Page 41 of Ruined By Protection
"It's rarely that simple," Ms. Gianelli replies. "Especially when abuse is involved. Men like Elliott Montgomery don't relinquish control easily."
Evelyn leans forward. "Damiano said you're the best. That's why we're here."
At the mention of Damiano's name, something shifts in Ms. Gianelli's demeanor—a subtle straightening of her spine, a new attentiveness.
"Don Feretti has been a valuable client for many years," she says carefully. "If he sent you to me then you'll have my full attention and resources. But that doesn't mean it is going to be easy."
The way she says ‘Don’ makes it clear she knows exactly who and what Damiano is. I wonder how many times she's helpedthe Feretti family navigate legal troubles, extricated them from criminal prosecution via some smart legal maneuvering.
"Here's what we need to do immediately," Ms. Gianelli continues, all business now. "First, we document those bruises professionally. I'll have a medical examiner I trust meet us at my private office this afternoon."
She opens a drawer and pulls out a sleek smartphone still in its packaging. "Second, you need a secure phone that your husband can't track. This is a burner with a new number. It's clean, but don't use it to contact anyone from your previous life just yet. I've talked with Mr Feretti regarding this."
I take the phone, surprised by her preparedness. "Thank you."
"Third, we file for an emergency restraining order. With photographic evidence of your injuries and your testimony, we should be able to secure that quickly."
"What about my family?" I ask, the worry that's been gnawing at me since I fled Austin bubbling to the surface. "My parents, my brother—Elliott controls everything. My mom's job, my dad's medical care, Jake's scholarship..."
Ms. Gianelli's eyes narrow. "Financial abuse is often overlooked but equally damaging. We'll need to document how he's used financial control to isolate you."
"He'll hurt them to get to me," I whisper.
"Not if we move quickly and strategically," Ms. Gianelli assures me. "I assume you've taken steps to ensure he can't trace you here?"
"I only used cash," I confirm. "And I left my phone behind."
"Good. Now, regarding your assets?—"
"I don't have any," I interrupt. "Everything's in his name. The house, the cars, the bank accounts... I only have what I managed to save secretly. About eight thousand dollars in cash."
Ms. Gianelli makes another note. "We'll file for temporary spousal support along with the divorce petition. Given the circumstances and the disparity in your financial situations, the court should be sympathetic."
Evelyn places her hand over mine. "And in the meantime, you're staying with us. Damiano was very clear about that."
The lawyer nods approvingly. "That's good. You need a secure location he can't access. Now, let's talk about the divorce filing itself."
She pulls out several forms and places them in front of me. "We'll cite irreconcilable differences publicly, but privately document the abuse for the judge's eyes only. This protects you from immediate retaliation while we’re building our case."
I stare at the papers, overwhelmed by what lies ahead. "How long will this take?"
"Honestly? It depends on how hard he fights it. A contested divorce with someone of his resources could take a year or more."
A year. The thought makes me sick. A year of looking over my shoulder, a year of fearing for my family, a year of not being truly free.
"But," Ms. Gianelli continues, her voice clipped, "the restraining order will provide immediate legal protection. And..." she hesitates, choosing her words carefully, "having the Feretti family's support offers certain... practical advantages that most of my clients don't enjoy."
I understand what she's not saying. Mafia protection means something in this city.
"What do I need to do right now?" I ask, ready to take the first step.
Ms. Gianelli slides the forms toward me. "Start by telling me everything. Every incident, every threat, every control tactic.Leave nothing out. The more ammunition I have, the stronger our position."
I take a deep breath and begin to unpack the nightmare of my marriage, one painful memory at a time.
Matteo
My head pounds like someone's applying a jackhammer to my skull. That's what I get for mixing bourbon with scotch last night. Not my finest decision, but sleep wouldn't come after seeing Hazel at dinner—Hazel fucking Taylor, sitting at the Feretti table like she belonged there.
