CHAPTER FIVE
Animus Auctoritas
“Good girls always love the villains” (deisebloombastic)
“I understand, Mrs. Talmon,” I said without really understanding, but the woman needed to stop talking. I finally ended what had to be the longest termination call of my life. It was official—I was cornered by Dante, and it was eating away at me.
I barely enjoyed the New Year’s Eve party at the Mallord building. A traditional Heritage party. Everyone was talking about this case. All I wanted was to go home.
My phone rang, and I froze—until I saw Dad on the screen.
“Lee! It’s been so long!”
“How was the trip?”
“Ah, it was wonderful and warm, sweetheart. Your mother still looks great in a bikini.” My parents had been divorced for almost my entire life, but they’d never really split up.
They did absolutely everything together.
At first, the excuse was to give me a strong sense of family, but after I grew up and moved out, they kept doing everything together because they were getting old and might need someone to catch them if they fell.
“Spare me the details, Dad.”
“And how’s work?” he asked—the question he really wanted answered. My father is loving, but his constant pressure for me to become a prosecutor chips away at our relationship.
“I’m fine. We’re fine.”
“Any super criminals needing your help?”
“I don’t help criminals, Dad,” I grumbled, staring at Dante’s folder on the desk. “I work for justice.”
“Prosecutors work for justice,” he scoffed. “Defense attorneys work by bending justice.”
I rolled my eyes. My God, this subject was so exhausting.
“Did you hear about Will? He’s got a case—”
“Bait case. Yeah, Dad, I heard.”
“It would be an excellent case for you. Could boost your resume and—”
“Dante Marino offered me the case,” I blurted out.
“What? I was telling you to offer yourself as an assistant, not to defend that Marino bastard.”
I stayed quiet.
“Lee, you there?”
“A bait case is a case where you can always catch something. Even if it’s just a boot,” I repeated his words back to him. “I thought that was your motto.”
“You’re going to go head-to-head with William.”
“So what?”
“This is William’s bait case,” my father said slowly, as if trying to convince himself.
“Your problem isn’t the possibility of me kicking Will’s soft ass and winning the case. Which I could do with my hands tied behind my back,” I let out. “Your problem is that I’m not who you wanted me to be.”
“You’re exaggerating.” Am I?
“No, Dad. I’m addressing the elephant in the room,” I huffed, completely irritated. “I need to go, Dad. I have to work hard if I want to swim with the sharks, right?”
I hung up without waiting for a response. That call was going to cost me later, but for now, I’d survived another one of his attacks. I needed air.
I grabbed my things and left the office. The cold air turned my breath to vapor as I hurried to the car. Not even my many layers would be enough against tonight’s cold.
When I turned onto my street, ice covered everything. The trees were blanketed in white, the houses lined with white sidewalks. It was a modest neighborhood where big families lived. I was probably the only single person on the entire block.
I parked in front of the house, covered the car to protect it from the ice, and ran inside.
Once in, I stripped down and stepped under the hot shower.
Steam filled the bathroom, fogging up the glass and mirror.
I leaned against the wall, letting the hot water run from my head down the middle of my back.
After the shower, I put on warm clothes and headed back downstairs to make tea. I’d eaten something at the office while waiting for a callback from a client who’d stopped answering.
“I need to figure this out,” I grumbled, silencing the kettle’s whistle. The steaming water filled the cup, turning pink from the herbal blend. I inhaled the aroma before taking a sip. “Later.”
I walked to the living room, stopping in front of the window and staring at the mailbox with its flag up.
“Damn, I forgot again,” I grumbled, realizing I still hadn’t picked up the mail that had been waiting since the night before.
I set the cup on the windowsill and grabbed my overcoat from the doorknob. I bundled up and ran to the mailbox, pulling out a pile of mail. The snow had started falling again, and I could feel the flakes landing on my eyelashes.
Clutching the mail, I ran back inside. Teeth chattering, I threw myself onto the couch—the only piece of furniture in my living room—where a warm blanket was waiting for me to burrow into.
The mail included some advertisements, bills, and a long envelope stamped with the Braxton Penitentiary seal.
The name Dr. Helena Torres was written as the addressee.
It could have been from anyone, sent at any time, but the way “Doctor” stood out caught my attention—as if he’d traced over the letters again and again.
“Inmate #772-25-16 - MARINO, Dante.” My mouth formed the words before my brain could process them. I set aside the rest of the mail and curled up in the corner of the sofa with the envelope in my hands.
Dante didn’t intimidate me—not directly. But his audacity pushed my limits. And I was curious about his next move.
Dr. Helena,
I hope this letter finds you at the right moment, when I don’t have to share your attention with other criminals. I want the pleasure of being the only one on your mind for the next few months.
I heard you’ve been quite busy reorganizing your schedule. I wonder if you have time for me now, or will you keep ignoring my calls? By the way, is this how you treat your most… singular client?
I’m sure this wasn’t the upbringing the great prosecutor Hugh Torres planned for his firstborn.
Does he know about me yet? Is he proud? Or are you running from me because deep down you know this would be too dangerous to drop on him without preparation—say, at your mother’s upcoming birthday dinner?
Helena, I hope you don’t take too long… or maybe you’re waiting for me to get on my knees and beg? That’s not it, is it?! You wouldn’t be that bold. Or does the honorable Helena Torres have her little secrets too?
P.S.: Don’t forget: Wear red when you come to see me.
Dante.
I was breathless. Fired up in a way that only love or wrath can ignite. And for Dante, I was reserving my Wrath in its rawest form.
Dante is going to meet the unpolished version of Helena.