LUCY
For the past two days, I'd been communicating with my client – or at least, that's what I thought.
We'd been exchanging messages, details, plans, and questions. Everything I needed to prepare for the case. Or so I believed.
It wasn't until that evening that the truth finally came out.
I was sending in some documents when I got a casual reply: "I'll show this to Mr. Carcaterra and get back to you."
Wait! I froze, reading that line again.
Show this to who?
I quickly typed back. "Who have I been talking to all this while?"
A second later, the reply came in. "I'm his personal assistant. Mr. Carcaterra is busy."
Busy? Busy?
I hissed sharply. I had been wasting my time talking to an assistant all along?
I wasn't some intern learning the ropes. I was Lucy Parker, the best damn lawyer in this state. And now I was talking to assistants?
No way.
I immediately typed, "Am I defending you or your boss? I need to speak to my client, not his assistant."
For a moment, there was silence. Just the three dots blinking on my screen. Then finally, a new number called.
I picked. "Who's this?"
I was expecting the casual deep voice, but what I got in return shocked me. His voice wasn't just deep, it was cold, and dangerous.
"This is Lorenzo Carcaterra."
Finally.
But the excitement of finally hearing his voice disappeared the moment he started speaking properly. He was formal... too formal. One-word replies like I was wasting his precious time.
"I'm your lawyer," I reminded him. "I need full details of your case if I'm going to help you."
"Everything you need," he said, "you'll get it."
That was it?
No further explanation, no apology for wasting my time. Just the annoying, short replies. Like I was the help. Like I was beneath him.
"Right," I muttered. "Wonderful."
After minutes of pulling words out of his mouth like teeth, I gave up on texting him. I dropped my phone and ran my hand over my face.
This man was going to drive me crazy.
I called Mr. Clarke immediately.
"Lucy?" he answered.
"Sir, I don't think I can work like this," I said flatly.
"What happened again?"
"Your mafia client is talking to me like I'm less than what I am. I'm supposed to defend him, not babysit him. And I won't sit here begging for information I need to win this case. Does he even want me to win this thing for him?"
Mr. Clarke sighed like he was expecting this. "Lorenzo is… different."
"Different?" I laughed dryly. "No, sir. Dogs have an attitude. This is full-grown disrespect."
Mr. Clarke knew me too well. He knew I hated frustration, especially when it came to my job. I didn't work this hard, build this reputation, just to be treated like I was doing charity.
"Lucy," he sighed over the phone. "Just endure this one, please. Or better still, I'll talk to him myself. I'll tell him to loosen up with you."
"You better. Because I don't work with clients who act like I'm wasting their time when I'm here to save them."
"I'll handle it," he said finally. "Just... give it a little more time."
I didn't reply. I simply ended the call before I said anything worse. My anger was hot in my chest. Clients like him were exactly why I didn't like defending people like him.
I stared at my phone screen, wondering how I got myself into this in the first place.
Just this once, Lucy. Just this once.
Yeah, right.
I tossed my phone on the couch, picked up my coffee, and stared at the picture of Lorenzo again. That same picture I'd been staring at for hours now.
Where do I know this face from?
Something about it felt too familiar. Not just the sharp jawline or the neat beard, it was the eyes. Those cold, dark eyes like they had seen too much. Like they knew too much.
Why did this man look like a ghost from my past?
I tried to shake it off, but it stayed at the edge of my mind like a song you can't fully remember.
"Who are you really?" I whispered under my breath, staring at his photo. "And why does your face annoy me this much?"
I leaned back on the couch and sighed.
This was supposed to be a simple case. Win, get paid, disappear again. But now, it was turning into something else.
Familiar faces, and an annoying gut feeling that I was walking straight into something deeper than just courtrooms and paperwork.
I didn't know what annoyed me more, him or my curiosity.
****
I didn't even realize when I drifted off. One minute I was thinking about that annoying man's face, the next, I was waking up three hours later, stretching awkwardly on the couch like a tired cat.
I sat up slowly and rubbed my eyes. "I needed this," I muttered to myself.
The hunger in my stomach reminded me that I hadn't eaten anything proper all day. Coffee wasn't food. I threw on my sneakers and took a slow walk to the store just down the street. The evening breeze felt good on my skin, the streets were quiet, except for the distant hum of cars passing by.
That was when my phone buzzed.
I pulled it out of my pocket, expecting maybe another one of those short, dry texts from him. But this time, it was different.
An address. And below it was a time.
"Meet me at Ravenwood Lounge, 9PM."
Ravenwood Lounge.
That was one of those private clubs uptown. Expensive drinks, with expensive people. The kind of place that smelled like too much perfume and too many secrets.
It was from the same number that called before. Lorenzo's number.
"Really?" I muttered.
Every lawyer's instinct I had screamed danger. Meeting a mafia lord in person, at night, in a private lounge? Bad idea. Terrible idea.
But then again, if it was dangerous, why bother hiring me at all? He didn't need a lawyer for that, he needed me for his case. And that was business. At least, I hoped it was.
Just then, another message popped up. "Tomorrow. Alone."
I let out a breath I didn't even k
now I was holding. So, not tonight. Tomorrow?
I almost laughed at myself. "Here I was, thinking I had to get dressed for war tonight."