Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
But mafia murders that resulted in a trial?
Not so common.
The victim was Nicholas Myers.
The prosecution had spent days trying to paint him as an upstanding citizen who had never been arrested before. They leaned into the fact that he was the youngest of five brothers, and their family was grieving and yada yada yada.
Before his socials had been locked down like they always did in cases like this, though, I got to see a different image of Nicholas Myers and his brothers.
And let’s just say that I had some theories about why Nicholas ended up dead.
Still, I was objective.
I was willing to hear both sides.
Even if the prosecutor’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard, and I’d been sporting a migraine for days just from listening to him.
The defense team was something out of a movie or TV show. A man and woman, both of them almost disarmingly attractive, and so sleekly dressed that I couldn’t help but wonder how many months of my salary they were wearing each day. The male lawyer’s voice was all smooth and deep, and the woman had just the hint of a rasp that had the men on the jury leaning forward when she spoke.
As for the defendant, a Mr. Cosimo Costa—and can we all agree that his name was meant for TV or movies—well, he was an enigma.
I hadn’t heard him speak. Or smile. Or show any emotion whatsoever during the course of the trial.
All he did was sit there in his handsomeness and disassociate.
He was tall: he had to be a good six-two or six-three with a fit but not bulky frame under his all-black suit. He had black hair, black eyes, a sharp jaw, and those cheekbone hollows that kind of gave him a villainous air. Which was probably working in the prosecution’s favor. But it wasn’t like there was anything he could do about his looks.
It wouldn’t kill the guy to emote, though.
Sitting there, day in and day out, like he was, well, you could definitely see how he was capable of murder.
Almost as if sensing that thought, his gaze slid in the direction of the jury box.
It had to be my imagination, but it seemed like he zeroed right in on me.
A strange shiver worked down my spine, and the weirdest part was that it didn’t feel exactly like a bad shiver.
But that was ridiculous.
It had to be the day-in, day-out of the courtroom grind that was getting to me.
I rolled my neck, trying to pay attention to what the expert on the witness stand was saying.
It wasn’t until we were breaking for lunch that something interesting happened, though.
A woman walked into the courtroom.
A vague sense of recognition tugged at the corners of my memory, but I couldn’t quite place it as she walked down the row of seats between the crowds for the prosecution and defense.
Both sets of attorneys turned to look.
As did all of the victim’s brothers.
She was pretty, but in a shrunken sort of way. Long, wispy blonde hair, big blue eyes, and a petite body that she had wrapped in an oversized sweater. Her arms hugged her body, like she was trying to hold herself together.
I guess I expected her to go toward the prosecution, toward the brothers who were looking at her with familiarity.
But at the last possible second, she veered toward the defense.
And it was the first time I saw any sort of emotion from Cosimo Costa.
A softening.
“Miss,” the bailiff called, making me turn my head to notice the rest of the jury had filed out. Likely to go get pizza. Again. I never thought I could get sick of pizza. Alas, it was possible.
“Sorry,” I said, moving toward him, but my head swiveled back as I stepped out of the box.
And I saw the unmasked fury on the brothers’ faces as Cosimo Costa talked to the young girl.
It wasn’t until I was already out of the courtroom that it occurred to me where I’d seen her before.
In a picture on Nicholas Myers’s profile.
With his arm draped possessively over her shoulders.
As she shrank away from him.
And there was something else that was niggling at me as I walked into the deliberation room, something in that picture that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
I picked at my pizza, barely eating any of it.
It wasn’t until we were passing a janitor on the way back to the courtroom, and I noticed a nasty bruise on his jaw, that I remembered.
In that picture of the girl.
Nicholas Myers’s girlfriend.
Something I’d written off as a shadow under her neck.
But, no.
It wasn’t a shadow.
It was a bruise.
Across her throat.
As we filed back into the box, my gaze slipped to Cosimo Costa.
And I understood with perfect clarity what had truly happened.
Cosimo Costa wasn’t innocent.
He was guilty of murder.
He had killed Nicholas Myers.