Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ROSALIA
My heart is pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird as I sit at the front table in the courtroom.
Today will determine how the rest of my life will go.
Okay, so maybe I’m overreacting.
I’m already married to Dominic, and as unconventional, dark, and wild as our arrangement started out, it has turned into something unexpected.
It’s a wonderful marriage, in its own intense way.
I’m as happy as I can be. He doesn’t hurt me.
He doesn’t abuse me. He listens to me, protects me, and lets me be completely myself.
But winning this case still means everything to me. I live every day with the feat of being dragged away in handcuffs for my Luciano’s murder. This is a further step away from that. Whatever the outcome is today will determine whether Dante finally gets stripped of his arrogance—or whether he wins.
The morning air inside the probate court is heavy with the scent of old paper, polished wood, and decades of bitter legal battles. The vaulted ceiling casts long shadows across the courtroom, amplifying every nervous shuffle of feet and hushed whisper.
Beside me, my lawyer quietly arranges a stack of legal briefs, adjusting his glasses calmly. I sit up straight, smoothing down the front of my tailored dark dress, trying to disguise the slight tremble in my fingers.
I can feel Dominic’s heated gaze on my face, but he doesn’t speak. He’s been quiet since we left the house earlier. Before I can ask why he’s staring so intently at me, the heavy set of double doors swings open at the back of the room, and the temperature instantly drops to absolute zero.
It’s Dante.
He steps inside, flanked by his entire team of high-priced lawyers. He wears a sharp suit that fails to hide the predatory tension in his posture.
As he walks down the center aisle, his cold, arrogant gaze locks directly onto me. I'm fully aware of how hard he’s avoiding Dominic.
A slow, mocking sneer curls Dante’s lips—a silent statement that he fully expects to strip me of every single penny and piece of land that is rightfully mine.
Dominic doesn't even bother to turn his head to look at him. He simply reaches over and rests his broad hand over mine on the polished wooden table. His palm is warm, firm, and solid, his thumb tracing a slow, grounding circle against my knuckles.
You can stop worrying about the probate hearing, Rosalia. Next week, you win, Dominic had said.
I want to believe him. Part of me does trust him completely. But as I watch Dante sit at the opposing table, leaning over to whisper to his lead council with total, unwavering confidence, a tight knot of anxiety pulls in my chest.
Dante is a worthy contender—ruthless, deeply connected, and desperate. In a courtroom like this, where an entire life's legacy can be wiped out with a single gavel stroke, nothing is ever truly set in stone.
My mind strays back to the night Dominic returned to the estate with that dark, triumphant glint in his eyes.
Did he blackmail Judge Sterling?
I didn't know. And truthfully, I had been too afraid to ask.
Dominic leans in close, his broad shoulder pressing lightly against mine, his warm breath fanning across the shell of my ear.
"Look at me, Rosalia," he rumbles in a low, commandingly quiet voice.
I turn my head to meet his gaze. His dark eyes are calm, steady, and utterly lethal in their certainty.
"What did I tell you about today?" he asks.
I take a quiet breath, anchoring myself in the absolute weight of his gaze. "That I’ll win. And that I don’t have to worry."
He nods once, sharp and decisive. "Then fix your face."
I let out a soft, barely audible breath, nodding as I lift my chin and adjust my stance, straightening my spine against the back of the chair.
A sudden, traitorous spark of heat flares low in my stomach.
The authoritative, dark way he speaks—so effortlessly commanding, so entirely in control—turns me on completely.
A flush creeps up my neck, and I suddenly feel intensely abashed that I could even think about something so wicked while sitting in a formal courtroom with my entire future hanging in the balance.
Literally.
Before I can dwell on my unseemly thoughts, the side door near the bench opens with a sharp click.
"All rise," the bailiff calls out, his booming voice echoing off the high ceilings. "The Honorable Judge Arthur Sterling presiding."
Everyone in the gallery and at the counsel tables stand in unison, the soft scraping of wooden chairs filling the quiet room.
Judge Arthur Sterling steps up to the bench.
He looks pristine in his black robes, very different from his casual demeanor at the cooking class.
But as he arranges his papers, I catch the slight, nervous tremble in his fingers.
His skin looks sallow, and dark circles bruise the underside of his eyes.
For a split second, his gaze flickers down toward our table. The moment his eyes collide with Dominic's, Sterling's chest hitches, and he looks away instantly, swallowing hard.
"Please be seated," Judge Sterling says, his voice carrying a thin, strained tightness.
We sit. Beside me, Dominic settles back into his seat with the easy, dangerous grace of a predator who already knows the outcome of the hunt.
Across the aisle, Dante leans back, crossing one leg over the other.
The arrogant smirk on his face is insufferable.
Every second that passes only seems to fuel his confidence.
He adjusts his cuff links, casting a lingering, triumphant look at me before whispering something to his attorney, who nods with an equally smug expression.
Dante truly believes he has this in the bag.
He thinks his money, his threats, and his connections have bought him the outcome he desires.
Judge Sterling clears his throat, the sound echoing through the microphone.
"We are here today to deliver the final ruling in the matter of the Estate of Luciano De Lorenzo," Sterling begins, his hands flattening over the Manila folder on his desk.
"Both parties have submitted their final arguments and supporting documentation regarding the validity of the revised will and the distribution of the estate's primary assets, including the holding companies, real estate portfolios, and private accounts."
Dante’s attorney stands up smoothly. "Your Honor, if I may briefly reiterate—"
"You may not, Counsel," Sterling interrupts sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. "I have thoroughly reviewed every piece of evidence, every financial record, and every witness statement provided to this court. I require no further grandstanding."
Dante’s smirk falters for a fraction of a second, his brow twitching slightly as he sits back upright.
My heart leaps into my throat, hammering wildly as Judge Sterling adjusts his glasses and looks down at the final ruling before him.
"After careful consideration of the late Luciano DeLorenzo’s last will and testament, alongside the corporate charters and asset deeds presented to this court," Judge Sterling begins, his voice tight but echoing clearly through the microphone, "this court finds the contested amendments fully valid and legally binding. "
Dante’s lawyer half-rises from his chair, but Sterling holds up a stern hand, silencing him instantly.
"Furthermore," Sterling continues, reading directly from the decree, "the court orders that the primary controlling interest of the De Lorenzo estate—including forty-nine percent of all corporate voting shares, the real estate portfolio, and all designated private holdings and intellectual assets bearing the name of Rosalia Caruso—be immediately surrendered to her.
All business files, titles, and governing documents associated with these assets are to be fully executed and transferred into the sole custody of Rosalia Caruso no later than five o'clock tomorrow afternoon. Court is adjourned."
Crack.
The wooden gavel strikes the block, and the sound reverberates right through my chest.
A sharp, ragged breath escapes my lips as tears immediately sting the back of my eyes.
My hands fly up to cover my mouth, a breathless, hysterical laugh spilling out against my palms. We won.
The crushing weight that had been pressing down on my lungs for months suddenly vanishes, leaving behind an overwhelming, dizzying rush of pure joy and relief.
"Oh, my God," I whisper, my shoulders shaking as I look down at the polished wood of the table. "Oh, my God."
Judge Sterling doesn't wait for a single reaction. He practically gathers his robes, steps down from the bench, and disappears into his chambers through the side door with astonishing speed. His chamber door snaps shut, locking from the inside.
Beside me, our attorney lets out a long exhale, taking off his glasses to polish them. "Congratulations, Mrs. Kane."
Across the aisle, a chair screeches violently against the marble floor.
"This is an absolute fucking joke!"
Dante's roar shatters the formal quiet of the courtroom. He slams both palms onto the counsel table with a deafening thud, sending a thick stack of legal papers flying across the floor.
"What the hell is this?" Dante screams toward the empty bench, his face flushed a dark, dangerous red, his jaw working violently as he looks around the room.
"Mr. De Lorenzo, please, calm down—" his lead lawyer stammers, reaching out a trembling hand to touch his arm.
"Get your fucking hands off me!" Dante snarls, shoving his attorney back so hard the man stumbles into the gallery railing.
Dante turns his wild, bloodshot eyes onto us, his breathing coming in heavy, ragged wheezes. His chest moves frantically under his suit, his teeth bared in an ugly, animalistic rage. "This isn't over! You hear me, Rosalia? This isn't over! You killed my brother and you will pay!"