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“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law,” he recites listlessly. “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”
“I’m his attorney!” I shout, squeezing my way through.
A move that turns out to be a mistake—the officer reading Salvatore his Miranda rights takes it as a threat, and shoves me against the wall with a vice-like grip on my shoulder.
“Get your fucking hand off her!” Salvatore roars, in an instant ready to fight off the officers. He bucks against the one cuffing him and takes him down to the ground with an over-the-back toss.
The officer who’s shoved me, draws his firearm. “Stop where you are, Mancino, or I’ll pull the trigger!”
It takes another second for me to process how everything’s escalated so quickly. A minute ago, I was in the kitchen feeding Salt and Pepa their kibble. My expression sharpens at the sheer audacity. I step away from the wall and put myself between the officer with his gun drawn and a handcuffed, rage-infused Salvatore.
My anger may not be a razing firestorm like his, but Iwillshut this mess down right now.
“Officer, put your firearm away,” I say calmly. “I am Salvatore Mancino’s attorney. You will present me the signed warrant stating why my client is under arrest. I believe my client already asked, though he was ignored.”
“Your client,” he spits, “just assaulted a police officer by knocking him on his ass.”
“You will also overlook this little…misunderstanding,” I speak over him. I glance down at the winded officer lying on the ground before meeting his glare with a withering one of my own. “You have not only illegally enteredmyhome of residence to detain a third party—that’s right, this house you’ve tracked wet sand into ismine—but you have unlawfully put your hands on me.”
His brows push together, and he slowly lowers his gun. “I… well… we didn’t…”
I step closer, closing the gap between us. My gaze dips to his badge. “Officer Yancy, is it? Badge number 304578. Former Assistant District Attorney, Delphine Adams. I am quite cordial with Montbec Island’s DA, Victor Sumney. I would be happy to place a call informing him that his police officers are accosting law-abiding citizens in their private domiciles. I would also be thrilled to tie up your station—I believe you have about eight hundred officers assigned—with so much litigation, your island will be paying court costs fordecadesto come. Your choice. Decide quickly. I haven’t had my coffee this morning, so my patience is fairly nonexistent.”
His upper lip curls in pure bitterness. I’ve just made myself a new enemy.
Good.
I’ll gladly be his enemy if he’s arresting Salvatore. I’ll crush him any way I can. Both inside and outside the courtroom.
He blows out a reluctant sigh and holsters his gun. “Get up, Lovitz. Stop floundering on the floor like a damn wet fish on dry land.”
I snatch the arrest warrant out of his hand and speed read through the text typed out on the page.
Murder two. Ralph Mirra.
My expression remains neutral as I fold the warrant signed by a magistrate not from Montbec, but from Northam—immediately, I know what’s going on, and who’s behind this.
He’s fucking with us. He knows we’re here. It was only a matter of time once he won the election.
Yancy’s watching and waiting for a reaction out of me, likely expecting an emotional one. When I don’t give it to him, he shifts to provocation.
“Your client is in hot water, so you might want to put some real clothes on,ADA.” His gaze rakes over me like the asshole he so clearly is.
“You’re right, officer. I will need a moment to put proper clothes on. So will my client.”
“No fucking way! This clown circus is already out of hand. He’s coming with us right now. You can catch up.”
“Do I have to remind you of the protocol that’s been broken? You called your partner a floundering fish, but it seems like you’re the one with a memory as poor as a goldfish. Excuse me, we’ll be down in five minutes. Changed. Mr. Mancino.”
Salvatore’s glare scalds with hot rage. He spares neither of them, glaring hatefully at Lovitz as the clumsy officer staggers to his feet, and then at Yancy on passing.
It’s an energy that thickens in the air like a toxic fume—Salvatore’s bloodlust that has him tempted to crush both officers ’til they’re a pile of bones.
He would, if at all possible.
I know him better than anyone, which makes me confident enough to say these are the thoughts running through his dark mind.
He’s listened for now, going along with me taking the lead as his lawyer, but he’s never done well with authority.
