“So, yesterday didn’t go as planned,” he says dryly.

“Yeah, no shit.”

He narrows his eyes. “Watch your tone. It’s unfortunate that you didn’t predict Bianca knowing about the account.”

I actually balk. “I’m sorry? I was supposed to anticipate Lorenzo’s wife knowing about a secret account that I wasn’t even privy to? Is it your goal to have me try this case with one arm tied behind my back, or did it just conveniently slip your mind to tell me the man has been paying some woman for almost thirty years?”

“We didn’t think it was information Bianca could gain access to, therefore we didn’t deem it relevant to disclose.”

“We,” I snort. “Why did you even hand the case to me if you’re going to micromanage things from behind the scenes?”

“Your brother’s caseload is already too heavy as it is. I thought surely you could handle something as simple as a divorce with a signed fucking prenup.”

“Is it my fault your friend seems to be an asshole?”

“Careful,” Alexander warns.

I press my lips together to hold back another retort. I know this won’t get me anywhere. There’s no arguing with Alexander Hart. There’s only doing whatever the fuck he says.

“So how do you suggest I proceed from here?”

He leans back in his chair. “The woman Lorenzo has been issuing payments to is a relative. The money is to cover her medical bills. She’s chronically ill, you see.”

“Chronically ill,” I parrot dryly.

He nods. “That’s right.”

I close my eyes and count to three. “Are there any documents confirming the nature of this account? Medical bills? Discharge records?”

“Unnecessary, given that Bianca and the little lawyer Moreno’s assigned to the case will never find any evidence refuting it.”

“So you just expect me to give them that horseshit and assume they roll with it?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Why would they not? It’s the truth.”

“Of course it is,” I mumble.

“This case should be an easy win for you,” Alexander says. “I would hate for there to be any more hiccups. If you can’t handle something as simple as this, perhaps I should lighten your caseload entirely.”

My heart starts to beat faster. I know where this road leads. The threats will not end with just me. They never do.

“I can handle it,” I assure him. “It’s fine.”

“Good to hear,” he says. “Be sure to tell your mother goodbye before you go.”

And just like that, I’m dismissed. I know better than to press any issues, standing without argument. “Anything else?”

“Eli tells me you’re friendly with Danica Pierce.”

My jaw clenches, and I can only hope he doesn’t notice. “She’s an acquaintance. We’ve been opposing sides for a number of cases now.”

“I see.” He regards me for a long moment, my stomach twisting into knots the entire time. “See that it remains that way. A friendship with someone from a rival firm wouldn’t do well.”

I give him a stiff nod, quickly retreating from his office before he can think of anything else to discuss. Fucking Eli. Fucking Alexander.

This fucking family, I swear.

I do tell my mother goodbye before I leave, but she’s less than before. Less talkative, less aware, just…less. It twists my insides to see her like that.

I sit in my car afterward checking my messages, and I only feel a slight tinge of desperate relief when I see Dani’s name among them. I don’t analyze it too deeply. I can’t.

Sour Patch: I’ve forwarded the documents Bianca shared with me for disclosure. We can do depositions on the 16th or the 26th. Do either of those dates work for you?

There’s an overwhelming urge to call her, to ask to see her—if only to have a brief respite from the tumultuous emotions roiling inside me. Not that she would want it. Honestly, I think this might be a rare day where her barbs would be less than endearing. I think today they might actually cut. I tamp everything I’m feeling down, tapping out a quick reply.

Me: I’ll check my schedule, but the 16th should work.

I see the dots dance across the screen, disappear, pop back up, and then disappear again before she finally sends:

Sour Patch:

Despite everything, it makes me laugh. In a world of uncertainty, Dani being prickly is a constant. It’s oddly comforting. It even lifts my mood a little.

Me: Don’t miss me too hard.

More dots. Then more dots. Then nothing. Then:

Sour Patch:

I laugh out loud, feeling lighter. She really is so prickly. It’s probably weird that I find it endearing.

I refuse to analyze that either.

OceanofPDF.com

Eight

“Are you nervous?”

Bianca arches one thin brow from her seat beside me. “No. You will ask questions. I will listen. What is there to be nervous about?”

I feel myself grin. I should have known better than to ask. I’ve learned in the weeks since I met her that there is very little that seems to ruffle Bianca Casiraghi. “I wanted to do this back at my firm,” I tsk. “I should have known they’d push to do it here on their own turf.”

“Does it matter?”

“Not in the grand scheme of things,” I tell her, checking the time on my phone as we step off the elevator. “But I hate knowing that they’re probably just trying to intimidate you.”

“They can try,” Bianca chuckles.

“That’s the spirit.” I wave to Maggie at the front desk as we pass her. “Remember, you won’t be able to say anything unless you’re being deposed, and when you are, you can answer all questions asked of you even if there’s an objection. This is all preliminary. A judge will decide if they’re admissible or not.”

“I know the rules, Danica,” she says primly.

I smirk over at her as we head down the main hall. “Just making sure there are no more surprises in store for me.”

“You are being cute,” she says, sounding amused. “I will be good.”

“I appreciate it.”

When we reach the chosen conference room, I open the door to follow Bianca inside. My eyes find Ezra immediately, not only because they seem to be hardwired to pick him out in a room, but also because he seems to be in a quiet but heated discussion with an older man that I haven’t seen before. He’s almost as tall as Ezra, his salt-and-pepper hair combed back and his mustache neatly trimmed.

His bright blue eyes land on me when we enter the room, piercing and calculating as they hold mine. I make sure to hold his gaze, having no intention of being intimidated. Ezra turns to follow the older man’s line of sight, and where he would normally shoot me a playful grin that would make my stomach swoop in that frustrating way I’ve come to know—right now he looks almost pained. Apologetic, even. It’s strange.

“Ezra,” I say in greeting, my eyes flitting between him and the older man. “Cocounsel again?”

There’s a thin-lipped smile on the older man’s mouth, one that does nothing but stir a sense of unease. “My apologies, Ms. Pierce.” He steps forward to close the distance between us, offering his hand. “I asked if I might sit in today. Alexander Hart. Managing partner.”