I hated to say it, but I was looking forward to seeing who these people were that had hurt him so profoundly. I couldn't understand how someone could be so cold and cruel to their son. If I were a father, I’d love the fuck out of my kid.
A man dressed in a suit walked by, his shoes clopping on the polished linoleum. Matteo released a heavy breath and sought my protection, which naturally made me feel like the strongest man in the world.
“I need you to know that no matter what happens today, you still got me, okay?” I said, massaging his neck.
He nodded. “Thanks.”
No light tease or snappy comeback. It was breaking my heart to see him like this.
Long minutes passed and I did my best to keep him calm. I wanted to drag him away from this place and shield him from all the miseries of the world. But the sooner he got through this, the better.
A man wearing a slim black suit like it had been invented solely for him, approached. He set his dark eyes on Matteo, and I was tempted to jump in front of him. I seriously needed to chill the fuck out. I was here for support, not to be his knight in shining armor.
“Are you ready to do this?” he asked Matteo.
“No, not really,” he said and passed me a look. “Sean, this is my lawyer, Leander Salvatore.”
I accepted the man’s strong handshake with a frown. “Why does your name ring a bell?”
“Probably because he is the best lawyer in the country, as he never forgets to remind me,” Matteo said with a little bite.
The lawyer ran a palm down his suit jacket. “I’m well known in many circles, Mr. McCarthy.”
I snapped my fingers. “You didn’t by chance handle a case for my friend, Danny Becker, did you?”
His brows shot up. “Small world.”
“He complained that you keep referring to him as a mister.” I nudged Matteo. “You’re in good hands. He got Danny a huge settlement from the company that employed the cucks that bashed him.”
“Really?”
“That’s not important right now. Do you remember everything we talked about the other day, Mr. Fernandez?” He asked like a concerned parent.
“Let you do all the talking,” he said on a heavy breath. “And don’t let my emotions get the best of me.”
“Good. The judge is ready to see us.” He squeezed Matteo’s shoulder. “They aren’t allowed to speak directly to you. You don’t have to even look at them. This is almost over, okay?”
The lawyer’s sudden gentle tone surprised me and his devotion to his client made him a-okay in my book.
“And you,” he said to me, his stare turning hard and cold again. “You are here as a courtesy, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, offering Matteo a wink in an effort to smooth his nerves.
He gave me a half smile and adjusted a button on my dress shirt. I hated the formal wear. “You brute. Can’t even put the button in the right hole.”
His words were a bit sharp, but I didn’t take it personally. He was terrified. I took his shaky hand in mine and kissed his knuckles. “You got this.”
“Are we ready?” The lawyer prompted.
The walk to the room seemed longer than it was, all the clap of shoes and hum of voices grating on my ears. I could feel the negative energy rolling off Matteo and I wished there were more I could do. Mr. Salvatore touched him again and passed him a reassuring nod before opening the door to a space that resembled a conference room as opposed to a courtroom. But as Matteo had explained, this was a mediation for the judge to decide if Matteo's parents even had a case, and whether or not it met the criteria to go to a jury trial.
Five people, two men and three women turned their attention to us as we took our seats on the opposite side of the long table. The judge was an older woman, her gray hair gathered into a tight bun with studious glasses framing her face. I assumed the elderly man digging through a briefcase was the Fernandezes’ lawyer.
Matteo proceeded to stare at the polished surface of the table while I glared at his parents across from me who refusedto meet my eyes. I was curious about what they thought of me. Perhaps they assumed I was Mr. Salvatore’s assistant.
Matteo’s father had that air of superiority most rich motherfuckers did and was the spitting image of his son, so much so that I thought I was looking at Matteo thirty years down the line. His mother clung to her husband's side, hunched over, her expression blank. They were both very-well dressed and it was because of Gabriel’s love of labels that I recognized all the designer clothing and accessories. A draft of chilly air hit me.
The hearing got started with the judge and two lawyers going over technical stuff and spitting out fancy terms that went over my head. I touched Matteo’s thigh under the table to remind him he wasn’t in this alone. He passed me a weak smile and proceeded to stare at the table.
