to be terrifying."
"It's still terrifying. You're just brave enough to do it anyway." He kissed my forehead. Right there. In front of everyone. "That's what makes you extraordinary."
We returned to the crowd. Sandro steered us toward the silent auction tables where he bid an obscene amount on a weekend at someone's Hamptons estate.
I watched him write numbers with casual indifference and wondered what it was like to have that kind of wealth.
To throw around money like it meant nothing.
"You're thinking too hard again," he murmured, catching my expression.
"I'm thinking about how different our worlds are. You're bidding twenty thousand dollars on a vacation rental like it's pocket change. I'm still paying off student loans."
"Not anymore. I paid those off." He said it casually. Like it was nothing.
I stared at him. "You what?"
"Your student loans. I paid them. All of them." He guided me away from the auction tables toward a quieter corner. "Along with the credit card debt and that speeding ticket from last year."
"Sandro—that's over a hundred and eighty thousand dollars. You can't just—"
"I can and I did. You were drowning in debt because your ex-husband left you with nothing and your firm doesn't pay you what you're worth." His hand cupped my face. "I take care of what's mine, Emilio. That includes making sure you're not kept up at night by financial stress."
"The FBI knows about those payments. Roberto told me they're planning to use it as evidence that you've compromised me."
"Let them try. I'm allowed to help someone I care about. There's nothing illegal about paying off debts." His thumb brushed my cheek. "Do you want me to stop? Taking care of you, I mean."
I should say yes. Should maintain some financial independence. Should refuse gifts that made me beholden to him.
"No," I said instead. "I don't want you to stop."
"Good. Because I wasn't planning to." He kissed me softly. "Now let's—"
His phone buzzed. He glanced at it and his expression shifted. Went carefully blank in a way that meant something was wrong.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Matteo. He says there's a situation I need to see." He pocketed the phone. "Stay here. I'll be back in a few minutes."
"What kind of situation?"
"The kind I handle. You're the attorney. Let me be the—" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Let me handle the business side of things."
He kissed me once more and disappeared into the crowd. I watched him go and felt unease settle in my stomach.
I knew what "business" meant in Sandro's world. It meant violence or threats or something else I'd have plausible deniability about if anyone asked.
I should leave. Should call a car and go home. Should distance myself from whatever was about to happen.
Instead I stayed. Ordered another champagne. Waited for Sandro to return from handling whatever situation Matteo had created.
Because that's what I did now. I stayed. I waited. I chose him over the smart choice, the safe choice, the ethical choice.
I chose him.
And I'd keep choosing him, no matter what came next.