Prince of vice, p.22
Prince of Vice, page 22
"Mr. Maldonado, you claim that you were visiting your Father on the night of the murder. Isn't that correct?"
"Yes," he replies coolly.
"Permission to approach the witness," I ask the judge.
"Granted," Judge Dolan replies.
I make my way over to Constantino and hand him a ledger.
"Can you inform the Court what this is, Mr. Maldonado?" I ask.
He looks at it briefly and then tries to hand it back to me.
"It appears to be a log of visitors," he says.
"Hold onto that just a little bit longer," I say to him. "And if you could direct your attention to your entry on the night in question."
He scans the page and I continue.
"How long does it say you were visiting with your father on the night in question, Mr. Maldonado?"
He considers the page. "Approximately four hours."
"Wow! Four hours," I exclaim, turning to look at the jury briefly. I turn back to Constantino. "That's a pretty long visit, and quite late at night, don't you think?"
He shrugs, never one to lose his composure. "We had a lot to talk about, I guess."
"No doubt," I reply. "Could you inform the jury how long your visit was the week prior."
He looks at the document, his brows furrowing as he starts to catch on with where this is going. “Seventeen minutes," he responds curtly.
"And the week before that?"
"Twenty-three minutes," he says.
"Other than the night in question, has there ever been an entry for longer than one hour, Mr. Maldonado?" I ask, turning again to the jury.
"No," he replies.
"Is the prison in the practice of allowing visitors to stay for four hours?" I ask incredulously.
"I couldn't say," he replies, irritation coating his voice. "I'm not in charge at the prison."
"No, I suppose not," I reply.
"Can you tell the jury why, on the night of the murder, your visit was so much longer with your father?"
"As I said," he replies, staring me down, "I guess we had a lot to talk about that night."
"Is it possible, Mr. Maldonado," I ask, my voice dripping with implication, "that you cannot account for this inconsistency because you – conspiring with your father, no less – orchestrated this entire setup for your brother?"
He opens his mouth to respond, but I press on relentlessly, a tidal wave of questions crashing down upon him. "And is it not true that Primo did not kill Beau Bennett, but in fact, it was you who pulled the trigger?"
Constantino's face pales as he stumbles over his words, the mask of composure slipping away before our very eyes. Silence stretches taut between us, and I know I have him.
“Please listen carefully, Mr. Maldonado, and tell me if the events as I outline them are consistent with your recollection. Following your father’s guilty verdict, control over the family business fell to Primo, his first born son. But, that didn’t sit well with you. And, neither did it sit well with your father, with whom you’ve always had a closer relationship than Primo. So, you both needed a way to get Primo out of the way so that you could take over.
“Axe Michelson created a perfect opportunity for your father to lay a trap. He asked Axe to lure Primo to Miami to handle a business meeting. Primo, suspecting that this agent had double crossed him, was prepared. Someone tipped the police off to the meeting and the police showed up and everyone scatters.
“Primo escaped your trap, so you need to lay another. The feds showing up in Miami gave you the perfect excuse. You started to conspire with Beau Bennett and word is passed to Primo that Axe has gone rogue and is working with the feds. A meeting at a safehouse is set up to take out Axe. You, quite conveniently, are in a four hour meeting at the prison, so you could not possibly be at the safehouse, where you expect Axe to be killed.
“But, Axe isn’t killed. He escapes, and this time he really does go to the feds. Angry over the second failure, you decide that you need a body that you can pin on Primo. Beau Bennett was your victim, wasn’t he Mr. Maldonado? He trusted you, so you were able to pull the trigger at close range, because he never suspected it would come from you.
“An anonymous tip was given to the police, Primo’s DNA, which you have easy access to given that you live in the same residence, was found at the crime scene, and away he goes, in the back of the squad car. Did I get it right, Mr. Maldonado?”
“I invoke the protections of the Fifth Amendment, and decline to answer your question, Ms. Moretti,” Constantino says with ice in his eyes.
Turning to the judge, I announce, “No further questions.”
I return to my seat next to Primo, feeling like I've just stepped off a roller coaster. His hand finds mine under the table, squeezing gently in reassurance. It's been ages since we've had any meaningful interaction, but this small gesture fills me with renewed hope and strength.
As closing arguments begin, the prosecution once again paints a picture of a cruel and heartless man, attempting one last time to sway the jury against Primo. When they finish, I rise once more, ready to speak from my heart.
"Members of the jury," I address them earnestly, "the prosecution is trying to put Primo Maldonado on trial for who he is, rather than what he's done. But we are here today because he stands accused of killing Beau Bennett – a crime for which the evidence clearly shows he has been wrongly framed by his own family." My voice swells with passion as I implore them to see past the smoke and mirrors, to find the truth buried beneath the lies.
I look at each juror in turn, my gaze steady, as I make my final plea. "I implore you to see through the smokescreen the federal agents have cast over this case, obscuring crucial facts from your view. Consider how they have manipulated the truth to serve their agenda, ignoring the inconsistencies and glaring omissions in their presentation.
"Ask yourselves," I continue passionately, "if there remains even a shred of doubt in your minds that Primo was not the one to pull the trigger, can you honestly sentence him to a life behind bars for a crime he did not commit?"
The room is heavy with anticipation, an electric charge buzzing in the air as I finish speaking. It feels as though the eyes of every person present are boring into me, but my focus remains solely on the jury, hoping beyond hope that my words have struck a chord.
I make my final plea and return to my seat, my pulse in overdrive.
"Very well, Counselors," Judge Dolan replies, giving a firm nod. "Court is adjourned for the day. The jury will begin deliberations tomorrow morning. Everyone is dismissed."
As I gather my papers and close my briefcase, my heart races in my chest, a wild symphony of hope and fear. Primo places a hand on my shoulder, his touch warm and reassuring despite the world bearing down on him. I can see it in his eyes, that flicker of gratitude and admiration.
"Thank you, Isabella," he murmurs softly before leaving the courtroom under heavy guard.
As the oak doors close behind him, the room empties out, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the whispers that cling to the air like ghosts. The fate of the man I've come to know so intimately now rests in the hands of twelve strangers.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Isabella
The sterile scent of the windowless conference room hangs heavy in the air as Primo and I wait, a quiet tension settling over us like an invisible shroud. It's been several hours since the jury began its deliberation, and I feel a glimmer of hope. They say that when the jury takes time to decide, it's a good sign for the defense. But still, I keep my hopes in check, trying not to let them run wild.
Lunch has come and gone, the forgotten remnants of our meal discarded into the trash bin in the corner. We've spent these long hours sitting in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. The incessant ticking of the wall clock is the only sound that accompanies our vigil.
Primo suddenly rises from his chair, his tall frame casting a shadow over the polished surface of the conference table. He begins to pace the room, his dark eyes reflecting the anxiety clawing at him from within. I reach out to him, wanting to ease his worry somehow. "I understand your anxiousness, Primo," I say softly, watching as he stops mid-stride.
He turns to me, concern etched into the lines of his face. With a boldness that surprises me, he crosses the room and kneels before me, his strong hands gripping my knees. "Isabella," he murmurs, sincerity lacing his voice, "I am incredibly grateful for everything you've done for me. No matter the outcome, you are a fantastic lawyer, and I'm lucky to have had you by my side throughout this case. I knew you wouldn't take the bait," he murmurs softly, his voice like velvet against my skin. His dark eyes seem to pierce through mine, their depths holding secrets I'm not sure I want to uncover.
I give him a confused look, my brow furrowing in uncertainty. "The bait? What bait are you talking about?"
"The loan sharks," he reveals with a casual shrug, as if it were a mere inconvenience. "I know they offered to absolve you of all your debts if you threw my case."
I stare at him incredulously, my heart thundering in my chest. "You knew? How did you know?"
"I have eyes and ears in a lot of places, my dear Isabella," he replies with a sly grin. "The moment they laid a hand on you, they were under constant surveillance until this trial was over, and I could deal with them without raising suspicion."
Confusion overwhelms me, and I shake my head, my fingers absentmindedly playing with the edge of my blouse. "But, if you knew, why didn't you say anything to me? Ask me ahead of time what I was going to do?"
"Did I need to ask you?" he counters, the corners of his mouth lifting in a knowing smile. "No," he answers for himself, "because I had no doubt in my mind that you would never throw my case."
My breath catches in my throat as his words sink in. "You trusted me that much?" I manage to whisper, my eyes searching his for any hint of deceit.
"Of course," he sighs, his gaze never leaving mine. "I trust you with my life." A pause, and then he adds, almost as an afterthought, "And my heart."
The weight of his confession hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the scent of his cologne that now feels intoxicating. My pulse races, a wild symphony playing beneath my skin, as I consider the implications of his trust and what it means for us. My heart swells with emotion, and I lean forward, wrapping my arms around him. Our lips meet in a tender kiss that quickly deepens, our tongues dancing together in a passionate exchange.
The tension in the room is palpable, and as Primo's hands roam my body, I shiver with anticipation. "Maybe we shouldn't be doing this here," I whisper, glancing around the empty conference room, my heart pounding in my chest. "We could be caught."
"Ah, Isabella," he breathes against my ear, his lips sending a shudder down my spine. "That's what makes it so exciting, don't you think? Besides," he says, his fingers tracing the curve of my hip, causing me to feel a surge of desire for him, "what more can they really do to punish me at this point? Can I continue?" he asks, his voice low and filled with promise.
My hesitation dissolves, and I nod, eager to submit to him once more. I want him to give me everything he has, even if it may be the last time.
"Alright," he says, his eyes darkening with determination. "I'll do what I can within reason, given our setting. But don't worry, there will be plenty of time for us to explore further in the future." The hope that ignites in my chest at his words is unexpected and powerful.
"Show me what you have in mind," I challenge him, feeling bolder now. He smirks and pulls back, looking me up and down as if appraising a prized possession.
"Today, I want to do things to you instead of giving commands," he tells me, his eyes flicking over my face, searching for any signs of discomfort. "If you want to be my good girl, you should be my little fuck pet—happy and waiting for anything I decide to give you." He reminds me of the stoplight system, and I nod in understanding, grateful for the safety measures he's put in place.
Primo doesn't remove my clothing, but rather opens my blouse and hikes up my skirt, pulling my bra down to expose my breasts and pulling my panties aside to reveal my pussy. I'm still fully clothed, but this somehow feels even more intense, as if he's stripping away not just the fabric, but the layers of pretense that separate us.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, his gaze traveling over my exposed skin. The vulnerability I feel is exhilarating, and I can hardly contain my desire for him.
"Please, Primo," I beg, my voice barely audible. "I need you."
"Patience, my love," he whispers, his fingers brushing against my collarbone, making me shiver with anticipation. "We have all the time in the world."
Primo sits me up on the table, my legs dangling over the edge, and gazes at me with a wicked smile. His fingers trace my skin, starting from my collarbone down to my chest, deliberately avoiding my nipples. The sensation sends shivers coursing through my body, making me squirm in anticipation.
"Tell me what you want," he teases, his voice low and sultry. "I want to hear you say it."
"Touch me, Primo," I plead, desperate for the feel of him on my skin. "Please, I need it."
He chuckles softly, enjoying my desperation. "I want to see just how hard I can make them before I finally get to torture them properly," he says, looking directly into my eyes as he speaks.
The way he says it makes my heart race, and I can feel the heat pooling between my legs. It's torturous waiting for him to give in, but the anticipation is intoxicating.
"Patience, Isabella," he taunts, and then, when I think I can't take it anymore, he finally palms my breast and tweaks my nipple, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. Before I wanted his touch so badly, now he won't stop touching me, and I worry that I might come just from this stimulation alone.
"Primo," I gasp, my breaths coming in short pants. He takes the opportunity to lean forward and capture one nipple in his mouth, biting gently enough to leave marks on my soft flesh.
"I love marking you," he murmurs against my skin. "I'd love to mark you permanently." My mind races, wondering what he means by that, but I don't have time to process because he's pushing me down onto the table. The cold surface against my back contrasts sharply with the heat of his body above me.
"Open your legs for me," he commands, and I obey, spreading my thighs wide and bending my knees to fully expose myself to him. Primo's eyes darken with lust as he admires the view.
"Your pussy is beautiful," he says softly, "but I know it tastes even better."
"Are you going to tease me forever?" I ask, unable to hide the desperation in my voice.
"Maybe," he replies with a smirk. But then his fingers finally graze my pussy, making me moan. "Work your nipples for me while I taste you," he instructs, and I comply, whispering, "Yes, Sir."
"Good girl," he praises me, and I preen at his approval. Then he kneels down, his breath hot on my sensitive folds before he begins to eat my pussy. As his tongue explores me, my thoughts dissolve into pure sensation, and I surrender to the passion building inside me, knowing that this moment is one I'll never forget.
I marvel at the way Primo eats me. His enthusiasm is unmatched, his desire to taste and savor every part of me intoxicating. He's unlike any other lover I've had—the few who have agreed to go down on me treat it as a chore, but not Primo.
"God, you're so good at this," I moan, unable to contain my appreciation.
"Only for you, Isabella," he murmurs against my slick heat, sending shivers up my spine. His tongue enters me with purpose, his fingers working my clit in tandem, leaving me gasping and begging for more.
"Please, let me come," I plead, desperate for release. But he shakes his head, his dark eyes locking onto mine.
"Patience, my beautiful girl." He drives me closer and closer to my edge, my body trembling and my breath coming out in short, ragged gasps. I know I'm not allowed to come yet, but God, it's so hard to hold back.
Suddenly, Primo stands, pulling me down from the table. His hands move roughly over my breasts, fingers digging into my sensitive flesh. He tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Open," he commands with a wicked smile.
I obey, and he spits into my mouth. I drink it down without hesitation, surprising even myself with how much I love being his slut. Primo's grin widens as he sees my reaction. "You truly are a dream come true, Isabella."
"Thank you, Sir," I reply, my voice quivering with both gratitude and arousal. He flips me around, urging me to bend over the conference table. The cool surface presses against my chest as I comply, feeling exposed and vulnerable under his commanding presence.
"Such a perfect view," Primo murmurs, his hand tracing the curve of my spine. I shiver at the contact, anticipation building inside me as I await his next move.
"Please, Sir," I beg once more, needing him to take control and push me over the edge. But even now, teetering on the brink, I know that I am his to command—and I couldn't be happier.
"Prepare yourself, Isabella," Primo whispers in my ear, his breath hot against my skin. "I'm going to fuck you hard against this conference table. Make sure you scream my name loud; I want everyone to know just what a little slut you are for me."
His words make me shiver, and I can feel the heat pooling between my legs. I nod silently, unable to speak as anticipation courses through me.
Taking a step back, Primo surveys me with an appreciative eye. "I love owning you," he confesses, voice low and commanding. "Using your body for my pleasure... The thought of your pussy has always made me hard."
"Please, Sir," I manage to choke out, my heart pounding in my chest. "I need you."
"Good girl," he replies with a smirk, positioning himself behind me. As he enters me, I scream his name, the sensation of him filling me completely overwhelming my senses. But I don't come, despite the desperation that threatens to consume me.
Primo's movements are not slow like last time; they're fast and insistent, each thrust driving me further into the edge of ecstasy. My breasts bounce with the force of his actions, and he slaps and squeezes my ass as leverage for each powerful thrust.
