He wasn’t there out of the goodness of his heart to testify against his own Family. We had men watching his house and his family. We’d told him that if he wanted any hope of surviving what he and his thugs had done to Cosima, he would confess.
“How many were there of you in the car?” Yara asked, deep into the interrogation, gathering speed and intensity like a runaway train.
“Uh, well, there was me, Philly, Pizza Paul, and Fedele.”
“And you all had weapons?”
“Yeah,” he said, like duh.
“Can you be more specific?”
“We used Colt 6920s. They’re the best on the market.”
“Good to know,” Yara drawled, turning to make eyes at the media.
A few people tittered with laughter.
“Can you tell us who sent you to Ottavio’s and with what purpose?”
Carter looked at her for a moment, licking his dry lips. His gaze darted to me for just a second, but it was long enough for him to feel the weight of my threatening stare.
“Agostino di Carlo ordered us to hit up O’s because he wanted to take out Giuseppe.” He looked at the judge. “That’s his uncle.”
“Thank you, I’m aware,” Judge Hartford said drily.
“Why did he want to kill his own uncle?”
“Him and his brother wanted to take over the, uh, the family business.”
Yara smiled comfortingly. “Of course. Thank you for being so honest with us today. Could you just tell us what you did with the weapons when you were done?”
“We dropped ’em in the Hudson.”
Yara turned to the screen that was set up to the right of the witness stand and clicked something on a remote. An image appeared of four automatic rifles in large plastic evidence bags.
“These Colt 6920s were found when we had a diver survey the area of the river Mr. Andretti recalled disposing of the weapons in. As you can see, the guns match his description. They are also a match for the bullet wounds forensic found in Giuseppe di Carlo and his associate, Ernesto Pagano.”
Yara smiled beautifully at the Judge.
He stared back at her, unmoved. “Any further questions, Mrs. Ghorbani?”
“No, Your Honor. The defense rests.”
“That went well,” I murmured to Elena, but I could tell by her thigh bouncing erratically beneath the table that she didn’t agree with me.
“Just wait.”
USA Dennis O’Malley was given his opportunity to cross-examine our witness. He was a short man with a studied energy, as if every movement was a calculation instead of an organic expression. He approached Carter with an almost robotic calm.
“What brought you here to testify today, Mr. Andretti?” he asked casually. “You don’t seem like the kind of man who values honesty or the law.”
“Objection,” Elena and Yara both stood to declare. “Speculation.”
“Sustained. Mr. O’Malley, please refrain from adding your personal opinions,” Hartford reprimanded lightly.
“Of course,” he adjusted his cufflinks. “Please answer the question though.”
“Uh, yeah, well, I was subpoenaed so I had to come and do what’s right.”
“Was it right to kill Giuseppe di Carlo?”
“Well, no, but maybe we didn’t kill him,” he denied, looking like a deer in the headlights.
Merda.
“Oh? You shot at him, but you don’t think you killed him?” Dennis pressed.
“Well, I’m pretty sure he was already on the floor when we pulled up, but it happen quick. I can’t be sure.”
Dennis turned to face our table, his smile a slight, evil curl of lips.
I was going to kill the bastardo.
“It’s funny you should say that, because forensic evidence suggests that Giuseppe di Carlo was hit with two different types of bullets. Those from a Colt 6920 and also those from a Gen 4 Glock 19. Were you carrying such a gun that day, Mr. Andretti?”
“No,” Carter said, effectively ruining the strength of his testimony for our defense. “No, we weren’t.”
When Dennis moved back to his seat after his cross-examination period ended thirty minutes later, he did it with the expression of a cat who ate the canary.
I couldn’t wait to make the stronzo choke on it.
Twenty-Eight
Elena
On the fourth day of the trial, a bomb dropped.
I wasn’t surprised, but I was probably the only one, because I’d been the one to make the bomb itself.
I’d decided it was time because despite our first two witnesses lending credible doubt to the assumption that Dante hadn’t killed Giuseppe di Carlo, Dennis had done a fine fucking job of discrediting them.
He was a dog with his first bone, his desperateness lent him a feral edge I’d never seen in him before.
But that was okay, because I was desperate too.
Dennis was just fighting for his career.
I was fighting for my capo and our life together.
There was no other option but to win.
Hence the bomb.
Dennis was still cross-examining Carter Andretti when Ricardo entered the courtroom, striding down the crowded aisle with purpose. He held a leather portfolio and an iPad under one arm. All the eyes in the courtroom tracked him, Carter Andretti and Dennis forgotten entirely.
Ric leaned over the partition between the spectators and our defense table so I could meet him halfway.
He whispered in my ear. “This is already working out beautifully.”
We had orchestrated the entire thing.
The legal process was complex, a quick, quick, slow dance of tempo from arrest and arraignment to the slow grind on the way trial. But the trial itself was always a flurry of steps, the tempo fast enough to keep you on your toes, anxiously anticipating your partner’s next move so you could match it.
Until then, this RICO case had been entirely led by Dennis O’Malley.
But I was taking the lead now and I was going to dictate the moves.
“I have everything cued up on the iPad,” Ric continued. “Good luck.”
I took the portfolio and iPad from him. There was an old wisdom in law that when you had a weak defense, you should put the opponent on trial and I intended to do exactly that.
“Is there a problem, Mrs. Lombardi?” Judge Hartford asked, clearly unamused by my spectacle.
“Permission to approach the bench, Your Honor?”
He narrowed his eyes at me. Martin Hartford was as old-school as they came. He didn’t like sensationalist court drama or surprises and he sensed I had a dozy.
Because I did.
I smiled placidly at him.
“Fine, approach the bench.”
“Your Honor, new evidence has come to light and we could like to call a recess so it can be properly entered into evidence,” I explained as I turned on the iPad and handed it to him.
“What am I looking at?”
“That is a Gen 4 Glock 19,” I explained pleasantly. “The same gun USA O’Malley told us was used to shoot Giuseppe di Carlo before the drive-by shooting.”
Judge Hartford was seasoned and his poker face was legendary, but I was close enough to see the way the skin beside his eyes tightened in disbelief.