a gut feeling the moment Congresswoman Vermeil had taken the stand, and his instincts made him push her in his cross-examination. Maybe it was the “I’m about to hang you by the balls” look she’d given his client, Senator Russ, who denied having an affair with the congresswoman and was willing to risk prison time to keep the affair from his wife, who was terminally ill. DeAngelo shook his head. Ivan Russ had actually believed that it was better for his dying wife to believe he was an embezzler rather than find out he was unfaithful.
The reporters continued to bombard him with more questions despite his response of “no comment.”
“How do you feel about breaking this case?”
“What do you think about the federal prosecutors and how they handled the case?”
The scene outside the courthouse reminded DeAngelo of the very first time he’d lost a case and how he’d felt then. He remembered the advice his parents, both of whom were lawyers, had given him: If you can’t say anything nice about somebody, then don’t say anything at all.
He looked straight into the TV camera pointed in his face and said in a direct, confident voice, “No comment for now. We’ll answer questions at the press conference.”
A short while later he was back in his office, surrounded by family, friends, associates and the law firm staff. They had all dropped by his office to congratulate him on winning a case many had thought would last for weeks or months. In fact, a few had even assumed there was only a snowball’s chance in hell of winning the case. The federal prosecutors had boasted that they had an airtight case against the senator, and when they found a briefcase filled with half a million dollars buried in his backyard, many assumed he was guilty.
Although the evidence had been damaging, for some reason DeAngelo had believed Senator Russ’s claims of innocence. But DeAngelo had suspected the senator wasn’t being truthful when he’d asked him if he knew of anyone who would want to frame him. DeAngelo got the sense that Senator Russ was trying to hide something, trying to protect someone. But no matter how he’d tried, he couldn’t get Ivan Russ to tell him anything other than that he didn’t plant the money in his backyard.
Momentarily distracted, DeAngelo blinked when his father snapped a finger in front of his face.
“Daydreaming, son? If you are, then you’re entitled. That case has consumed you for months now, and I speak on behalf of this entire firm in saying that you made us proud today.”
“You most certainly did, Angelo,” his mother chimed in with a huge smile on her face.
Coming from his parents, it meant a lot. He’d always appreciated their opinions—even at times when he didn’t want to hear them. “Thanks, Dad, Mom.”
His mother and father had always been his heroes. The two were highly respected attorneys who’d made a name for themselves and the Di Meglio law firm in Manhattan. The family firm had been established generations ago by his great-great-grandfather, and now included his parents, his father’s two brothers—Federico and Leandro—and their sons, Maddox and Damon. They were all Di Meglios, and had made a name for themselves representing the rich and famous. The only person who wasn’t part of the law firm was his younger sister, Samari. She was a partner in two law firms—one in Houston and another in Oklahoma City—and she had called moments ago to congratulate him and to tell him how proud she was of him.
“Same here, Angelo,” his uncles chimed in, as they grinned from ear to ear. “We want you to take some time off. You deserve it,” his uncle Leandro, the eldest of the three Di Meglio brothers, said. “Besides, you need to prepare to take on all those interviews and book offers that will be coming your way. The case not only made national headlines, it even made news overseas. Winning this case makes you one of the hottest lawyers around.”
“Hey, but don’t get the big-head,” his cousin Maddox warned.
“If you do, then we’ll have to take you down a peg or two,” his cousin Damon threatened. Both tried to look serious, but Angelo saw the amusement lurking behind their dark eyes.
He was about to tell both of them—who he thought of more like brothers than cousins—to kiss him where the sun don’t shine when he remembered his parents and uncles were still in the room. Instead he glanced over at his uncle Leandro. “I doubt things will go that far, Uncle Andro. I may be news today, but history tomorrow.”
“Don’t be too sure of that, Angelo,” his uncle Federico warned. Fed—as everyone called him—was the middle Di Meglio brother, and the uncle who was the most fun to be around. He was the Di Meglio who’d covered for Angelo and his cousins over the years when they’d gotten into trouble.
Over the next three hours, DeAngelo’s uncle’s warning was born out when his phone kept ringing nonstop. It seemed that winning a high-profile case had not only given a boost to his career but also to his love life. In reality, he’d stopped considering himself a “ladies’ man” a while ago. These days he dated just for fun, and always let the women he went out with know beforehand that there was no chance of emotional involvement. That had been deliberate on his part once he’d decided just what his future was.
He paused a second after locking his office door and glanced around. Everyone had left hours ago, but he and his two cousins had stayed late to celebrate some more. He had begged off Maddox’s invitation to go back to his place to party and have a good time. Back in the day he would have gone along with the kind of partying Maddox had in mind—beautiful women and lots of champagne—but not now.
He knew his cousins were wondering just what the hell was wrong with him since for the past couple of years his wild bachelor lifestyle had begun winding down. They accused him of no longer being any fun—like tonight. No doubt Maddox and Damon had hooked up with some hot women and had plans for an outrageous night.
Bidding good-night to the firm’s security guards, Angelo left the office and caught the elevator to the parking garage. He had received lots of calls that day. Some he’d preferred not to have received. There were the morning talk shows that called to get an interview and several well-known publishers offering book deals. Tomorrow, he decided, he would hire someone to handle all the press.
Then there were the calls from women he hadn’t dated in months—deliberately. Evidently they hadn’t gotten the hint since most of their calls made it seem as if they were still his flavor of the month, and would enjoy being by his side in the spotlight. He thought to himself, that wouldn’t be happening.
He fished his car keys out of his coat pocket. He opened the door to his two-seater Mercedes sports car and slid in. Whether his admirers knew it or not, his absence hadn’t been by accident. He had stopped seeing them for a reason. It seemed that lately one woman in particular seemed to dominate his thoughts.
After buckling his seat belt, he pulled out his cell phone and checked his messages. He would have to clear some of them out, he thought as texts and voice mails nearly totaled a hundred. He frowned as he realized the one call he had wanted most wasn’t among them. He had expected her call if for no other reason than because he was her best friend’s brother and he’d won an important case. Since she was a lawyer herself, she would know what that meant and how it felt.
Even now he remembered the first time he’d met her, the first time his sister Sam had brought her two best friends from law school—Mackenzie Standfield and Peyton Mahoney—home to spend the holidays with the Di Meglio family at their Long Island estate. Both women had been lookers, but there had been something special about Peyton that held his interest, if only for a moment. It was easy enough to see that she had issues. For starters, he sensed that she was uncomfortable surrounded by the Di Meglios’ wealth. She’d had a chip on her shoulder the size of the Rock of Gibraltar. Later, he’d found out why when he heard about the hard life she’d had growing up on Chicago’s South Side. He couldn’t help but admire her.
Although he rarely saw her, over the years he’d come to realize that he was attracted to her. It was subtle—and sexual, or so he thought—but his interest increased whenever he saw her. At first, he chalked it up to her being different.