Page 1 of Prince of Vice
Chapter One
Isabella
"Ms. Moretti, he's in cell 7," the guard grumbles as I step into the dimly lit and dank confines of the city jail. The air is heavy with despair and the metallic scent of fear.
"Thank you," I reply, my voice resolute despite the shiver that runs down my spine. I walk past the rows of cells, each one a grim testament to the human capacity for cruelty. The shadows seem to reach out for me, whispering dark secrets that I dare not comprehend.
My heels click sharply against the cold floor, each step a reminder of the weight of responsibility I carry on my shoulders. The height of the cells looms high above my shorter frame, and I tuck an imaginary strand of bright red hair back into my bun out of habit. As I approach the final corner, where my new client awaits, I can't help but feel a thrill of anticipation tinged with fear.
There, in the farthest cell, stands Primo Maldonado. His tall, muscular frame is coiled with tension, a predator trapped in a cage. Even behind bars, there is an undeniable aura of authority about him – no doubt a product of his upbringing in the world of organized crime. He looks up at my approach, his dark eyes narrowing with interest.
"Primo Maldonado?" I ask, though it's more a confirmation than a question. "I'm Isabella Moretti, your attorney."
His dark eyes fixate on me. His gaze moves up and down my body, causing an involuntary shiver to move through me. I feel judged in a way I’ve never felt judged before.
“Bullshit,” he says, his voice a low growl that vibrates through the stale air between us. “Where’s Frankie?”
“My father’s dead,” I say without hesitation. “Sorry you didn’t hear the news. I’ve taken over his cases.”
His outward appearance is calm in a way that doesn't seem to match the tumult behind his eyes.
His gaze lingers on me for a moment longer before he turns away, bracing his hands against the cold metal bars of his cell.
"Ms. Moretti," he says, his voice low and measured, "I’m sure you do a great job in small claims court." He leans closer, the shadows from the dim lighting casting an ominous glow over his chiseled features. "But, I don't want a rookie lawyer who's barely out of law school trying to save my neck – especially when it's on the line for murder."
I really hate guys like this. Just because I don't fit "the mold" of what a defense attorney should look like, he already assumes I'm not cut out for the job. Even still, his words sting, and I fight to keep my composure, focusing on the rhythmic drip of water somewhere in the distance. I'm not going to let him see how much his skepticism affects me.
“You’re right,” I say. “You’re scheduled to be arraigned in thirty minutes. I’m sure you know exactly how that process works. As soon as we get in there, I’ll make a motion to recuse myself as your attorney and then I’ll sit in the front row and watch you put me and my oral advocacy skills to shame. Where did you go to law school again, Mr. Maldonado?”
He crosses his massive arms over his chest, muscles straining against the fabric of his shirt, and scoffs. "How many murder trials have you won? How many high-profile cases have you defended?"
The truth of the matter is that I have experience in neither. I’d watched my father defend mobsters like Primo for years. That was his business, and he made a lot of money doing it. Until he turned up dead six months ago at sixty under suspicious circumstances. I promised myself that I wouldn't turn into my father, no matter how good the money was. Unfortunately for me though, my father died with considerable debt to his name. And not just bank debt. That would have died with him. No, he had to die owing debts to the mob. That sort of debt passes on, and of course to me.
I may be bluffing, but I need to take this case. A case this big might be the one chance I have to clear my family’s name so I can move on and live my own life.
“Who says I’ve agreed to represent you in your murder trial?” I respond. “I select my clients carefully. The ones who are too,” I pause and give him the once-over, “difficult, I am happy to hand off to a lesser skilled attorney.”
"Fine," he mutters, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer, as if he’s sizing me up. "So, what's the plan?"
I hesitate, taking a deep breath as I prepare to lay out our strategy. The truth is, I have no idea if we can succeed – but Primo doesn't need to know that. He needs to believe in me, and more importantly, I need to believe in myself.
“What do you want?” I ask him.
“To get out of this fucking jail cell,” he scoffs back. “Obviously. Is this how your representation is going to go? Asking me obvious questions and charging me, what? One thousand dollars an hour?”
“Fifteen hundred, actually,” I reply. “But, I’m sure you’re good for it.”
My heart is racing. I might be holding my own against him on the surface, but deep down I know that Primo is a very powerful and dangerous man. I probably shouldn’t piss him off too much.
The smallest of smiles graces his lips. “The most I pay for oral advocacy is a grand,” he chuckles. “And that’s for girls who have more experience than you.”
I give him a fake smile and tilt my head to the side. “Well, it was nice working with you, Mr. Maldonado. Please enjoy representing yourself at your upcoming arraignment. It starts in thirty minutes.”
I go to turn around, but his voice echoes against the concrete cells.
“Fine. You win, Ms. Moretti. But, I hope you're ready for the fight of your life. Because if you think this is just another case, you've got another thing coming."
As his words ring through the cramped jail cell, I can't help but feel a shiver crawl up my spine. But I refuse to be daunted.