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“What happened, Aria?” Mattia asks.
“He wanted me to help him,” I reply. “And when I refused, he had me locked away. Said he would keep me there until I changed my mind. When I heard you coming through the window I thought he was staging a home invasion to have me killed.”
Mattia’s face pales and he clenches his jaw as he listens to me speak.
“Well, you’re out now. We need to figure out what to do,” he says.
“I will do whatever it takes to get this cleared up and to get Edoardo out of jail,” I say. “Anything you need of me.”
We drive for an hour through Chicago, through parts of the city that I have never seen before. Eventually, we get to a large, intimidating building. It’s a law firm.
“I’m taking you to meet Edoardo’s lawyer,” Mattia says, motioning for me to follow him through the door.
We take the elevator up to the twelfth floor of the building, and there I am shown to a large office with a view of the entire city. At his desk is a lawyer in a crisp gray suit. He has dark hair and glacier eyes. He looks terrifying, but I know that he will do the job.
“Aria, it’s nice to finally meet you,” he says with a strangely kind smile, considering his intimidating presence. “My name is Dalton.”
I shake his hand and he motions for me to take a seat on one of the large velvet chairs at his desk. In front of him he has multiple heaps of paperwork and newspaper clippings. He looks as if he hasn’t slept in a while either.
On his coaster rests a crystal glass filled with what seems to be bourbon. If it wasn’t for the fact that I’m pregnant, I might ask him for one.
“Right, we need to discuss what we are going to do to get Edoardo out of prison,” he says. “We saved you first, now we need to save him.”
“I’ll put out a statement,” I say eagerly. “I’ll tell the world that I went willingly, that he didn’t harm me, and that he never intended to harm me either. Surely then they’ll know that it wasn’t kidnapping?”
Dalton sighed. “It’s not that simple anymore,” he says. “Your father must have thought about that when he released the information to the media. It seems that every news agency, and the public have already decided that Edoardo is guilty.”
“I don’t understand,” I say quietly.
“It means that they’ve already made up their minds,” he says. “If you make a statement, your father will just come back and say that you have Stockholm Syndrome, or something else that makes Edoardo look like a villain. The media is looking for any reason to prove he is guilty.”
“How do I prove that it isn’t Stockholm Syndrome?” I ask desperately.
“I think we need to forget about your statement as an option entirely,” he explains. “I already have some information that might suggest that your father has already paid large sums of money to the accounts of almost every federal judge that might touch this case.”
“That’s exactly what he did last time,” Mattia interjects. “And no matter what we did, they still found him guilty, despite there being no physical evidence that he’d been there.”
“Yes,” Dalton agreed. “I’m afraid that your father is using the same template as last time. I fear that our options here might be limited. But we cannot lose faith yet.”
I want to believe him, but I’m having a hard time doing so. If it worked for my father last time, then why wouldn’t it work again?
“If I can’t make a statement and his verdict has already been decided by the media or with money … then what can we do?” I ask.
“I’m not entirely sure,” Dalton answers. “But none of us are leaving my office until we’ve figured it out.”
He isn’t joking. The three of us sit in the office, going over scenarios over and over again as we try to formulate a plan. Dalton is sharp, and sees every small detail in each suggestion. Nothing is mentioned without him pointing out what might go wrong with it.
It’s exhausting, but I am willing to do whatever it takes to create a plan that will work. I hate that he keeps shooting down options, but I also appreciate the attention to detail. By the time we are done, and ready to leave, the sun is already coming up for the day.
“You better leave before everybody else gets here,” Dalton says. “Your face has been all over the news recently. I’d rather them not see that you were here.”
I thank him for his time, and Mattia leads me back out of the building. When we are finally in the car, I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Anywhere you’d like to go?” Mattia asks.
“I need to see him,” I say. “I need to talk to him somehow. I need to see that he is alright.”
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Mattia says.
