Page 78 of Double Standards

I see the fury rise in Axel like a tide threatening to crash. Iknow that look—I’ve seen it before. He’s holding on by a thread. He hates being questioned, but more than that, hehatesrepeating himself.

Don’t take the bait.

“It. Wasn’t. There,” he repeats, sharper this time.

He looks at me, and I know he’s about to snap. I shoot to my feet.

“Your Honor, I’d like to question the authenticity of this surveillance footage.”

“They’ve already been verified,” Daniels cuts in smugly, eyes flicking to me with condescension.

“By whom?”

“The NYPD.”

Michaelson’s brow arches. “Can we have confirmation of the officer who authorized the verification?”

Daniels slides a paper across the bench. Michaelson takes it with mild disapproval.

“May I see that, Your Honor?” I ask.

Daniels hands me a copy, reluctantly.

I skim the report. On the surface, it looks clean. But my gut screams otherwise. The timeline’s vague. The language rushed. No detailed breakdown. No prints. No ballistics. And most importantly, nolocation identifiersin the photographs. Just Axel’s car parked on some generic curb. That could beanywhere.

Daniels is bluffing. Trying to win on theatrics and weak evidence.

“Mr. Daniels, you may continue,” Michaelson says flatly.

Daniels turns back to Axel, more assured now. “Mr. Bonanno, you’ve denied your car was present. Are you saying it was stolen?”

“No. It wasn’t.” Axel’s voice wavers slightly, more frustration than fear.

“And does anyone else have access to the vehicle?”

He’s still hammering about the damn car. I know that car.Sleek, black, and fast. The one he drove me home in that night. The same night I almost kissed him outside my building.

Then it clicks.Location.That’s the hole in Daniels’ case.

“No,” Axel says, curt.

Daniels backs off, clearly satisfied. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

Michaelson nods. “Miss Caruthers?”

I rise smoothly, confidence threading through my spine. I catch Axel’s eye and offer a subtle wink.

Game on.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Mr. Bonanno, would you say you live in a safe neighborhood?” Cassie’s leaning casually against the platform I’m behind. The question catches me off guard just enough to loosen my shoulders. I raise a brow at her, silently asking what she’s up to.

“Is anywhere in the city safe?”

She smirks—just a flicker, but I catch it. She’s onto something.

“Would it be safe to assume you have security surveillance on your property?”