Unprotected with the Mob Boss: A Dark Mafia Romance (Alekseiev Bratva) by Fox, Nicole (classic books for 12 year olds .TXT) 📗

of her father shouting and the angry hubbub of the other people who came out to see justice be served.

Jenny’s father rushes past me, roaring, trying to get over the bar that separates the galley from the judge’s perch.

The bailiff grabs him before he can mount it, shoving him down.

“This is a court of law!” the judge bellows. “Treat it like one or be thrown out!” He slams his gavel again and again.

Finally, the court slowly quiets, the silence only permeated by Mrs. Dressler’s muffled crying.

Mr. Dressler raises his hands in defeat. He looks so tired.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mumbles. The bailiff releases him.

Dressler goes back to his seat next to his wife. He doesn’t look at her or the judge or at anyone, really. He just stares into the distance like there’s nothing worth seeing anymore.

The last of the proceedings resume. I keep my eyes on the jury as Deputy Richards finishes speaking. They’re avoiding looking in the direction of the victim’s family and Elizabeth.

After the jury is thanked and excused, Mr. Dressler walks up to Elizabeth, followed closely by his wife, who is still shaking with tears.

“What the hell happened?” Mr. Dressler hisses. “You let that monster free.”

Elizabeth takes a deep breath and stops packing her things for a moment to look Mr. Dressler in the eye. Her voice is firm—empathetic but professional. “He’s a good-looking man who is a good actor. He knew how to play the jury. I’m sorry, but there’s—”

“That’s not good enough. I don’t want your excuses. You blew it. You could have gone after him much harder and all you did was act like a pretentious ass. You were too confident and you didn’t try hard enough.”

Elizabeth sighs and runs a hand through her blonde hair. She opens her mouth to speak again, but I cut in. “I’m sorry,” I say, butting forward. “I’m deeply sorry for the loss of your daughter, but DA Hardick did what she could. The defense has an easy job—all they need to do is plant doubt in the jury’s minds. They only need to convince a couple jury members that he could be innocent and they could persuade the other members if they were charismatic enough. It’s not fair. I completely agree. I wish it turned out differently.”

He slides his gaze to me like I’m a piece of dog shit stuck to his shoe. “You ‘wish’ it turned out differently,” he repeats slowly. “Your ‘wishes’ aren’t going to put my daughter’s killer behind bars, which is the very least of what should happen to him. Save your wishes for a new DA that will actually do her job.”

Mr. Dressler looks Elizabeth up and down, disgust written all over his face. Then he storms away, half dragging his wife with him.

I let out a deep breath that I hadn’t even realized I was holding in.

“You shouldn’t have gotten involved,” Elizabeth says to me, gathering her files. She shoves them into her briefcase. “I’m sorry. This isn’t the case I should have brought you in on. Take a breath. You need to relax.”

I look down at my hands. My fists are clenched so tightly that my nails are digging into my palms.

“I don’t understand,” I mutter. “He was guilty.”

“All we had was circumstantial evidence. We didn’t have surveillance footage, we didn’t have his car, we didn’t have any proof that there wasn’t another car on the road that night. I believe he’s guilty too, but the jury did their duty. They couldn’t say for absolute certainty that he did it, so they had to let him go.”

“He’s just going to go out and do it again,” I protest. “My father said he’s suspected in another hit and run, but he was never charged because of a lack of evidence.”

“Your father is right. Just keep breathing, Allison. Sometimes the bad guy wins and we can’t let that get us down or we’ll be too defeated to fight the next one. Come on. I’ll take you out for lunch.”

I scrape at the nail polish on my thumb. Coral pink. I thought it’d look professional, but now it just feels pointless.

“You don’t have to do that,” I tell her, looking up. In her heels, she’s nearly three inches taller than me and with her dark blonde hair, she could star in a law show.

I feel dull and insignificant next to her. In comparison, a casting director would make me a dead hooker with a crack addiction because the mixture of fluorescent lights and my dark hair always makes my skin look pallid.

“I know my father pulled some strings to let me shadow you, but we don’t need to hang out. I’ll end up spending the whole time complaining about the case and you’ll want to kill me.”

“Allison, I’d never kill you. Mostly because your father would have the whole NYPD trying to convict me and I don’t have time for that in my life.” She zips up her briefcase. “I’m not asking because I want to please your father. I’m asking you because you’ve sat with me through this whole case and I’m hungry. So, instead of a third night of Chinese food, let’s go find a place that serves something decent, and I’ll give you some more advice on this prosecuting stuff.”

I let my hands drop to my side. “I’m guessing the first piece of advice is to learn to let things go.”

“That’s the second piece of advice,” she says as I follow her out of the courtroom. “The first one is don’t piss off the chief of police. And that’s why I won’t kill his daughter.”

* * *

Welkin’s has a grayish-blue theme—the walls, the tables, the lawyers in their gray and blue suits.

As the hostess leads us to the back patio, I can see my future. I see myself sitting with a stack of documents, fully immersed in the injustice of a high-profile murder.

Or, at least, I dream of that until I see the menu.

“They seem to