Chapter 17 Emilio
Not "when you have a moment." Not "at your convenience." Immediately.
I saved the witness cross-examination outline I'd been working on and walked to Richard's corner office with dread settling in my stomach like lead.
He was standing at his windows looking out over the city when I entered. Didn't turn around. Didn't acknowledge me beyond a curt "Close the door."
I closed it.
"Sit down, Emilio."
I sat in one of the leather chairs facing his desk. The same chairs where I'd sat three weeks ago when he'd given me the Vitale case. Back when I'd been naive enough to think I could defend Sandro without compromising everything I'd built my identity around.
Richard finally turned. He looked older than I remembered. Tired. He walked to his desk and opened a manila envelope. Pulled out a stack of photographs and spread them across the polished surface.
"These were delivered to the managing partners this morning. Anonymous courier. No return address."
I didn't need to look closely to know what they showed. But I looked anyway.
Me and Sandro arriving at the St. Regis.
His hand on my back. Both of us in formal wear, me in the midnight blue tuxedo he'd had made for me.
Another photo of us on the dance floor. His arms around me.
My head tilted back to look at him. The kind of body language that couldn't be mistaken for anything except what it was.
A third photo showed us leaving together. Sandro's hand on my waist. Me leaning into him slightly. Both of us looking satisfied and intimate in a way that screamed relationship.
There were more. Maybe a dozen total. Whoever took them had been thorough.
"Tell me these aren't what they look like," Richard said quietly.
I could lie. Should lie. Maintain plausible deniability and professional distance.
"I can't do that."
"Emilio—"
"They're exactly what they look like." I met his eyes. "Sandro and I are in a relationship. We have been for a few weeks now."
Richard closed his eyes. Took a breath. Let it out slowly. "Do you understand what you've done? What this means?"
"I understand perfectly. I'm sleeping with my client. It's an ethical violation. Grounds for disciplinary action if the bar association finds out." I kept my voice steady. Professional. "But it doesn't affect my ability to represent him competently."
"Doesn't affect—" Richard stared at me like I'd grown a second head.
"Emilio, this destroys your credibility.
Every argument you make in court will be questioned.
Every motion you file will be scrutinized.
Opposing counsel will use this to paint you as compromised.
Bought. A mob lawyer in the worst possible sense. "
"Then I'll work harder to prove them wrong."
"You can't prove them wrong! The appearance of impropriety is just as damaging as actual impropriety.
" He picked up one of the photos. The one of us dancing.
"This is you at a charity gala dancing with a man accused of organized crime.
A man you're defending in court. A man you're clearly in a romantic relationship with.
How exactly do you explain this to a jury? "
"I don't explain it. It's not relevant to the case."
"Everything's relevant when your credibility is at stake." Richard set down the photo. Sat heavily in his chair. "I warned you about this. About getting too close. About letting him manipulate you. You didn't listen."
"He didn't manipulate me. I made my own choices."
"Did you? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like Alessandro Vitale identified a vulnerable attorney drowning in debt and systematically compromised him.
Paid off his loans. Bought him expensive clothes.
Took him to high-society events. Made him feel special and valued until he stopped being able to see clearly. "
The words hit harder than they should have because part of me wondered if Richard was right. If everything with Sandro had been calculated manipulation instead of genuine feeling.
But then I remembered the way Sandro looked at me. The way he touched me like I was precious. The way he'd mobilized his entire organization to protect me from threats. That wasn't manipulation. That was something real.
"I see perfectly clearly," I said. "I know what Sandro is. What he's capable of. I'm choosing him anyway."
"Then you're choosing to end your career." Richard leaned forward. "The managing partners met this morning after these photos arrived. They're prepared to withdraw you from the Vitale case and report the relationship to the bar association unless you take action."
"What kind of action?"
"End the personal relationship immediately. Maintain professional distance. Finish the trial as Vitale's attorney but nothing more." He paused. "Or withdraw from the case entirely and cut all ties. Either way, the relationship ends. That's non-negotiable."
I felt something crack in my chest. "You're asking me to choose between my career and Sandro."
"I'm asking you to choose between your law license and a man who's destroying everything you've worked for.
" Richard's voice softened slightly. "Emilio, I've known you for three years.
You're one of the best attorneys I've ever worked with.
Brilliant. Ethical. Dedicated. You have a real future in this profession.
Don't throw it away for someone who'll discard you the moment you stop being useful. "
"Sandro won't discard me."
"You don't know that. You don't know him as well as you think you do." He stood and came around the desk. Sat in the chair beside mine instead of across from me. "I'm not trying to punish you. I'm trying to save your career before it's too late."
"What if I don't want to be saved?"
"Then you're a fool." But his tone wasn't cruel. Just sad. "I'm giving you until end of business tomorrow to decide. End the relationship and stay on the case. Or withdraw from representation and keep seeing him. But you can't have both. The firm won't allow it."
"And if I refuse to choose? If I say I'm staying on the case and continuing the relationship?"
"Then the managing partners will withdraw you from representation and file a complaint with the bar association detailing your ethical violations.
" He held my gaze. "They have the photos, Emilio.
They have documentation of Vitale paying off your debts.
They have enough to build a case that you've been compromised.
You'll face disciplinary proceedings. Possibly suspension. Maybe disbarment."
The room felt too small. Too hot. I couldn't breathe properly.
"You have until tomorrow at 5 PM," Richard said quietly. "I'm sorry it's come to this. But make the right choice. Please."
He stood and walked back to his desk. Dismissal implicit in the gesture.
I stood on shaking legs and walked to the door.
"Emilio?" Richard's voice stopped me at the threshold. "For what it's worth, I hope you choose your career. You're too talented to waste on someone like Vitale."
I left without responding. Walked back to my office on autopilot. Closed the door and stood in the middle of the room staring at the case files covering every surface.
Three weeks of preparation. Hundreds of hours of work. A defense strategy so airtight that the prosecution should be terrified. All of it potentially meaningless if I couldn't represent Sandro in court.
My phone buzzed. Text from a friend: Saw the photos. Everyone's talking. Are you okay?
I didn't respond. Couldn't process his concern when I was barely processing my own thoughts.
Another text. This one from Marco: I warned you. Hope it was worth it.
I deleted that one without reading it fully.
A third text. My mother: Sweetheart, I saw some pictures online. Call me when you can.
God. The photos were already circulating. Probably on every legal gossip blog and society page. My relationship with Sandro was now public knowledge. Undeniable. Permanent.
I sat down at my desk and pulled up the Vitale files. Stared at weeks of work. I'd built something brilliant here. A defense that would make legal textbooks if we won. A career-defining case that could open doors and establish my reputation.
All I had to do was give up Sandro.
End the relationship. Maintain professional distance. Finish the trial and walk away clean. Keep my law license. Protect my future.
It should be an easy choice. Career over romance. Profession over passion. Everything I'd worked for over a man I'd known for less than a month.
But the thought of not seeing Sandro anymore made my chest ache in ways that had nothing to do with professional ambition. Made my hands shake and my breath catch and my mind scream that losing him would be worse than losing everything else.
Which was insane. We'd been together a few weeks. That shouldn't be enough time to become this important. This necessary. This impossible to give up.
But somewhere between that first meeting in court and last night tangled in his bed, Sandro had become essential. Had worked his way so thoroughly into my life that extracting him would leave wounds that might never heal.
I opened the bottom drawer of my desk and pulled out the bottle of whiskey I kept for bad days. Poured two fingers into a coffee mug. Drank it in one burning swallow.
My phone buzzed again.
Sandro: Come to Inferno tonight. We need to talk.
I stared at the message. He knew. Somehow he already knew about the photos and Richard's ultimatum. Of course he did. Sandro knew everything. Had sources everywhere. Probably learned about this before I did.
I should tell him no. Should hide in my office and pretend this choice wasn't destroying me. Should take the full twenty-four hours Richard gave me to process and decide.
Instead I typed: What time?
Eight. Come directly to the apartment. We'll have privacy.