Page 63 of Silent Vendetta (Vendetta Duet)

I wiped the tear from her soft skin and hoped she could see the sincerity in my eyes.

“It’s okay, Luna,” I murmured.

“We’re here.” The driver’s announcement jolted us back, an unwanted intrusion. I released her hand, warmth lingering, as we braced for the truth—where I was her monster, and she was about to turn me in.

CHAPTER29

Luna

Alone envelope sat ominously on the defendant’s table, my name boldly etched in black cursive. It was the only thing capable of interrupting the stifling guilt and doubt whipping through my heart. How could I turn Hunter in—the very man who stood by us through this trial prep?

Amidst my curiosity and inner turmoil, a pivotal moment was about to occur.

Any second, my father would enter the room, and a judge would render his decision: deny the request outright or agree to listen to arguments for a new trial—either today or at a later date.

I picked up the white envelope and glanced around the courtroom. Ahead, the judge’s towering bench loomed, its gavel symbolizing the impending gravity of judgment. Overhead lights buzzed, casting stark shadows that cut through the muted rays from a window draped in crimson—dust particles floating in the room’s musty-scented atmosphere.

Behind me, the old wooden doors groaned with each new entrant, their whispers joining the murmurs of those on the worn benches. Mayor Kepler himself was among them. Maybe the letter was from him, an annoyance that I had yet to reschedule my meeting with him?

I opened the letter.

Ms. Payne,

It’s unfortunate you haven’t heeded my warnings. When the judge arrives, withdraw your motion. Surely, your father’s life means more to you than his freedom.

Do not alert anyone to the contents of this letter. If you do, I’m afraid you’ll force my hand.

A cold chill raced down my spine as I desperately scanned the crowd, searching for a hint, a clue—anything that might betray the author of that venomous threat. A man with bushy eyebrows, wearing a business suit, looked at me sternly. An older lady with white hair pursed her lips. There was a man standing in the back, leaning against the wall, his ankles crossed over each other, his balding head glistening in the courtroom lighting.

Had one of them left the note?

Hunter caught my eye, concern evident in his furrowed brow. Leaning forward, he mouthed, “You okay?”

“All rise.”

The only thing capable of snapping me out of this trance was the vision of my father entering the room.

As the light illuminated his groomed hair and fresh shave—a stark contrast from his prison days—I was consumed by guilt. It was Hunter who had orchestrated this transformation, meticulously styling my father’s outfit. The black suit, the white shirt, and the blue tie—all elements of the designer outfit Hunter had procured—had erased the visual reminders of his imprisonment.

How could I have let Hunter do all this for him? Only to spend this morning preparing to betray him?

Dad smiled at me, knowing this was the moment I’d been waiting for my whole life. I seriously wondered if it meant more to me than him—a selfless man who’d wanted me to move on with my life rather than waste it on him.

But his smile faded when he saw my bruises. I’d filled him in on the basics, but hearing your daughter was attacked andseeingthe evidence were very different things.

After a few minutes, the judge got to the heartbeat of this hearing.

His voice held a firm edge, each word enunciated with a commanding authority.

“Your filing requests a chance to argue for a new trial. Is that correct?”

I glanced at the letter that warned me to withdraw my motion and clenched my fists.

“That’s correct,” I managed.

“This isn’t a matter the court takes lightly,” the judge said in a tense tone. “And you, as a criminal defender, are arguing ineffective counsel. Is that right?”

“That’s right,” I said as calmly as possible, my gaze flickering between him and the letter.

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