Page 2 of Prince of Vice
"Believe me, Primo," I whisper, "I'm ready."
* * *
"Like father, like daughter," Greg Daniels says to me as we wait for the hearing to begin.
Greg is the federal prosecutor assigned to this case, and I know he thinks this is his big moment to make a name for himself. I don't blame him. He's already into his late forties, with salt and pepper hair and a bit of a gut. If he doesn't secure a high-profile conviction soon, chances are he'll be relegated to low-level matters for the remainder of his career.
He and my father had a longstanding rivalry. Probably because my father got so many mobsters out of jail cells Greg tried to put them into. His animosity has apparently extended to me, even though up until recently, I never interacted with him.
"Glad to see we're keeping it professional, Greg," I say in response, organizing the papers on my desk.
"You're representing a murderer," he says to me. "I think professionalism is mostly out the window at this point."
"Alleged murderer," I retort. "So glad to see that you've embraced the 'guilty until proven innocent' mantra."
The door opens from the side of the courtroom, and Primo is escorted in by the U.S. Marshal.
As he sits down next to me, I can feel his dark eyes on me again. He looks like he's about to say something, but he doesn't get his chance.
"All rise!" the clerk says as the judge walks into the room. Judge Dolan is an older white man with a thick mustache and a heavyset frame. Even though you never stand close enough to the judges to really know their height, you can tell that he's not very tall.
"Shit," I curse under my breath. Judge Dolan was a known hard-ass, especially when it comes to organized crime. He is one of those judges who are known for being un-bribeable, which really seems to piss off a lot of mobsters. I’ve always admired him for his tenacity, especially in the face of great risk to his personal safety, but the case being assigned to him is definitely going to make things more difficult on our end.
Greg makes his argument, and Judge Dolan seems to eat it all up. I have to stop myself from shaking my head several times at the bold accusations he makes with completely unsupported evidence.
When it's finally my turn to speak, I stand and try to calm my nerves. Not only are the judge's eyes on me, but Primo's are as well.
"Your Honor, the prosecution fails to meet their burden to prove that Mr. Maldonado is a flight risk or a danger to society. If you consider the crucial elements here, Mr. Maldonado has no prior criminal record, he and his family have strong ties to the community and to the area, and he is currently employed and overseeing the operations of Maldonado's Bakery, which is an iconic spot here in Boston.
"It may be a long time before this case goes to trial. There is no need to use the state's resources to house a man who has no history of violence."
As I speak, I can feel the eyes of the courtroom on me - some curious, others skeptical, and still others calculating. But I don't let their gazes faze me; I am a whirlwind of determination and focus, fueled by the knowledge that I hold the power to change Primo's current circumstances.
As I finish my argument and take a seat beside him, I can feel something shift in his expression - a subtle softening around the eyes. I wouldn't dream of thinking there was even a hint of gratitude there, but it's obvious that his view of me may have changed slightly.
I remind myself that I don't care and focus back on what's going on in the courtroom.
"Nice work, Moretti," he says to me under his breath. It's so quiet I almost miss it.
"Your Honor," Greg says, standing up and trying to rebut my argument. "Everyone knows that Mr. Maldonado is the son of Johnny Maldonado, who, may I remind the court, is currently serving a twenty-year sentence for tax evasion and fraud."
I launch to my feet. "Objection! Relevance, Your Honor? The sins of the father do not befall to their children, unless I've gravely misunderstood how our criminal justice system works."
Greg ignores my objection and continues to speak. "And, we all know that the Maldonado family has long been involved in organized crime throughout the city."
"Objection!" I turn to face the judge. "Your Honor, if the prosecution doesn't stop their paper-thin attempts to sway the court's decision with hearsay, I'm going to be forced to move for another hearing."
"Sustained," Judge Dolan grumbles. "The prosecution will do well to remember that character evidence and their own testimony are not admissible in this courtroom."
Greg nods and sits back down. I can see the anger on his face at the fact that my objection was sustained.
Judge Dolan looks over the papers in front of him, his eyes hidden beneath his bushy brows. Finally, he leans forward in his seat. My heart quakes within its cage; I can feel my argument hanging in the air.
"Ms. Moretti," Judge Dolan begins, his voice carrying a gravitas that sends chills down my spine. "I have carefully considered your arguments and reviewed the evidence presented. It is not without reservations that I grant Mr. Maldonado's release. Bond is set at $2 million, and he will be placed under house arrest."
The judge turns to Primo, and their eyes meet. "If it weren't for her," he points to me. "You'd be rotting in a jail cell until your trial. Be grateful."
"Thank you, Your Honor," I reply, my cheeks burning bright red. Relief floods through me like a sweet, intoxicating elixir. My hands tremble only slightly as I fight to maintain composure, the precarious victory still settling upon my shoulders like a tentative embrace.