Page 22 of Forced By the Bratva Beast

The judge interjects. “Is this going somewhere, Mr. Cleary?”

Bennett smirks, holding up a finger with confidence in his swagger. “Yes, Your Honor. I can promise you it is.”

“Good. Let’s hear it.”

“Okay, okay. So, Darby, if you saw a group of men walking into the building, you wouldn’t necessarily think it was out of the ordinary, now would you?”

“Objection! Leading the witness,” the defense calls out as the judge bangs his gavel.

“Objection overruled. It’s a legitimate question,” the judge clarifies evenly. I can feel the fumes skimming off the top of their heads, and I’m loving it. My eyes shift to the large wall clock.

Twelve thirty, and we’re on a roll as Darby comes through. “Yeah. It could be any one of the groups that hangs out there. Sometimes I give them food if they’re hungry. We have a lot of leftovers.”

“How sweet of you,” Bennett states in a patronizing tone. “Take a look at the screen. Can you tell me if you can clearly identify Mr. Utkin or any of the men you’ve seen on the witness stand here from the footage. Be honest.”

Darby, who’s a big guy, strains in his seat, leaning forward as a projected image of the CCTV is shown onscreen. After a long pause, Darby’s puzzled expression gives him away.

“No. It’s too hard and too dark to see. So, I can’t for sure say it’s him.”

“That’s not the footage! That’s not it!” a lady screams, lashing out in my direction. “He was there! This is the wrong tape.”

“Mrs. Randwick. Get ahold of yourself in my courtroom. I can understand you’re upset, but please conduct yourself with professionalism,” Judge Petrov bellows as Mrs. Randwick sobs, being consoled by the older man next to her. I watch as her legs buckle, feeling nothing.

Ryan Randwick. I didn’t even know the fucker’s last name. Now I do. RIP Randwick. You know, bitch. Don’t act like you didn’t fucking know about your sneaky mole of a husband. I send her a warning glance, thinking she should be added to the hit list, but tuck the idea behind me.

Sometimes husbands are good at living double lives. Maybe she isn’t pretending.

After a couple more witnesses from my side and weak questioning, the sword of death is swung in my favor as Judge Petrov’s poker face delivers the final swing.

“Bennett, your argument was compelling, and the lack of circumstantial evidence was overwhelming. I’m throwing out the case, and as such I’m ruling in the favor of Andrei Utkin, declaring him innocent. Mr. Utkin, you are free to go. Mrs. Randwick and team, I’m sorry for your tragic loss and may the state of Illinois continue their valiant search for the killer of your husband.”

The judge’s gavel bangs twice in finality, a rush of sheer relief and adrenaline threading through my veins. Oh yes, how sweet the victory is. I grin, remembering the exchange of a loaded briefcase in Addison. It was far enough away from prying eyes, and enough money to give the good judge a retirement option and the yacht investment he craved.

“Thanks. My daughter’s on the honor roll, and this is just the ticket I need to ride out my career on a high. Pleasure doing business.” He’d snuck out while I ate at the diner, satisfied with the deal. If he snitched, it would have been even easier—I would have killed him or exposed the dirty affair he’s been having with the prostitute from the strip club for the last ten years. What a way to kill an esteemed judge’s career.

That was the extra benefit the Omerta Files brought. More ammunition and tapes, photos, deeds done in the dark that would end most politicians’ careers in Chicago.

Bennett hugs me tight, whispering in my ear. “Told you. I’m too good at this.”

“Nice work.” Uproar and wails ring out from the other side as I perpetuate a face of sorrowful remorse, holding a hand to my chest, staring into the eyes of the petite blonde woman. “Sorry for your loss.”

“Fuck you!” she retaliates as one of the police officers rushes forward joining the fray of her team as they attempt to bring her under control. Makar joins me as I push the heavy courtroom doors open, a free man in record time.

“Excellent, Boss. She put on a good show,” he remarks, pulling the lapels of his suit jacket together.

“Why’s that?” I ask as we reach the outside of the courtroom without fanfare. Bennett congratulates me one last time, and I send him a hefty bonus on the spot for his underhanded tactics. I managed to have the court date changed several times to throw the media off the scent. The last thing I wanted was to have a media fanfare even if I did win the case.

“She shared a bank account with Ryan, and there were large deposits made in the days before his death.” My eyebrows shoot up as I stand on the stairs of the criminal courthouse, nodding my head.

“Another woman who’s not so innocent,” I mumble, my mind heavily focused on Sophia now that I’ve won the case.

Makar frowns, not understanding the reference, but continues. “No. She knew about Ryan’s dealings. She’s the onewho spoke to Harvey. She gave him the introduction in the club near the Southside.”

“Hmm. Do we have a problem with her?” I keep my eyes trained on the Chicago traffic.

“No. She’s already taken care of.”

“Don’t kill her. It’s too close to the case,” I remind Makar as he sucks in air between his teeth.

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