Page 434 of Rage

Wicked Devil Epilogue

By: Daniela Romero

Chapter One

Roman

“All rise for The Honorable Judge Mayhew.”

Everyone in the room stands. Allie’s hand is small in mine, and I squeeze her palm, letting her know I’m here. She squeezes back, her grip almost desperate. The judge walks into the room, his black robes billowing as he takes his seat behind the podium.

“You may be seated.”

As we sit on the wooden bench, I pull Allie close, but she remains tense, her shoulders stiff, knee bouncing. I place a hand on her thigh, and she freezes. Her eyes meet mine, offering an apologetic smile.

I kiss her temple. “You good, vanilla?” I whisper.

She nods, but we both know it’s a lie. That’s okay. After today, she will be. I’ll make sure of it.

The trial against Miguel has been grueling. He’s not being charged for the rape, which infuriates me. But Pops is right—if Allie pressed charges, it’d be her word against his, with no evidence to back her claim. She never completed the rape kit at the hospital and refused to talk to the police once Janessa showed up. That decision still pisses me off, even if I understand her reasoning.

Janessa thought she was protecting Allie, sparing her from a flawed justice system. I get it, at least I try to. But it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Without the rape charge, the case against Miguel is cleaner: first-degree securities fraud, money laundering, and extortion. Each charge carries a minimum sentence of five years. He deserves much more, but with his plea deal, he’s looking at six years, maybe less with good behavior.

I suck on my teeth, anger simmering beneath my calm exterior.

I glance at Allie. Her eyes are fixed on Miguel, who sits there smug and unrepentant. My blood boils, but I keep my cool. Allie needs me calm. I can punch a wall later. As the judge reads the sentence, Allie trembles beside me. I tighten my grip on her thigh, a silent reminder she’s not alone. We brace for the verdict.

“Ten years, with the possibility of parole.”

“Fuck,” I curse under my breath.

Allie exhales shakily, her shoulders trembling. “Ten years,” I mutter. It’s not enough, but it’s something. He didn’t walk free.

“It’s more than I expected,” she confesses, her sad smile breaking my heart. “It’s over.”

It isn’t, but I don’t tell her that. “Yeah, vanilla. It’s over.” I press my lips to her temple, hugging her close. She’s been through so much. Ten years feels like a slap on the wrist, especially with parole. But I have a backup plan. If all goes well, Miguel won’t see the light of day again.

The courtroom empties. People file past with murmurs of approval or dissent. We wait until Miguel is led away in handcuffs before standing. My father might be the chief of police, but I’ve never cared for what happens after they bag the bad guy. It never feels like enough, and it’s why I won’t follow in his footsteps, despite my parents' wishes.

Allie stands on shaky legs, and I place my hand on her back, guiding her toward the exit. She’s too lost in her thoughts to notice the lone man left in the room, who thankfully stays silent.

“I’m going to hit the restroom before we head out,” I tell her, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “I’ll meet you in the car?”

She nods, too drained to argue, and makes her way to the exit.

Once she’s out of sight, I scan the courtroom. Andrés DeAnde stands in the same spot, his gaze narrowed and calculating. I wasn’t sure he’d show up today, and I don't know if I’m anxious or relieved. Regardless, I need his help.

“Andrés,” I say, approaching him.

“Roman,” he replies, his voice curious. “I take it what you need has to do with today?”

I nod. “Ten years isn’t enough.”

Andrés leans back against the wall, hands in his pockets. “For money laundering and extortion? Seems sufficient.”

“Ten years with parole. He’ll be out in three.”

Andrés quirks a brow. “Tell me why I should care?”

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