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“So you knew we didn’t want it!” he exploded. I was vaguely worried about his blood pressure. “You heard us deny him, and you went directly against us?!”
“For a reason,” I said firmly. “The Marino syndicate is Cosa Nostra, meaning that they see themselves as gentlemen. They have strict rules against harming women and children, so the only attorneys who will be able to work with them without fearing physical backlash are women. Most other female lawyers have been in Chicago too long to risk the financial ruin the mafia can cause, so they won’t take the case either.
“That only leaves them a few options, namely Rebecca Dobbs-Shataria and Maisie Alby. They both have practices outside of Chicago, so if they needed to pick up and run, both of them would have a safety net to fall back on. I don’t have a backup plan, but I’m also not yet established here, so I’m risking far less. Both Alby and Dobbs-Shataria are direct competitors; if I don’t take this case, they will, and they will win it. That will only gain them even further traction. Keeping this case out of their hands is in the firm’s best interest.”
By now, Mr. Dark’s glower had turned less sharp, clearly snagging onto the logic of what I was saying. That, and I had carefully crafted this pitch to appeal to his competitive nature—he had a sort of unspoken war with Attorney Alby, and I knew he took any losses personally. I forged ahead.
“I spent the night on research, and the case is solid. I’m meeting with Andrea Marino this afternoon to ensure I get every possible detail. I adjusted the attorney fee and representation agreement forms to make it clear that I am working on this case separately from my employment at Barker, Carter, and Dark. If the Marinos retaliate against me, you are out of the line of fire. If all goes to plan, our firm gets to take both the attorney fee and the credit for winning a big client’s case. This is a net positive, even with all the risks.”
Mr. Dark hummed, eyes still narrowed but also more thoughtful than they had been before. He was still skeptical, but I was on the path to winning him over. Now, I just needed to keep my foot out of my mouth. My heart thrummed so fast I could barely feel my fingers.
“Show me,” he demanded. I whipped the contracts out of my briefcase, prepared for this order, and passed them to him. He looked them over with a critical squint.
“This doesn’t excuse you for doing this before speaking with us,” he said, lowering the papers. Good. That meant he couldn’t find anything on them to critique, no matter how badly he wanted to.
“I do apologize for that,” I admitted. “I understand that I should have spoken up and gotten your approval first, but I was concerned by how long it might take to convince the other partners. Mr. Marino was clearly in a hurry, and I was afraid he’d sign on with one of our competitors if I didn’t act immediately.”
“The other partners, but not me,” Mr. Dark said. I took a steadying breath, trying not to feel like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. I’d known he’d take notice of that—it was no use in pretending otherwise.
“Yes, sir,” I nodded. “Obviously every senior partner has my full respect, but you also all have different strengths. I consider your analytical mind to be one of yours.”
“Which is why you came to me first,” he said, both annoyed and begrudgingly pleased. “You knew you could convince me, and that that would give you a handhold with the other two.” I nodded.
“Yes, sir,” I said. I was careful not to apologize; Mr. Dark was far more likely to appreciate a realistic, straightforward approach, and this was a necessary skill for a lawyer to have. Even the most morally upstanding lawyers—yes, surprisingly, a few of those really did exist—had to master the slimier side of utilizing their resources smartly.
Mr. Dark just stared at me, assessing. I could do nothing but stand there and let him.
Finally, after what felt like a small eon, he sighed. He was shaking his head, but he handed me back the copies of my contracts without a word. Relief flooded my body.
“I approve your out-of-office work this afternoon,” he said as I took the papers from him. “But you’re the one breaking the news to Aaron and Jeb.”
“Of course, sir,” I agreed, remaining professional. I could kick my feet in celebration when I was alone in my office. “According to the schedule, there’s a thirty-minute window tomorrow where all three of you are available, starting at 10:15. May I tell Meredith to block that time out for a short meeting?” Mr. Dark chuckled wryly to himself.
“You’ve already checked, of course,” he muttered to himself. Then, louder, he told me, “Yes, fine. Block it off. Anything else?”
“No sir,” I said. “I’ll return to work. Thank you for your understanding.”
He just waved me off, but that was all I needed to excuse myself. Or, more accurately, to get the hell out before he had the chance to chew me out. I was sure Barker and Carter would do plenty of that tomorrow morning.
Shit. I’d known what I would be getting into, but God, I was not looking forward to it.
I could solidify my plan for the meeting later though; right now, I had to get ready to meet a mafia boss.
Chapter Six
LAUREN
The intimidating metal doors of the Cook County Correctional Facility’s third meeting room were a noisy affair. The standard alert for a door opening, a loud buzzer, echoed through the hallways just moments before the heavy locks disengaged with a loud thunk. Frankly, it was very unpleasant. I supposed it was meant to be.
The doors squeaked open on their mechanical tracks, and the guard ushered me in. I had one hour.
I had to admit that I felt unmoored and a bit out of my depth. This was my first interview with an incarcerated client that I’d be doing fully alone, without being guided through or graded on. I reminded myself that nerves were to be expected. I would know at least one person in the room, I would be fine. The door closed loudly behind me.
Immediately, I noticed the attractive older gentleman sitting at the table, less because of his commanding aura and more because of the bright orange jumpsuit he had on. This must be Andrea Marino, Don of the all-powerful Marino mafia family who had committed heinous crimes with such brilliance no one could ever prove it was him. He was probably singlehandedly responsible for a good portion of the corpses weighted down at the bottom of Lake Michigan.
If it weren’t for the way he held himself, that quiet power that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention, he wouldn’t have looked that different from any other fifty-some-year-old man in the Chicago streets. I had never felt more like prey.
Out of reflex, I scanned the room for Richard, the one familiar face I could use to anchor myself. It was human to seek out the known in uncertain scenarios, after all, and for reasons I didn’t bother looking too closely at in that moment, I felt like he was safe. But, to my horror, he wasn’t there.
