CHAPTER ONE
In Limine
“What’s with all this snow in this city? The citizens of Heritage are going to die of cold and boredom” (deisebloombastic)
“Counselor, I’m not going to spend the night here, am I?
” Repeat offender Jim Paddle had been caught in yet another police raid.
This was the third time in four months that I’d had to come down to the station to save him, but this time things looked much worse.
He had a bunch of small bills on him, and drugs had been found in his car.
“You should have taken my advice and moved to another city, Jim,” I said, looking over the seizure documents. “I’ll try to reach the judge, but it’s Christmas, and I don’t think anyone’s rushing to take my call today.”
It was snowing like crazy outside, and getting here today had been a real challenge. There were journalists crowded at the building entrance, and I had to squeeze past them to get inside. Whoever they were waiting for must be pretty important for them to brave this cold.
“Counselor, we’re taking the detainee to his cell. We need to clear the area,” said a guard who had just entered the room. He took Jim away, leaving me behind.
“Excuse me, clear the area?” I asked, confused.
“Yes. Marino’s arriving, and we need to clear the whole area.”
“I thought I’d have more time with my client.” I stood up, grabbing my trench coat from the table along with my briefcase and Jim’s arrest documents.
“You can wait if you’d like. But you’ll have to stay here in the room until we clear your client to come back.” The officer didn’t wait for my response. He just kept going, taking Jim to the cells downstairs.
My options were terrible. I could try to stick to my morning plan and go to Christmas dinner at my business partner’s house, risking getting stuck in the blizzard while climbing the small mountain range that led to her ranch outside the city.
I could go home and settle for olives and half a bottle of whiskey—all I had in my cabinet tonight.
Or I could stay here and wait for this damn spectacle the police were putting on to blow over so I could finally do my job before they made Jim’s arrest permanent and transferred him out of Heritage to the prison in the capital, Alta.
I decided to stay and try to reach some contacts who might help me make sure Jim at least had the right to bail and was only charged with possession, not trafficking.
The officer had let me stay in the interrogation room, working on the computer while I waited.
I took the opportunity to check some emails and messages.
From there, I couldn’t hear anything happening outside, which made time crawl.
After almost an hour and a half, tired of waiting for the okay to leave, I decided to go find a bathroom.
I was starving and completely nauseous at the same time.
I’d spent the day organizing my move to the new house and hadn’t stopped to eat.
I’d been counting on indulging at Celie’s dinner—my business partner—but all I’d managed was an apple while rushing to get dressed and see Jim.
The thought of missing a real feast made my stomach grumble.
On my way back from the bathroom to the interrogation room, I passed a closed room next to mine. My gaze drifted to the square of glass, and I wasn’t expecting anyone to look back. When our eyes met, it was as if the door had vanished for an instant and I was completely exposed.
I knew that face. It had been plastered all over posts, videos, and newspapers across the country for the past week. Now everything made sense. We were stuck waiting for the famous golden boy, Dante Marino.
“What a super Christmas,” I grumbled, seeing that this was going to take much longer than I’d thought. There was no one in the room besides Marino. The officers must be letting him sweat before going in.
I went back to the room but left the door open, hoping to see someone pass by so I could get more information.
Being in the room next to a potential murderer didn’t frighten me in the slightest. Some of the worst criminals in the country came to my office every day seeking my help.
I didn’t usually take murder cases, but I knew some of my clients weren’t as innocent as they claimed.
People lie. Especially to their lawyers.
I don’t understand why they feel the need to prove they deserve a defense when I’ve already taken the case.
I’m not the kind of criminal lawyer who takes on anything and everything.
And maybe that’s why our firm isn’t doing so well—which forced me to cut back on expenses and put me in the position of agreeing to see Jim again, even though I’d promised the second time would be the last.
I’d gotten distracted by photos of the feast that Celie had sent me, but I heard someone open and close the door next door.
I stared at my open doorway, expecting to see someone pass by, but no one did.
For the next two hours, nothing happened.
The door at the end of the hallway was locked, and the only person who could help me was in the room with Dante.
Wondering if anyone was on the other side of the glass, I decided to knock on the door of the small room reserved for detectives.
When the door opened, I realized it was empty, giving me a full view of what was happening inside the interrogation room.
Dante was handcuffed to the chair, and two officers took turns going at him while Dante remained silent.
One of them was practically mocking him while the other seemed to be enjoying the show.
I knew I should leave that room, but I couldn’t move my legs.
Dante was staring at himself in the mirror, which meant he was looking right in my direction.
But beyond the sensation that he was staring at me, it was the emptiness in the young man’s gaze that struck me.
As if he weren’t in that room with two uniformed monkeys circling him, pressuring him to admit guilt.
Repeating that Dante’s empire had just fallen.
The seventh time the taller officer repeated the phrase, Dante seemed to return to the world, reconnecting with the tense atmosphere of that room.
His eyes regained their warmth. He turned to the other officer, and his lips parted slowly.
His voice came out much deeper than I’d expected for someone so clearly young.
“Lawyer,” he said slowly.
The officers should back off. It was procedure.
“Lawyer,” Dante repeated.
At first, they seemed unfazed by his words, but then they switched tactics. Psychological terror. Threats and bluffs.
Some cops would cross questionable lines in search of answers.
Usually when the criminal had information that could save a life—or many, in the case of terrorists.
But that wasn’t the situation here. I knew very little about the case, but this Dante was here for killing someone.
At most, his secret would bring the family closure.
Dante kept responding to every one of their tactics with the same word. His attitude seemed to hit the cops like a match near a pile of gasoline cans. Until one of them—the one who’d been more restrained before—punched the table. I didn’t like where this was heading.
“You think prison is your little world of rich boys playing pickleball and drinking tea?” the cop shouted. “I can make your life a hell of a lot worse than those guys.”
“I said: Lawyer,” Dante responded with a slight smile on his face. It was subtle, but unmistakable—almost irritating.
That seemed to be all it took for the taller cop to lunge at him, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him against the wall, pressing his forearm against his neck.
I didn’t know what to do, so I banged on the glass—so hard I was afraid I’d break it.
The cops stopped immediately, and I wondered what they’d do next.
Whether I should leave the room and pretend nothing had happened, or follow my legs, which wanted to march into that room and teach them how to do their damn job.
One of them left the room, and I went to the hallway.
“What are you doing here? Who are you?”
“I’m Helena Torres.” I walked past him and entered the room.
“You can’t go in there,” he snapped, watching me enter the interrogation room. Dante was in the corner, barefoot despite the freezing temperature.
“My client asked for a lawyer.”
“You’re not his lawyer,” the cop who’d been choking him seconds before said, certain he’d face no consequences.
“Mr. Marino?” I turned to face him.
“Ms…”
“Torres.”
“Torres,” he continued. “She’s my lawyer.”
“Thank you,” I acknowledged. “Now, officers, I’d like you to bring warm clothes and a drink for my client. He’s a human being.”
The cops exchanged irritated looks.
“Be quick if you want me to forget that you conducted a completely illegal interrogation even though my client asked for a lawyer nineteen times.” I looked directly into their eyes. “Yes, I counted.”
I righted the chair so Dante could sit again and helped him get comfortable.
“Gentlemen,” I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Now give me some time alone with my client.”
The men left, and I finally let myself breathe.
“That was interesting,” Dante commented, watching me stare at the door. I could barely bring myself to face him now that I was on this side of the glass.
“I’ll just wait for them to bring your clothes. That should give your lawyers time to arrive,” I explained, stopping beside the door.
“I thought my lawyer had already arrived.”
“What? No.” I laughed, looking at myself in the mirror. I checked my clothes and my hair. “I would never be your lawyer.”
“Then why did you say you were?”
I caught his eyes meeting mine in the mirror’s reflection and felt a shiver run down my spine. His thick eyebrows contrasted with his light eyes. His skin was fair but had a natural golden tone, and his hair fell in black waves.
“Because I hate show-off cops,” I retorted. “I defend the law, above all else.”
“Noble.” He raised an eyebrow, his expression mocking.
“Even the guilty have rights.” I stared back at him.
“I thought everyone was presumed innocent.”
“Some more than others, Mr. Marino,” I responded, seconds before we were interrupted by one of the cops arriving with a juice box and a pair of sneakers that looked like they’d been pulled from a dumpster. Old and laceless.
“Should do,” the cop sneered before heading back to the hallway.
“Well, I think my work here is done.” I stopped at the door. “They should leave you alone for a while.”
Dante didn’t respond.
“Just avoid that thing you do with your eyebrow.” I imitated it. “It’s really irritating.”
I headed back to my office, leaving Dante Marino behind. Leaving behind all the chaos this case was still going to cause in this city. I didn’t want this in my life. I didn’t need a front-row seat to watch the fall of Dante’s Empire.