Page 15 of Legally Ours

Zola and I sat there for a moment. Then I nodded slowly, and turned to the handsome young prosecutor.

"Me too," I said as I reached out to take Dad's hand. "We'll do it together. But first, let's talk immunity."

Zola looked at me with some respect, then back to my dad.

"Look, Danny," he said frankly. "I'm not gonna sugarcoat it for you. If you've got the dirt you say you do, you're involved in some pretty serious shit here. The D.A. might be interested in prosecuting you for aiding and abetting, especially if this fails to inculpate."

Beside me, Dad gulped audibly. I sat up fully with a wince and grabbed for Zola's sleeve.

"Immunity," I said. "Or no statement."

Zola smiled instead. "I had a feeling you'd say that." He looked back at my dad. "Danny, if you agree to testify to this in court and provide the documentation about some of these transactions, we'll grant total immunity from prosecution. To you and your family."

Dad looked like he had just won the lottery. The poor man had clearly come into the conversation thinking it was going to land him in jail.

"Really?" he said eagerly.

"We'll need it in writing," I cut in quickly, my inner lawyer turning on before Dad committed him to anything else.

With a mild smirk, Zola just nodded at me. "Of course," he said. "I just happen to have the papers here."

We spent the next few hours recounting all of the details of Dad's and my experiences with Victor Messina while Zola recorded our statements. Some of Dad's stories were hard to hear. He'd been far more involved with the gangster than I'd realized, accruing and paying off numerous debts to the man and his ilk for most of my life. He'd done an extraordinary job of hiding his addiction for several years until he'd run up a debt he finally couldn't pay off, and we'd all suffered for it.

Zola took detailed notes and recorded both of our statements, occasionally asking a few questions to clarify or make sure we had the details. At the end, he put the recorder in his bag along with his notes and turned to my dad.

"That was...Jesus. There's a lot to verify, but that gives me a lot to work with. Thank you." Zola paused, chewing on his lip for a moment. "But Danny..."

Dad looked up.

"You got a safe place to stay?"

My mouth went dry. You didn't have to be a genius to get the subtext. We weren't safe in Brooklyn anymore––not when Victor Messina and his cronies knew exactly where to find us. But I already knew that.

"I've got it taken care of."

Brandon's voice reverberated through the room as he walked in, arms fully loaded with a giant blueberry-ricotta blintz that would serve the entire hospital floor. He set it down on the counter at the far end and turned to all of us as Bubbe trotted in behind him.

"Danny, my assistant has secured a spot for you at Maple Acres, the rehabilitation program in Natick," he said. "We've got you there under a pseudonym, if you're willing. Plus, I'll have a security detail in the program with you. You'll be completely safe."

I looked to Dad, who just nodded his consent. "I ain't leavin' until I've got this thing under control, Pips," he said with a brief squeeze of my hand. "That's a promise."

Zola looked between me and Bubbe. "Mrs. Crosby, you're a bit late to the party, but your son and granddaughter have decided to testify in the Messina case. It's my recommendation that you leave the Brooklyn area as well."

"I've got her an apartment in my building," Brandon cut in again, causing Bubbe, Dad, and me all to jerk our heads around at him. He looked sheepishly at Bubbe. "That is, Sarah, if you'd like it. We can find you something else if you'd prefer, but it's in the same building where Skylar will be staying."

I wasn't sure whether I wanted to kiss him or throw my water at him. This was classic Brandon: gifting by stampede. Bubbe, however, didn't seem to mind. She just strode up to him and clasped his cheeks between her manicured hands.

"You," she said fondly, and yanked him down to her short form so she could smack a kiss on both of his flustered cheeks. "Thank you."

Brandon stood back up looking adorably flushed. He rubbed his face a little, but looked pleased.

Bubbe turned to Zola. "It's all settled, as you can see. My Brandon and Skylar are taking care of everything, just like I knew they would."

I didn't miss Brandon's repressed grin when Bubbe referred to him as "her Brandon." Now, if only I could make him look like that again...

"Well, that's all I need from you for now," Zola said as he stood up and slung the messenger bag over his shoulder. "I'll be in touch about any progress on the trial, and if Messina is arrested."

He turned, but was met by Jane walking into the room with an overnight bag, presumably full of clothes for me.

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