Page 25 of Prince of Vice

Driving the sleek new Lamborghini to the courthouse, I can't help but admit to myself that I'm reveling in the feel of this luxurious machine. The purr of the engine sends vibrations through my body, making me feel powerful and alive. The car is fast, undeniably sexy, and, above all, it feels safe – like an iron cage surrounding me in a world that has become dangerous and unpredictable.

But despite the thrill of driving such a magnificent vehicle, anger simmers beneath the surface. Primo never showed up over the weekend to work on his case with me, and as the trial looms closer, I have no guarantee he'll even appear at the hearing today. I grit my teeth, resenting how much control he seems to have over me, both professionally and emotionally.

Pulling into the courthouse garage, I park the Lamborghini next to a row of more modest cars. As I step out, the prosecutor - Greg - notices me, his eyes narrowing as they take in the gleaming SUV.

"Nice ride," he sneers, leaning against his own sensible sedan. "I guess selling your soul," he eyes me up and down, "or maybe more," he adds, "to the mob really does pay off."

His comment stings, but I refuse to let him see it. Instead, I toss my hair over my shoulder and stride past him, chin held high. "Good morning, Greg," I say coolly, not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction.

Entering the courtroom, anxiety begins to gnaw at my insides. Primo still hasn't arrived, and I glance around the room, searching for any sign of his tall, imposing figure. Greg sidles up to me, his voice dripping with false concern.

"Your client's cutting it a little close, don't you think?" he taunts. "Or maybe he finally realized he doesn't stand a chance in court."

I clench my fists, on the verge of snapping back at him when a deep voice makes me shiver. "I'd be careful about the way you speak to my counsel if I were you."

Primo appears seemingly out of nowhere, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit that accentuates his broad shoulders and narrow waist. He exudes an air of calm confidence, and for a moment, I find myself captivated by the sheer force of his presence.

"Ah, Mr. Maldonado," Greg says, unable to hide his surprise. "Glad you could make it."

"Wouldn't miss it," Primo replies, his eyes never leaving mine. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we have matters to discuss before the hearing begins."

With that, he takes a seat next to me, leaving Greg sputtering in his wake. As much as I hate to admit it, seeing Primo come to my defense makes my heart pound with both gratitude and desire. But I can't afford to let him distract me – not now, when so much is at stake.

"Hello, Isabella," Primo says with a smile, his eyes locked on mine. I refuse to return the greeting, my jaw clenched in frustration at his weekend-long absence. He doesn't seem bothered by my silence, casually adjusting his cufflinks as he sinks into the seat beside me.

"Come now, Isabella. I made it on time, didn't I?" he teases, trying to coax a response from me. I bite my tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much his cavalier attitude has gotten under my skin.

"Primo, I—" I start, finally ready to let him know exactly what I think of his antics, but I'm cut off by the sudden entrance of the judge.

"All rise," the bailiff announces, and we do.

"Please be seated," the judge commands, and we follow suit. With an air of gravity, Judge Dolan launches into the proceedings.

"Ms. Moretti, Mr. Daniels," he addresses us both, "I understand there's a matter of witness credibility to discuss before we move forward."

"Your Honor," Greg begins, his voice dripping with disdain, "the defense has listed several witnesses whose connections to organized crime are well-documented. We believe their testimony should be disallowed due to the inherent unreliability of such individuals."

“Does the prosecution have a list of such witnesses?” the judge asks.

“Yes,” Greg says. The clerk walks over to his table and grabs his copies. She hands one to me and then walks one back to the judge. I look over the list and my mind races. If the judge rules that these witnesses should be disallowed, we might as well just put Primo back into a jail cell ourselves. It would completely gut our case.

Judge Dolan looks over the list pensively. “Defense?”

"Your Honor," I respond, my mind racing for a solid counterargument, "the prosecution is attempting to introduce character evidence that has no bearing on the facts of this case. To strike our witnesses without consideration would be prejudicial to my client."

The judge narrows his eyes, weighing my argument carefully.

“Ms. Moretti, the prosecution brings up a good point as to the credibility of these witnesses. Do you have anything to say to that? I’m sure you’re aware that as the judge I have the ability to keep this all out of evidence.”

“I am aware, your Honor,” I reply. “But, if the issue with the witnesses is the truth of their statements, then the jury should be the one to decide who is more credible. If the prosecution is so certain that these witnesses can be impeached, then they should feel free to do so at trial, rather than trying to hide behind the bench and risk creating an appealable issue for the Court.”

I throw that last statement in as a subtle indication to the judge that I am not going to be a thorn in his side if he rules against me on this. The tension in the room is palpable, and I can feel beads of sweat forming along my hairline. Finally, he speaks, his voice firm and decisive.

"Ms. Moretti is correct. Unless the prosecution has evidence directly relating to the witnesses' credibility on the specific matters at hand, their character and personal associations are not grounds for dismissal and are matters for the jury to consider. The witnesses will be allowed to testify. The prosecution’s motion is denied.”

"Thank you, Your Honor," I say, relief washing over me like a cool wave.

"Very well, if there's nothing further," the judge looks between the two of us, neither of us getting up to speak, "This court is adjourned."

---