Page 16 of Prince of Vice

"Other people on trial for murder?"

"Other people unfairly convicted of such crimes, if you must know," she says, her hands on her hips. "Among my paying cases, I also do pro bono work for the Innocence Project, trying to get those wrongfully convicted the justice they deserve."

Her defiance sends a thrill down my spine, even as it stokes the fire of my frustration. As much as I want to reach out, to pull her close and make her submit to me, I know that's not what she needs right now. We're partners in this fight, and I must respect her boundaries. At least until someone else can take over.

"Fine," I relent, gritting my teeth. "But remember, Isabella, I'm trusting you with my life. If you can't handle it, let me know."

She nods firmly, determination shining in her eyes.

As we dive into our work, I struggle to keep my thoughts on the task at hand, rather than the tantalizing image of Isabella laid bare before me. I much preferred the idea of her being my plaything and not my lawyer. But with every word she speaks, every idea she challenges, I can't help but be drawn deeper into her spell.

Isabella's fingers tap rhythmically on the polished mahogany desk, her eyes locked onto mine as she leans in. "Tell me about the night you were arrested, Primo."

The memory hits me like a bullet to the chest, distracting my from my lewder thoughts. The sting of betrayal still lingers, even now. "I was outside New York City," I begin, my voice low and cold. "Dealing with an agent who'd gone rogue. He worked for the family, but he crossed us. We planned to take him out at a safe house."

Isabella's brow furrows, concern etching delicate lines across her forehead. “His name?”

“Acksel Michselson,” I say, the words feeling bitter in my mouth.

“And that's when everything went to hell?"

"Exactly." My hands clench into fists, the fury still fresh. “Axe expected us. It was a setup. The plan was to lure him to this safehouse where he’d be killed and disposed of.”

I can hear Isabella’s breath hitch at my words, but if she wants to work on this case, she needs to get used to this sort of thing.

“I don’t know who tipped him off, because he managed to get out of there alive. And the first thing he did was go to the Feds.”

“I don’t understand,” Isabella says, writing down notes on her legal pad. “You were arrested for killing a man named Beau Bennett.”

“Exactly,” I say. “Beau was his old partner and was at the safehouse that night with me. When I left him that night, he was alive and well. Next morning, I’m being arrested for his murder.”

As I lay bare the painful truth, I search Isabella's face for any sign of disbelief or doubt. Normally, I don't give a damn what people think of me, but somehow, her opinion matters. I want her to believe in my innocence.

"Primo," she says softly, her dark eyes filled with empathy, "I know you've done bad things. But you shouldn't go to prison for a crime you didn't commit. It sounds more and more like a set up to me."

I try and hide the shock I feel inside that she doesn’t question my story. I told her the entire truth, but still, almost everyone in my life was questioning me right now. The fact that she believes me—fuck, it makes me feel something right in the middle of my chest. “Damn right." I lean back in my chair, the familiar weight of guilt bearing down on me. "If I could just tell my story to the jury, make them see the truth—"

"Absolutely not," she cuts in sharply, her gaze steely. "You are not taking the stand."

"Excuse me?" I bristle at her interruption, anger flaring. Who does she think she is, telling me what I can and cannot do?

"Listen to me," she says firmly, her voice commanding. "Taking the stand would be a mistake. The prosecution would tear you apart. We need a solid defense, not just your word against theirs."

Her words sting, but there's truth in them too. And beneath the indignation, I can't help but feel a twisted sense of admiration for her tenacity. This woman stands toe-to-toe with me, unafraid to challenge my every decision, and it sends a shiver of desire down my spine.

My pulse races with frustration and something more primal. "Isabella, I'm telling you, it's important for the jury to hear my side of the story," I insist, my voice rough with frustration. "I've been in this world long enough to know that perception is everything."

"Primo," she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose as if she's trying to ward off a headache. "You don't understand. The moment you take the stand, you're giving the prosecution an open invitation to tear into every dark corner of your life. And trust me, they won't hold back."

"Are you saying I should just sit here and let them paint whatever picture they want?" I challenge, my gaze locked onto her steely eyes.

"Of course not." Isabella shakes her head, her red hair cascading over her shoulders. "But as your attorney, I'm in charge of our defense strategy, and there's well-established caselaw supporting that. You need to trust me, Primo."

My blood boils at her stubbornness. It only fuels my desire for her. But I push those thoughts aside, focusing on the matter at hand.

"Maybe I should get another lawyer," I snap, hoping the threat will be enough to make her reconsider.

"Fine," she retorts, her chin raised defiantly. "If you think you can find someone who'll put up with your stubbornness better than I can, go right ahead. Just remember, the prosecution is moving fast, and they're already trying to set a trial date within the next few weeks. But I'm sure you'll have no problem getting a new lawyer up to speed during that time. Or better yet, just represent yourself."

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