Page 10 of Pen Pal

Lorenzo regarded me, his expression shuttered as he sat across from me.

Just as I suspected, he seemed to only open up through writing but maintained his tough persona on the outside. I figured it was a survival mechanism he'd adopted in prison.

Surely, it was seen as a sign of weakness, and a weak inmate was a dead inmate.

"Ms. Branson," he greeted.

"That’s Mrs. Branson,” Gerald corrected.

Lorenzo’s brows shot up. Didn’t he know I was married? I glanced at my ring finger, wondering if I forgot to wear my wedding ring last time. I looked back at him, and his expression was neutral again as if the information didn’t affect him at all.

“I’ve got good news for you, Mr. Ricci,” Gerald began. “The prosecution has agreed to dropthe charges down to manslaughter. They don’t believe a jury of your peers would convict you of first or second-degree murder due to the nature of your victim’s crimes. The best they can hope for is manslaughter, and there is no minimum sentence. You have what, fifteen more years left to serve? As long as you get fifteen years or less, your stay in prison won’t change.”

“That’s if they make it concurrent,” Lorenzo corrected. “If they make my sentences consecutive, then I get thirty years. Fifteen for killing my coach and fifteen for Keith.”

“They shouldn’t do that,” I added. “Manslaughter and second-degree murder are different charges, and the severity is different. They shouldn’t give you a larger sentence for manslaughter than second-degree murder, which is the sentence you’re serving now. If you can show some sign of remorse—“

“I have no remorse,” Lorenzo snarled. “He won’t ever touch another child again. Neither of them will.”

I winced. I didn’t know what to say to that, so I looked to Gerald for guidance.

“Pretend, then,” Gerald suggested. “If nothing else but to get a more lenient sentence.”

“I think I’ll get a more lenient one if I don’t show remorse,” he countered. “I’m the man who removes pedophiles from this plane. I think I should stick to being myself. Who wants to acquit someone whoregretskilling pedophiles?”

“Unfortunately, we couldn’t prove that your coach was a pedophile,” Gerald began. “But if one of his victims were willing to testify, we could appeal—“

“No!” Lorenzo shouted, standing from his chair so fast I nearly jumped out of my skin. “She’s been through enough already. I won’t put her through that again!”

“Lorenzo,” I protested.

“Change the fucking subject, or I’m leaving,” he bellowed. “I won’t fucking budge on this.”

The door swung open, and a couple guards glanced at Lorenzo warily. “Everything okay in here?” one asked.

“I think it’s best we come back when Mr. Ricci is calmer,” Gerald suggested, standing. “We’ll return next week.”

“Don’t fucking bother,” Lorenzo snapped. “I don’t need your bullshit, Gerald. You can send Amara, but I don’t want to see you until you fucking change your tune. You work forme. Remember that.”

One of the guards grabbed his arm, and Lorenzo smirked, glancing behind him. “Fucking Russo,” he chuckled as the other guard grabbed his other arm and they escorted him from the room.

“Well, that went well,” Gerald muttered sarcastically as he gathered his briefcase. “I’ll suggest it again at our next visit. He’ll call when he’s ready to see us again, but you can’t see him alone until your internship is over and if he hires you. So I’m sorry, Amara. Looks like you’ll be focusing on your other cases from now on.”

“What about our correspondence?” I wondered, standing and slinging my bag over my shoulder. “We were making such good progress.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Gerald gestured to the door sarcastically. “If you want to write to him on your own time, be my guest, but you can’t do it during company time or in the office anymore. As far as we’re concerned, until he asks to see us again, we’re finished with Mr. Ricci.”

My heart sank. Mark wouldn’t let me write Lorenzo. I would have to sneak around just to send him a letter.

I’ll wait until he writes back to me first,I decided. I didn’t want to risk another big fight with my husband if Lorenzo wasn’t going to write back to me anyway.

So the waiting game begins,I thought, following Gerald out of the prison and back to the office.

Enzo

Elusive Amara,

It's been three weeks, my little lawyer. Twenty-two days since I last heard from you. Five hundred and twenty-eight hours since I opened my cell door expecting another letter, another damn worksheet, some sign that you hadn't decided to forget about me. But there's nothing.

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