Page 67 of Wicked Roses
Salvatore grips my chin and drops a kiss on my lips. “Your father’s opinion still means a lot to you.”
True.
“I’m staying with you right now,” I say. “What he thinks doesn’t matter. He doesn’t even know about... this.”
“Are you going to tell him? About what happened?”
I rattle out a breath and think on it. “No. I don’t want him to know. He’d... he’d raise hell. His reaction would be your reaction, but replace the mafia with the ire of the entire Northam police force. I wouldn’t be surprised if he came out of retirement just to handle the situation.”
“That might be the one time he and I are on the same side—destroying the piece of shit who hurt you.”
“You and he are a lot more alike than you realize.”
Salvatore’s brow furrows in offense. “I wouldn’t go that far. We’re both protective of you. The similarities end there.”
“I used to have a dream where you finally made peace. You guys reached a truce... and we had a family dinner.”
“Phi, that’s never happening. That’s why it was a dream.”
I don’t object as we finish settling in for bed. We dim the lights and slip under the covers, watching TV until we fall asleep. In the back of my mind I’m thinking more about how good it feels to lay beside Salvatore.
And how soon, once we get revenge on my attacker, it’s all going to come to an end.
We’ll be over.
For good.
* * *
Judge Ortiz calls an emergency hearing first thing Monday morning. I show up to the courtroom alongside Brenda, prepared to argue against whatever the reason is for the hearing to have been called. Giorgio Belini and his team of lawyers take their seats at the defense table, watching us with interest. Almost arrogance.
Interesting considering they’re on the losing side. I’m guessing they’ve managed to convince Ortiz to delay the sentencing again.
Giorgio Belini can’t take his eyes off me. He follows my every move with an almost fanatical gleam, evoking a flutter of nerves in my stomach. I ignore him and the nerves and concentrate on being as sharp as possible.
“Thank you for joining me here today,” Judge Ortiz says from his towering booth. He speaks in his usual monotone, his half-moon glasses low on his bulbous nose. “This trial has been a harrowing experience for all involved. It has been of particular interest for the public and followed closely by national media. As the judge presiding over this case, it has been of utmost importance that I ensure a fair and speedy trial for the accused.”
My brows knit as I glance from Judge Ortiz to the defense side. The expressions on the faces of his lawyers read even more arrogant. Belini’s not even looking ahead like the rest of them—he’s still looking right at me.
The nerves inside me deepen, roiling incessantly until I have a stomachache. I tear my attention from the defense table and refocus on Judge Ortiz. At my side, Brenda’s practically hovering in her seat, about to blurt out a question.
“It is without a doubt this is a rare and unique circumstance that may cause a shockwave, but the constitutional rights of the accused must be upheld as much as for any law-abiding citizen. It is with this in mind, that I have carefully reviewed the defense’s motion to appeal, and I have decided to throw out the conviction.”
“What?!” I gasp before I can stop myself. I’m on my feet, approaching the bench without permission. “Your honor, you can’t possibly—he was found guilty on the count of first-degree murder!”
“And it has been revealed that the evidence used to prosecute him was improperly handled by Northam PD,” Judge Ortiz says coldly.
“The evidence placing Giorgio Belini at the scene of Pete Schmidt’s murder was direct! We have security camera footage and eye witness testimony to corroborate what happened.”
“Substantive documentation has been submitted to the court as proof that Northam PD mishandled the evidence in this case, Ms. Adams. The charges brought against him are barred from any future prosecution regardless of the accused’s innocence.”
“You’ve been bought,” I say, shock pinging through me. I shake my head. “That’s the only explanation. You’ve been bought like the rest!”
“Ms. Adams, calm yourself, or you will be held in contempt!”
The bailiff inches closer as if ready to restrain me should Ortiz order it. I back off, so thrown by this turn of events, I can’t even present another argument. I blink and open my mouth, but no other coherent words come out.
How is this possible!?