Page 34 of Free to Judge
As if anyone can. I’ve long accepted my blame in Tanya’s death. If he had his way, her husband, Ben, would have had “murderer” carved into every inch of my skin with a scalpel he happily wielded for “getting my wife, the mother of my children killed. You pathetic bastard. You can’t even figure out who did this to her.”
No, instead, I’ve dedicated my soul to it.
Gunning the engine, I give myself a few minutes of borrowed sanity before someone from what remains of the Tiberi’s Connecticut outfit panics when I’m not where I said I would be. Although I don’t have an official title other than being their attorney of record, I’ve been given more and more responsibilities as of late. Which is great as it pertains to the investigation.
But when it comes to finding what’s left of my sanity after regurgitating my past to Kalie? Yeah. I need the few precious moments where I know there’s no bug. I’m not being watched or monitored. I can have a reaction to something and not have to choke down what I really feel.
Right now, the most overwhelming emotion surging through me is weariness.
I thought I’d have solved Tanya’s case long before now. Hell, I was so certain I could bribe one of the Tiberis or Byrnes rotting in the state penitentiary, but none will talk. Pressing down on the gas, I sneak through a yellow light just as it’s about to turn red. There’s no question of who did it anymore. The question becomes, is it time to let it go?
Once I help Keene, Caleb, and Liam break this trafficking ring, will I have paid enough penance to absolve myself from not being able to stop Tanya’s death?
Is there a way to wash my soul clean?
The roads twist and turn, my car taking them with ridiculous ease. Reaching over to the rearview mirror, I yank the small pink frosted doughnut keychain off the string I have it hanging from. A tiny replica of the one from the Simpsons. Tanya’s youngest bought it for me on their family vacation to Universal at the Lard Lad. The tiny keepsake was to remind me, “Don’t eat too many doughnuts while on shift, Unca Dec.”
I’d picked Emmitt up, thrown him in the air before making him a promise I wouldn’t. I’d also promised to keep his mama safe.
I’m certain he gives more of a fuck that I failed at that.
Clenching it tight in my fist for just a second, I punch open the sunroof and let it fly away, along with my belief in absolution. Instead, I swear one more time, “I’ll get justice for you, T,” I choke out. “I’ll make them all bleed for what they did to you.”
The wind blows through the car, but I can practically hear her saying, “Good.” With that, I whip the car back in the direction of Darien so I can finish the next stage of the plan.
I lean back in my chair, fingers drumming against the scarred wood table in the chop house’s back room. Sparks flew once I sauntered in earlier, and not just because of the diamond plated angle grinders hard at work. There’s something fueling the air, and it isn’t the stench of motor oil—a scent I’ve long accustomed to associating with this off-the-books location where mistakes used to mean death until I took over the back room a few months ago to use for the Tiberi’s legal dealings for the business.
The men in front of me are anxiously shifting back and forth, from side to side, waiting for my next proclamation. They don’t want to be the one I call out, let alone force to defend their position. Despite the differences in our roles, there’s one rule we live by—no mistakes.
Yet, they just made a huge one.
“I’ve been patient, waiting for the answers I need to represent you and get the rest of your derelict family members out of prison.” I pause, letting my words penetrate. Leaning back, my jacket falls open, revealing my weapon. They practically swallow their tongues when I growl, “I don’t like being patient with nothing to show for it.”
Tony, Sal’s second—or is it third?—cousin clears his throat. He’s older than I am and should be smart enough to know that speaking now might seal his fate. Either he’s showing incredible bravery, or he’s so fucking stupid he’d never make it if a real Tiberi was sitting in this chair instead of just their lawyer. “We’re still working on it, Declan. The shipments—it’s like our pipeline to get them moved from each location has had a major malfunction.”
Good.I nod like I’m considering his excuses, when in reality, I want to jump up and give the air a fist pump. All the information I’ve passed along to Jon has made it so these dumb motherfuckers can’t go stealing babies from daycares or kidnap prominent women from exclusive social events where too many exits are left unprotected. Instead of showing my pleasure, I narrow my eyes at him. “Someone inside must be feeding them intel.”
Tony’s face blanches before he stutters, “Im-im-pos-sible.”
Sal backs him up. “No one would dare.”
I nod like I’m considering their words. “Let’s see how that plays out on the stand.”
They both relax. “Gentlemen, you’re both criminals.”
Sal pipes up, “You had mine thrown out.”
I want to facepalm myself. “This one time, Sal. The rest still remain.”
“Oh.” He and Tony exchange a look of—Christ, is that despair? With his lower lip jutted out, he mumbles, “I thought you’d made it so I didn’t have any past crimes.”
“I’m a lawyer, not a god.”
“We pay you like you are,” Tony gripes.
Ignoring him for the moment, I narrow my eyes at two criminals who give zero fucks if the parents they’ve tormented thus far ever recover. “So, you’re saying you have no idea who it could be?”
Silence. Not a peep from either of them.
