CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Confessio
It's taking too long. FREE OUR BOY NOWWWW. ps: I thought it was adorable how they matched. I think I ship them. #Dalena_isreal? (@deisebloombastic)
Dante made his way to the witness stand. As he took the oath, the roar of the crowd outside could be heard chanting his name in unison.
“Mr. Marino.” Quinn leaned against the railing in front of Dante. “Are you feeling calm today?”
“Confident in the justice system,” he replied.
Was I breathing?
“Of course. And in your attorney.” Quinn looked at me. “Right?”
“Yes.” Dante avoided looking at me because he knew it was better. Because that's what we'd agreed.
“Right. In your official statement, you said that you and the victim didn't have a good relationship. Can you describe what that means?”
“Quentin was a spoiled troublemaker. We hadn't gotten along since we were teenagers, so when we became adults, the rift between us was only natural.”
“How many physical altercations did you have?”
“One.”
“Hours before you murdered him, wasn't it?” Quinn pressed.
“The prosecutor is trying to influence the jury, Your Honor.”
“The jury will disregard,” Fisherman ruled.
“I'll rephrase. Did the fight happen on the day of the murder?”
“Yes.”
“And what was the reason?”
“Quentin pulled another one of his stunts and I exploded.”
“Exploded. That's an excellent term for your temperament, isn't it, Mr. Marino? Exhibit ninety-two.”
Images of the hotel room after Dante's arrest appeared on the screen. The place was trashed from the night of wild sex between Dante and Katherine. It was hard to look at.
“You've always been seen as a polite and successful young man. Excellent grades, notable achievements at the University. A role model for the youth of this city. But no one really knows you, do they?”
“I believe we all have a face we don't show, just like the moon.”
“You like poetic words, don't you?”
“My mother always encouraged me to read.”
“I bet she hasn't been reading the things you wrote as an adult.” Quinn pointed the remote at the screen and changed the image. “Exhibit number twelve. Can you tell me what we're looking at?”
My throat tightened and it was hard to breathe. I looked at Célie, who was just as surprised as I was.
“A text.”
“A letter, perhaps?”
“It's possible.” Dante couldn't lie, and he knew it.
“'The thorny aspect of its stem seems to be a warning. A brutal reminder of its contrast. Of its complexity.'” Quinn read a highlighted excerpt. “Are you talking about yourself or the person who received the letter?”
“Judge, please.” I needed to do something.
“Quinn.”
“I'm just creating context so the jury understands who the real Dante Marino is.”
The judge gestured for him to proceed.
“I'm getting tired.”
“It's a poetic text. It can be interpreted by the reader in various ways,” Dante replied. His shoulders were tense, as was his jaw, but he maintained his impeccable posture.
“Can you tell us who you sent this 'poetic text' to?”
“Judge, may I approach?” I headed to his bench. “The prosecutor is about to break attorney-client privilege.”
“Technically you weren't his attorney yet, since the contract was only made official days later.”
“Only as a technicality,” I countered.
“Again, Judge, I'm just trying to show the other side of the defendant, and this is important to my case.”
“I'll allow the defendant to answer this question, but only this one on this subject,” he warned us and the rest of the courtroom.
“Mr. Marino, tell us who the letter was for.”
“For my attorney.” Dante's words set off a wave of murmurs through the room, forcing the judge to call for silence.
“You're a handsome, intelligent, and wealthy man. Do you think that makes it easier for you to get away with things?”
“I don't think it's protecting me now.”
“But it's an excellent tool for manipulation, isn't it?”
“Is that a question or a statement?” I stood up.
“Withdrawn.”
Quinn returned to his table.
I took a deep breath and touched the necklace at my chest before proceeding.
I walked over to Dante, who relaxed slightly now that Quinn had backed off.
“Mr. Marino, can you tell us who Cherrie K. is?” I asked.
“The escort I spent the night with at the hotel.”
“Cherrie K., also known as Katherine—she’s an old acquaintance of yours?”
“Yes.”
“But in your initial statement, you said she was a prostitute you met on the way to the hotel.”
“I wanted to protect her name.”
“Why?”
“Because I care about her.” His eyes locked on mine as he answered, and I had to look away.
“Do you consider yourself a protective man?”
“I think so.”
“Why did you lie about your name? In your statement, you said you were nervous, but at the time you checked in, you weren’t even a suspect yet.”
“I was irritated and didn’t want anyone bothering me.”
“Do you consider yourself aggressive?”
“No.”
“But you destroyed your hotel room. Why?”
“We were a little… too intense. That’s all.”
“You mean, during sex?” Chaos erupted in the room. Judge Fisherman had to bang his gavel several times before everyone quieted down.
“Answer, Mr. Marino,” the judge ordered.
“Yes.” Dante looked at me. “I don’t think that’s a crime.”
“It’s not.” I held his gaze and touched my neck, directing his eyes there.
“That’s all for now.”
I sat down and watched Quinn return to the fight.
“You’ve changed your statement several times. Why?”
“I knew if I told the truth, people would come up with theories.”
“Appearances matter to you people, don’t they? The rich of Heritage. That’s why you didn’t mention your sister was involved with the victim?” Quinn switched to that damned exhibit 102. “Your sister and Quentin were in a secret relationship?”
“My sister is a child.”
“She hasn’t been a child for some time.” Quinn switched to exhibit 103, a photo of Quentin and Maressa together in bed.
Candice grew agitated.
“This is absurd!”
“This photo is a fake!” Mr. Marino shouted.
“I’m sorry to inform you it’s not,” Quinn responded. “Did you know about this affair?”
“I found out shortly before he died.”
“Was that the real reason for the fight?”
“Yes.”
“Is that why you killed him?”
Dante growled.
“The prosecution rests.”
“Mr. Marino.” I stood up. “If you knew about your sister’s affair, why didn’t you tell the police? After all, that would have made Quentin a pedophile.”
“Shut your mouth!” Quentin’s mother shouted this time.
“Order!” Fisherman yelled.
“I wanted to protect my sister from more trauma.” He looked directly at his father.
“And who protects you, Dante?” I observed the jury’s reaction. They were completely taken with Dante. Completely drawn into his complex presence. And I hoped that might help us.
With chaos threatening to erupt, the judge called for a short fifteen-minute recess to let tempers cool. And I was ready for what came next. I was ready to lay all my cards on the table.