Curveball(31)

After the hostess seats us at a table in the corner of the second floor at Luciano’s—the Italian restaurant the Marchese family owns— I scoot along the circular bench and sit in the middle of the massive booth next to Mark. He slides his arm across my shoulders, and I lean my head on his chest, cradled by his warmth and soaking in the scent of his spicy cologne mixed with laundry detergent and soap.

“So, we’re really doing this, huh?” I look up at him. “If someone sees us here together—”

“No one will see us.” He takes my hand and rests it on his thigh, giving it a quick squeeze. “We could have sex in this booth, and no one would even know. The closest person is on the other side of the balcony, and no one can see up here from the first floor. Luca made sure we had the best table in the house.”

“His dad really owns this restaurant?”

He nods. “He owns a bunch of restaurants and businesses in the city.”

“What was it like to grow up around made men? I mean…” I take a minute to think about what I want to ask about his life. “Sorry, I don’t mean to overstep. It’s just, everyone knows who the Marcheses are and how they make their money. I worked in the public defender’s office, so I dealt with my fair share of criminals, and their names came up a lot over the years.”

“No, it’s okay.” He runs his callous thumb along my arm. “Luca and I never knew anything specific about his family’s business, so there’s not much to tell. We grew up together in South Philly, just two troublemakers with bad attitudes who liked to hustle people out of money to pad our pockets. Luca had no reason to do it because his family was loaded, but I had to support my family. I still do.

“My mom has…issues,” he speaks as if chewing on glass, his words painful. “She can’t take care of herself or my sister, and my dad is serving time upstate in Graterford. He’s been in and out of prison my entire life. Have you ever seen the TV show Shameless?”

“Yeah, it’s hilarious.”

I feel him tense against me and realize that was the wrong response to his question.

“Well, let’s just say, my life growing up was a lot like that show. My mom spent the welfare money on her addictions, and what she didn’t spend, my dad gambled away. He always owed someone for something. I think most of the time he spent locked up had to do with him owing someone a favor.”

“How old is your sister?”

“Sammy”—I can tell how much he cares for her as his eyes light up, mirroring his smile—“is sixteen now. I see her once a week when I bring money and food over to the house and pay the bills. She’s a good kid. I have no idea how she’s survived in that house while I’ve been here, on campus.”

“She had you. That’s how.”

He runs his hand through my hair and kisses my forehead. “She will like you.”

I love how he says will like—as in, he plans to introduce us. The shift in our relationship over the past few weeks has taken me by surprise.

“I can’t wait to meet Sammy. If she’s anything like you, I’m sure I’ll love her.”

He laughs. “My sister is nothing like me, but that’s a good thing. She’s still pure and innocent. Imagine that after living with my mother.”

The waitress breaks up our conversation when she asks us what we want to order. Mark takes charge and orders a Caesar salad, pasta e fagioli soup, and chicken parmigiana, served family-style, for us.

“Enough about me.” Mark picks up his glass and takes a sip of his whiskey. “Why did you stop being a lawyer? I know you have a reason, and I want to know it. Anytime I ask you about the case you never want to talk and you distract me with sex.” He chuckles to himself. “Not that I mind.”

I lift my wine glass to my mouth and chug down a big sip, trying to prepare myself for this discussion. “There was a case months ago…” The words fail me at first because the pain and guilt are almost too much to bear. “I represented the Wissinoming Park Rapist.”

His eyes widen in shock. “The guy who got off after raping thirty girls? You defended him?”

I nod, attempting to suppress the tears welling in my bottom lids. “As his lawyer, I had an obligation to him. If I could do it all over again, I would do things differently, found a way to let the prosecution railroad me and open the doors to tear apart our defense.”

“Wow, babe. You’re a damn good lawyer then if you got that scumbag off.”

“I’m not proud of it. I might have won, but no one else did. There was no justice done. I became a lawyer to help people, not to see a guilty man circumvent the system because of spotty evidence. I wish I could step into a time machine and change the outcome because he should be in jail. I know he will rape someone again, and I can only hope that he will get assigned to a shitty lawyer who will let the DA eat him alive.”

He hugs me tight and kisses my hair. “You did your job. No one can fault you for that.”

Wiping the corner of my eye, I bite back the rest of the tears. Brandis doesn’t deserve them, not after all the months I spent trying to get past one of the worst times of my life.

“For a long time after the verdict, I had reporters hounding me and death threats showing up at my door. My biggest fear was that Brandis would come for me, make me his next victim. But he’s never shown his face, which surprises the hell out of me because I was so sure he would find some way to torture me. He told me I looked like his first victim. I’ve never been so creeped out by someone in my life.”