Page 79 of Legally Ours

The courtroom rustled in response, and the photographers behind us started snapping away. This was news: a mid-level New York gangster versus, by extension, a golden boy of Boston. If we had managed to avoid the public spotlight before, we were definitely in it now.

"Everyone, please be quiet!" called the judge, banging the gavel to overcome the commotion. "Order in the court!" When the room calmed again, the judge spoke to Zola. "Does the state wish to be heard on pre-trial release?"

Zola stood up, shuffling through his papers. He was surprised, but I knew he was prepared.

"Yes, your honor. We would request pre-trial detention. Mr. Messina is a flight risk. He actively worked to evade arrest in this matter, and given Mr. Messina's significant resources, any amount of bail would be insufficient to secure his return."

"Your honor, Mr. Messina is a model citizen!" Cipolla recovered from the shock of the plea deal quickly. "He is a long-time member of this community. He has always shown up for any prior proceedings, and there is no risk he would do anything different here."

Zola shot a steely-eyed look at Cipolla. "Mr. Messina has never had charges this severe. His avoidance of arrest shows he considers these differently. He should be confined while we await trial."

The judge thumbed through the police report. "I'm inclined to agree with the State on this. Mr. Messina, you are to be confined in the city jail pending trial. What are we looking at for trial here? Is there an agreement on waiver of a speedy trial?"

"No, your honor," said Zola. "We are ready to proceed."

"Very well. The trial will begin next Monday, the eighteenth. I have a morning status calendar. But that shouldn't affect getting a jury. We'll start after the morning recess, at ten-thirty. If there is nothing else..." The judge paused and shifted his glance to each attorney. "We are adjourned."

The judge banged the gavel, and the bailiff again called for everyone to rise as the judge stepped off the bench and retreated to his chambers.

~

We were ushered out of the courthouse by a pair of security guards and the rest of Brandon's security team. Bubbe and Dad made it easily to a rented car; from there, Tony was taking them both to meet with the real estate agent selling the house in Brooklyn. We all knew there would be no going back there; Brandon had long ago hired a company to put our belongings in storage.

But as soon as Brandon and I exited the building, a mob of press descended on us like flies, the bulbs of their cameras flashing as reporters clamored for interviews. Apparently, the photographers inside had summoned their hounds.

"Mr. Sterling! Do you think being a part of a criminal trial will get in the way of your campaign?"

"Do you think Messina is guilty?"

"Will Ms. Crosby's connections to the mob affect your ability to govern the city of Boston?"

It was on the last one that Brandon finally swung around and faced the reporter, who stuck a microphone up to record his response.

"Ms. Crosby doesn't have connections to the mob," he said clearly. "She's a victim in all of this, same as her father. Same as me. We're just here to make sure justice is served."

He gripped my hand tightly, and I forced myself to meet the lenses of the cameras head-on while they clicked away. Brandon's palm was slick with sweat––he hated this kind of attention, maybe even more than I did. But I wasn't about to look guilty right now.

"Was justice served when Ms. Crosby broke up your marriage?"

The question came from a man in the back, one clearly not part of the standard press corps. Brandon and I both turned toward him, and I cursed the telltale flush that immediately bloomed all over me as cameras continued to click and flash. Brandon began to shake, and he stepped toward the man as if to attack.

"No comment," I managed to call out before things could escalate anymore.

I tugged hard on Brandon's arm. The muscles in his neck were tensed to the point where I could see a vein pulsing on one side; his eyes flashed dangerously. I held them with mine, barely able to control my own nerves.

"Please," I murmured. "Let's just go."

Somehow, even with the questions that continued to fly through the air around us, Brandon managed to nod.

"Okay," he said, and continued to usher me toward the Escalade.

It wasn't until we were on our way back to Boston that the terror in my heart started to dissolve. It faded the farther we drove from the city of my birth, a city I'd always though would feel like home, but had somehow become a stranger to me. It faded, but never completely died.

~