CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX #2
“My client, Mr. Marino… Dante.” I leaned on the wooden railing that separated us.
“He’s not here to seduce anyone. He’s here because he was judged in the court of public opinion—a court with no jury.
Condemned by some of us before he could even defend himself.
A man who didn’t use his name as a shield or his money as a stage for the circus that formed around him.
A man who didn’t back down when they tried to rewrite his truth. ”
My voice dropped slightly. Firm, but weighted with something heavier.
“But justice... true justice... doesn’t care what you think of a man. It cares about evidence. About consistency. About the facts that, despite not making exciting headlines, are still the only things that matter in this courtroom.”
I glanced at Fisherman for an instant, then turned back to the jury.
“You’ll hear versions, hypotheses, suggestions designed to frighten you and dehumanize my client—because it’s easier to abandon someone who doesn’t deserve a golden bust in the town square.
But I ask only one thing… that you listen.
With attention. With skepticism. And above all, with courage.
Because the truth, ladies and gentlemen, isn’t always comfortable. But it still deserves to be heard.”
I approached the podium and finished, my voice sharp as a scalpel.
“Thank you.”
The silence that followed wasn’t one of respect. It was tension—the kind that sticks to your skin and vibrates in your bones.
I sat down next to Dante, and he pressed his leg against mine—which only then did I realize was shaking badly.
Quinn watched us from across the room, searching for any sign of my discomfort.
“Buckle up,” I whispered to Dante. “It’s going to be a rough ride.”
In the hours that followed, the prosecution presented its evidence, questioned witnesses, and made insinuations. Every time Quinn slipped up, I seized the opportunity to gain ground for our side.
Suddenly Quinn called Claire Petrov, and Dante looked at me, confused. Claire wasn’t scheduled to testify now—the judge had limited the connection between Quentin’s and Petrov’s cases.
“Your Honor, may I approach?” I intervened.
The judge waved us forward.
“The prosecution knows Dante isn’t being tried for the Petrov case. What’s Claire doing here?” I asked, irritated.
Fisherman shuffled some papers on his desk.
“Claire Petrov is here to testify about the relationship between Quentin and Marino.”
“You have other witnesses who’ve already done that,” I countered.
“Well, I think Ms. Claire can bring another perspective.” Quinn was unyielding.
“This is low, even for you.”
“You two…” Fisherman cut in. “I’ll allow Claire to testify since it’s well-known that everyone involved has a close relationship.”
We returned to our seats and Claire was sworn in.
“You and Mr. Marino are close, Ms. Petrov?” Quinn asked Claire.
“We got closer a few months ago… but he’s close to my brother, and I’m friends with his sister.”
“By the way, I’m sorry about your brother.” Quinn was baiting her, and I reacted.
“Objection, Your Honor!”
“My apologies, Your Honor,” Quinn said with feigned contrition. “During the time you’ve grown close to the accused, did you witness any fights between him and the victim, or any tension?”
“Everyone kind of knew they didn’t get along.”
“And do you know why?”
“Your Honor, the prosecution is leading the witness.”
“Quinn, stop beating around the bush.”
“I’ll rephrase.” Quinn approached Claire. “Prosecution’s Exhibit 21. This is a message the witness provided to the prosecution, in which she and the defendant, Dante Marino, discuss a certain party approximately twelve days before the murder. Correct?”
Claire confirms. I stare at Dante. I had no idea about Claire, and even less about this message.
I leaned in close and whispered without moving my lips.
“Should I be worried about what you and Claire have been talking about?”
Dante moves his head an inch closer.
“As my lawyer or as my wife?” he teases.
“Not the time, Dante,” I scold.
“Neither,” he replies.
“…Dante was irritated with Quentin for days after the victim approached you?” Quinn wasn’t just trying to get to Dante—he wanted to get under my skin. I could see him watching for my reaction at the end of each loaded question.
“Quentin was trouble,” Claire replied. “Everyone got fed up with him, especially after he took over his parents’ company and started running with some shady people—”
“The prosecution rests.”
Quinn cut Claire off, but not fast enough to stop the murmur that rippled through the room.
“Miss Petrov.” I stood and walked toward her. “You were at the dinner at Dante’s studio, right after the first hearing. Correct?”
“Yes. You met me there.”
“Of course.” I smiled at her. “Would it be fair to say you were happy Dante made bail?”
“Yes. We’re friends.”
“Friends. Of course.” I turned to the jury, then to Dante. “And how close are you two? Really.”
“Like I said, he’s my brother’s friend, and I’m friends with his sister.”
“Have you and he ever had any kind of romantic involvement?” I pressed.
“No,” she replied, clearly bothered by the question.
“Why? He didn’t want you?”
“He’s my best friend’s brother—”
“Your best friend’s brother.” I stared at her. “Yes, you said that. But you have feelings for him, don’t you?”
“Your Honor, is she interested in the witness’s love life?” Quinn countered.
“You’re right, Prosecutor.” I turned to Quinn.
“Miss Petrov doesn’t need to tell me she’s in love with my client.
Their love lives aren’t relevant to this case, but it is strange that someone so happy to see him free would suddenly offer a completely out-of-context excerpt from a conversation my client supposedly had with her. ”
“My feelings haven’t changed,” Claire interrupted. “And the conversation is real. He wanted to know if Dante and Quentin had a feud.”
“Of course. And you rushed to hand it over because you wanted to help the man who rejected you that night, didn’t you?”
“Dr. Torres,” Fisherman warned.
“All right.” I adjusted my suit and my posture.
“You said Quentin was a difficult person.” I walked to the paper on my desk, Dante’s gaze following me.
“Quote: ‘especially after he took over his parents’ company and started hanging around with some…’ Shady people, right? Is that what you were going to say?”
“Yes.”
“What people were you referring to?”
“Well… he was running with some pretty rough Russians.”
“Russians?”
“Yes. They own a nightclub next to Nepal, the restaurant where Quentin had dinner before… you know.”
“Were you afraid of Quentin?”
“I preferred to keep my distance.”
“Judge Fisherman, is the doctor here to defend her client or to disrespect the Darwins and our victim?”
“Withdrawn.” I smiled at Quinn exactly as he had smiled at me before. I knew I was playing with fire, but I needed to push harder if I really wanted to force him to show his hand. “The defense rests.”
I walked confidently back to my seat. When I sat down, Dante was watching me, a gleam in his eyes.
“What?”
“I’m…”
“What?” I did my best not to react when his hand grabbed mine and pressed it against his erection.
“Physically and emotionally shaken by your… ferocity,” he whispered.
My eyes could have popped out of my head and bounced across the floor all the way to Judge Fisherman’s feet—that’s how caught off guard I was.
I pulled my hand back, caught between excitement and panic.
My eyes meet Joe’s as he walks toward Célie, who gives me the signal.
“Your Honor, the defense calls Elisabeth Gaines, journalist from Heritage News, as an expert witness.”
“This is ridiculous, Your Honor. The defense is improvising,” Quinn sputtered.
“Improvising, or playing the prosecution’s game with last-minute surprises?” I countered.
“Expert in what, girl?” Fisherman said impatiently.
“In drug trafficking in the region, sir.”
“And how does this connect to the case?” Will was growing impatient, and I was enjoying it.
“Well, you’ll understand if you stop whining and let me work, Quinn.”
“I’ll allow it, but I want to make it clear to the jury that we’re not here to put the victim on trial.” Fisherman nodded to the guard to let Betty proceed with the protocols.
“Miss Gaines, could you state your credentials for the court?” I asked.
“I’ve been a journalist for over two decades, and my specialty is crime reporting.”
“So you know the worst of what goes on in peaceful, friendly Heritage.”
“In the entire state,” Betty agreed.
“What do you know about the Rota nightclub next to Nepal?”
“It’s a den of sin, drugs, and bad people.”
“Bad people?”
“Yes, drug dealers, thieves, hookers,” she answered impatiently.