16. Chapter Sixteen Ruby
Chapter Sixteen: Ruby
T he more things changed…the more they stayed completely, royally fucked.
Rosie was with Julian and I had to go to court.
Whether my hand hurt or not, whether my best friend hated me or not, whether Kieran Callahan was in my life or not, I had to get up and go to work.
Judge O’Hara’s chambers smelled like overbrewed coffee and fresh legal pads, the combo making my stomach roil.
I flexed my fingers, fighting the dull throb that had settled in my hand since yesterday, trying to hide the gauze that my hand was still covered in.
The painkillers hadn’t kicked in yet—not fully, anyway—but I refused to let Nathaniel Klein see even a flicker of discomfort.
Across from me, Klein lounged in his chair, and he checked his reflection on the window, looking at me over the rims of his designer glasses like he had all the time in the world.
I didn’t trust people who wore non-prescription glasses indoors.
I didn’t trust Klein.
“Tough break, Marquez,” Klein said, smirking at my hand. “What happened? You piss off the wrong person?”
I flicked my eyes up, unimpressed. “Yeah, Nate. I got in a fight with an inanimate object.” I leaned back in my chair, masking my pain behind my best ‘go fuck yourself’ face. “And it still put up a better defense than you.”
Beside me, Alek didn’t look up from his notes, but I could feel him watching. He was second chair on the case, technically my backup, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to call me out.
“I know you’re not a hundred percent,” he murmured, just low enough for me to hear. “Stop pushing yourself.”
“Not pushing.” I flipped another page. “Thriving.”
Alek scoffed. Klein just grinned.
“Listen, let’s not waste time,” Klein said. “My client is willing to take three years.”
I raised an eyebrow. “For a Class B trafficking charge?” I didn’t even bother laughing. “Try ten.”
Klein pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Come on, guys. First offense.”
“Your Honor, let me walk you through the Commonwealth’s evidence.”
O’Hara nodded. I ticked each item off on my fingers: “A Title III wiretap placing DeLuca in a conspiracy discussion regarding a shipment. Physical surveillance placing him at Black Falcon Terminal, South Boston, on the night of the 16th. A recorded conversation referencing ‘moving weight before the heat comes down.’ And a ledger seized by U.S. Customs with DeLuca’s name next to a transaction for sixty grand. ”
Klein looked at me for a long few seconds. “Hold on—what ledger?”
“The one with your client’s name next to a transaction for sixty grand.”
Klein tutted. “Nice move, Marquez. The ledger was not included in discovery.”
O’Hara sighed and looked at me. “You know better, counselor.”
“The Commonwealth isn’t relying on the ledger for this case.”
O’Hara pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then why are we talking about this?”
I swallowed, my heart beating fast in my chest. “Just thought Klein should know we have it.”
Klein’s jaw hardened. Judge O’Hara didn’t look impressed. “If you’re not using it, don’t waste my time with it. Are we done here?”
“Your Honor, I have the defendant on a wiretap talking about ‘the shipment.’”
Klein leaned back, playing unimpressed. “What shipment?”
I tapped the file. “The one intercepted at Black Falcon Terminal, Southie, on the night of the 16th. The one your client was caught discussing on a tapped call at 11:47 PM.”
O’Hara exhaled heavily through his nose. “Okay, enough foreplay. Where are we landing here?”
Klein sighed dramatically. “Fine. Five years. Supervised release.”
“No early parole.”
“Jesus, Marquez, you could take the win.”
O’Hara rolled his eyes. “Let’s be reasonable. The wiretap is strong, but the rest of your evidence is circumstantial. That’s why we’re not at a full ten, right, Marquez?”
I didn’t like it, but he wasn’t wrong.
O’Hara tapped his desk. “Seven years. Supervised release. Parole eligibility at five. And I don’t want to hear any more posturing from either of you.” He looked between us. “That’s my final offer.”
Klein sighed, adjusting his cuffs. “Fine. Seven years. But I want six months knocked off for time served.”
I tilted my head. “He’s been in holding for two weeks.”
“Time is relative,” Klein said, deadpan.
O’Hara rolled his eyes. “Fine. Time served plus a mandatory narcotics program. Now we’re done.”
Klein frowned, like he wanted to push more, but he knew better. “Fine.”
I hesitated for half a second, then nodded. “The Commonwealth agrees.”
Judge O’Hara scribbled his signature on the plea agreement with all the enthusiasm of a man signing away his soul.
“Done,” he said, tossing the pen onto the desk. “Now, if you two don’t mind, I have a full docket, and I’d rather not spend my morning listening to another one of Mr. Ivanov’s impassioned speeches about civil liberties.”
Alek’s mouth twitched. “That hurts, your honor.”
“Not enough,” O’Hara muttered, stacking his papers. “You’re worse than Klein on a good day.”
Klein, who was already halfway to the door, scoffed. “Oh, come on, Judge. I don’t grandstand. I just win.”
I rolled my eyes. “You didn’t win this time.”
Klein grinned. “Didn’t I?” He tapped the file. “Seven’s a hell of a lot closer to three than ten.”
I snorted.
“You’re worse at math than at being a lawyer, man, and that’s saying something,” Alek said.
“Did you use your fingers, or did someone help you with the counting?” I said sweetly.
Klein’s grin faltered. “I—”
“Oh my God, you did need help,” Alek cut in. Was it your assistant? Your barista? Wait…don’t tell me it was that intern who spelled ‘subpoena’ with two O’s—”
“Enough, you two,” O’Hara interrupted. “I have better things to do than listen in on the Marquez and Ivanov show. Now get out of my office.”
I shook my head, grabbing my files. Klein had already bolted out the door—probably to find a better-lit place to admire his own reflection.
Alek and I followed, stepping into the hallway as the heavy wooden doors clicked shut behind us.
“You could’ve stayed home, you know,” Alek said, rolling his shoulders.
“You told me O’Hara hates you,” I said.
“He does, but he’s a reasonable judge,” Alek replied. “He just doesn’t like it when I make constitutional overreach arguments, even when they’re solid.”
“I told you that was a wildcard,” I said.
Alek sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. The more things change, the more they stay the same.”
“Yeah. You got that right.”
“Frustrating fun, though. O’Hara loves it when I waste his time.”
I laughed. “Can’t imagine why he doesn’t like you.”
We both chuckled, but quickly went silent. I shuffled on my feet, chewing on my lip before clearing my throat.
“Look, Alek…I’ve been a shitty friend. Didn’t want you to deal with a hardass by yourself, too.”
Alek’s expression shifted—just a flicker, just enough. Then he sighed. “You’re an idiot.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“An idiot,” he repeated. “A well-meaning idiot, but still.” Then, as if that settled it, he straightened his tie. “I still need to get you elected.”
I looked at him as a small warmth pressed against my ribs. I ignored it. “Thank you,” I said. “Seriously.”
“Yeah, yeah. C’mon,” he said. “You need food before you keel over. Did you eat before that meeting?”
“No.”
“Didn’t think so.”
Alek dragged me to a café a block from the courthouse. We got a window booth, the morning light pouring in, the city moving along outside. The smell of real coffee was almost enough to make me forget the swill in O’Hara’s chambers.
Alek ordered for us—which I usually hated—but I let it slide.
As soon as the coffee hit the table, he arched an eyebrow. “That ledger caught Klein off guard.”
I smirked. Added another sugar to my coffee. “I only brought it up to see if he would offer his client up as a witness for a bigger case, but I guess a mobster lawyer wouldn’t.”
Alek nodded. “It wasn’t a bad idea. He seemed a little shaken by it, but only a little.”
I shrugged. “People fake confidence all the time.”
“Not Klein. Not like that.” His gaze flicked to me. “You don’t think it’s weird?”
“No. Organized crime shit. Standard.”
Alek studied me for a second longer than I liked. Then he leaned back. “Yeah. Standard. Still, I don’t know how you can shrug it off.”
“I don’t. I’m not,” I said. “I just can’t do anything about it in this case in particular. I’m trying to become DA.”
“Because you’re fueled by the pursuit of justice?”
“No. I’m fueled by spite and subpar courthouse coffee.”
Alek sat back, arms crossed. “Ah. So you’re living on the edge of death.”
“Correct.”
We got our food, and for five blissful minutes, we didn’t talk about court, crime, or the Callahans.
We talked about Natalia; she was staying in Boston only a few days before she went to New York City.
Turned out the surprise trip was to meet some sort of internet boyfriend.
Alek asked about Rosie; whether she was feeling better, if she was staying with Julian for a bit.
And then, as he finished his last sip of coffee. “So…I jumped down your throat this morning. What happened between you and Kieran?”
I exhaled, stirring what was left of my coffee, watching the swirl of cream mix in with the dark liquid.
I always drank coffee differently, depending on my mood.
Sugar was for the mornings. That was when I needed it to help me get my day started.
"Nothing happened. I just needed somewhere to crash. "
But something had happened. We had kissed. I had wanted more. Fuck, I had wanted so much more—but Alek didn’t need to know that. He was already pissed enough.
I didn’t want him to get more angry.
Alek didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just watched me with that expression he always had when he knew I was full of shit.
I sighed, shifting in my seat. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“I’m just wondering,” he said, voice deceptively casual, “why ‘somewhere to crash’ had to be there.”
I shrugged. “It was late. I was hurt. It wasn’t a big deal.”
Alek hummed, unimpressed. “Right. You, of all people, had no other options.”
My fingers tightened around the coffee mug. The heat bit into my already aching hand, but I held onto it anyway. “I didn’t say that.”
“Just tell me. I won’t freak out. But tell me.”
He was going to freak out. But he was also right. I had to tell him. “He was right outside my house when the thing with the lightbulb happened,” I said. “Julian was in a deposition, Rosie was sick, and you were picking Nat up from the airport.”
“He was right outside your house?” Alek asked, sounding alarmed.
“It sounds worse than it is.”
“It sounds bad because it is bad, Ruby. If I told you some guy was waiting outside your house in the middle of the night, you’d tell me to call the cops.”
“Kieran’s not just some guy,” I muttered.
“No, he’s not—he’s your mobster ex , which is about a million times worse,” Alek said. “Listen, Nat could have taken a taxi. She could’ve waited. She’s an adult.”
“You already do so much for me. How could I ask you to drive me to the hospital instead of being there for your sister?”
I watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “He took you to the ER? And people saw you?”
I hesitated, just for a second. Not long enough to be obvious. “He was wearing a face mask. No one recognized him.”
“Oh, okay. As long as no one recognized him. Did he wear glasses and pretend to be a reporter too?”
“I don’t think Clark Kent pretended to be a reporter,” I said. “He just also happened to be Superman.”
“Where did Clark Kent get his journalism degree?” Alek asked, looking me up and down.
“I think he went to the University of Who Gives a Fuck?”
“Right. And Callahan graduated from the School of Changed Men?”
I found myself getting irritatingly defensive—irritating to us both, I assumed. “It’s been eight years, Alek.”
His voice was suddenly too quiet, too even. “People don’t just stop being who they are, no matter what kind of clothes they’re wearing. Aren’t you old enough to know that by now?”
I didn’t answer him right away. I just stared into my coffee like the dregs might hold answers I hadn’t found in Kieran’s eyes.
Alek was right. And that was the problem.
“I don’t know who he is anymore,” I said finally. “But I know what he used to be. I know what he did to me.”
“And that should be enough,” Alek said. “For most people, it would be.”
But I wasn’t most people. I was the woman who let Kieran Callahan drive her to the hospital. The woman who let him touch her.
Shame crawled up my spine like static, and I pushed back from the table, grabbing my phone. My coffee was basically untouched, but I had to do something about this. Kieran…I’d let him play me like a fucking idiot.
And I was done with that.
“I’m supposed to meet with someone today,” I said in a rush. “Sorry to step out.”
Alek raised an eyebrow, but didn’t ask who. He had to know I was addressing this…and he was happy about it.
Because I was done playing defense.
I was done letting Kieran win.
If he wanted to crawl back into my life, I needed leverage. I needed dirt.
And I knew exactly where to start looking.