16. Luca
Luca
Justice doesn’t exist in this world.
Only power.
The courtroom is too cold, too sterile, too full of people who think the law actually means something.
I lean back in my seat, watching the show unfold.
Gilly is standing at the defense table, poised, sharp, every word slicing through the prosecution like a blade. Her voice doesn’t shake. Her posture doesn’t waver. She doesn’t hesitate.
She was made for this.
It’s almost enough to make me forget that her fight doesn’t matter.
Matteo was never going to prison. I saw to that days ago.
Still… I let her play the game.
Because I wanted to watch her win.
---
The prosecutor paces the front of the courtroom, reciting his argument like he’s reading from a script. He barely looks at the jury. Because he thinks he already has them.
Mistake.
Gilly stands when it’s her turn, adjusting the buttons on her fitted blazer. A gesture so subtle, but it shifts the entire energy in the room.
She moves like she belongs here. Like she owns this space.
“The prosecution would like you to believe that Matteo Marchesi pulled the trigger,” she begins, her voice smooth, confident.
“That the evidence is overwhelming.” She picks up a copy of the forensics report, holding it delicately between her fingers before setting it down.
“But what happens when we look a little closer?”
She turns toward the jury, holding their attention like she was born for this.
“The bullet in Diego Rojas’s body did not come from the gun found in Matteo Marchesi’s possession.”
A pause. Tension thickens.
The jury leans in.
The prosecutor stiffens. He didn’t think she’d catch that.
Gilly smiles. Not a warm one. Not a sweet one. A predator baring her teeth.
“This case was never about justice,” she says smoothly. “It was about burying an innocent man.”
---
The jury is out for less than thirty minutes.
Too fast. Suspiciously fast.
The judge reads the verdict:
"Not guilty."
Gilly exhales, her shoulders dropping for the first time today.
She won.
Or at least, she thinks she did.
Matteo rises as the cuffs are unlocked from his wrists, rolling his shoulders before casting me a knowing smirk.
He walks past Gilly and claps a hand on my shoulder.
"Grazie, fratello," he murmurs.
I smirk. "Of course."
Gilly doesn’t hear him.
But I know she feels it.
That unease creeping up her spine.
Because she’s starting to suspect.
This wasn’t just her win.
And I can’t wait to see what she does about it.
Gilly is too smart not to suspect something.
I see it the moment we step out of the courthouse.
She’s tense, too wound up for a woman who just won her case with such ease.
Her heels strike the pavement harder than necessary, her hands curled into fists at her sides.
She’s waiting—waiting for me to confirm what she already knows.
And I make her wait just a little longer.
Because watching Gilly unravel is one of my favorite pastimes.
---
The second we’re alone outside the courtroom, she spins on me, fire in her eyes.
"You bribed them, didn’t you?"
It’s not a question.
It’s a statement.
I smirk. “You won. What does it matter how?”
Her nostrils flare. That fire inside her burns so beautifully when it’s aimed at me.
"It matters," she hisses, stepping closer. "I built a case. I tore their arguments apart. I proved Matteo was innocent—"
"And yet," I interrupt, "they were never going to convict him, no matter what you did."
I watch the realization settle in.
She wanted this win to be hers.
She wanted to prove that she could fight me and win.
But she didn’t.
Because I never gave her that power to begin with.
She shoves me—a hard push against my chest.
It barely moves me, but the defiance in her touch sends heat straight to my blood.
"I didn’t need your help," she grits out.
I catch her wrists effortlessly, pulling her closer. Not rough. Not punishing. Just unyielding.
“Didn’t you?” I murmur, my lips just inches from hers.
I can feel her breathing, sharp and ragged.
She should pull away.
She should hate this.
But she doesn’t move.
The space between us vanishes in a second.
I kiss her. Not soft. Not gentle.
A claiming. A reminder.
She gasps against my mouth—but she doesn’t stop me.
For a moment, she kisses me back.
For a moment, she forgets to fight.
Her body melts into mine, her fingers curling against my chest.
But then—she wrenches herself free, her breathing uneven, her eyes wide.
I let her go.
Because I know she’ll come back.
She always does.
Gilly takes a step back, her breath ragged, her lips swollen from my kiss.
She’s shaken—but not just from anger.
I see the war raging behind her eyes. Hatred and desire, tangled together so tightly she doesn’t know where one ends and the other begins.
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, as if she can erase the way she just melted for me.
But she can’t.
We both know it.
Gilly squares her shoulders, trying to gather the pieces of her control.
She doesn’t look at me when she speaks. “Let Carmen see Rafa for a brief moment again.”
I tilt my head, studying her.
Her voice is steady, but I hear the hesitation underneath.
She thinks she’s won something.
That this is her pushing back, gaining a sliver of control.
And maybe I’ll let her believe that. For now.
I slide my hands into my pockets, letting the silence stretch.
Then, I nod once. “Fine.”
Her breath stutters, like she wasn’t expecting me to agree so easily.
Like she thought I’d make her beg.
I almost smirk.
Because I don’t need her to beg.
Not for this.
Not yet.
Gilly swallows, nodding sharply. “Good.”
She turns to leave, but I catch her chin between my fingers, tilting her face up.
She stiffens—but she doesn’t pull away.
I lower my voice. “You think this was your win, little lawyer?”
Her pupils dilate, but her jaw tightens.
“You agreed,” she says, challenging me, testing me.
I lean in, my breath brushing against her lips. “I did.”
She doesn’t realize yet.
That I gave her this because I want to see what she’ll do with it.
That every time she thinks she’s moving the pieces, she’s playing the game I set up for her.
I release her slowly, letting my fingers drag over her skin as I step back.
“Go on, then,” I say smoothly. “Let’s see what happens next.”
Gilly doesn’t reply.
She just turns on her heel and walks away, her shoulders stiff, her pace quick.
Like she’s running from something.
Like she’s running from me.
I watch her disappear down the courthouse steps, my smirk widening.
Because she still doesn’t understand.
She’s mine.
She’s always been mine.
And I always know exactly where she’s running to.