Page 4 of Free to Judge (Amaryllis Heritage #2)

CHAPTER THREE

PRESENT DAY

My sisters and cousins have all gathered around the flat screen. On the coffee table, I’ve strategically placed bowls of snacks to be munched on as we catch up on gossip for the first time in forever.

“All right, ladies! I’ve got wine. I’ve got booze. Let’s get our StellaNova game faces on!” I proclaim as I pass a heavily laden tray full of cocktails around.

My cousin, roommate, and one of my best friends, Grace Bianco, announces to the room at large. “Growing up, did any of us ever imagine our cousin would turn to the dark side?”

I chuckle. “You mean Chuck going to work for the paparazzi that have stalked us our entire lives?”

Grace waves her glass in the air. “Exactly.”

“Did you ever imagine we’d actually be excited to watch Chuck’s first solo celebrity interview on StellaNova?” I muse. StellaNova, the most intuitive—and sometimes intrusive—of the media moguls, has somehow made its way into our lives, not just through my cousin.

“I can’t believe it. He’s all grown up.” Grace swipes an imaginary tear from beneath her eye.

Our other cousin and former housemate, Laura Lockwood, sips her drink. “It’s hard to imagine he’s the same pain-in-the-ass little brother who used to crush on all our friends. Gracie, remember your and Kalie’s senior prom when he was mouthing off about trying to get laid, and Mama lit into him?”

That sets the three of us whooping in hysterical laughter. Grace chortles, “Chuck was scolded by Aunt Cassidy so hard, we called you at college from my bedroom to tell you all about it.”

Laura cackles, “Even before you left for prom!”

One of my twin sisters, Regina, who somehow turned doodling in the margins of her homework into a worldwide phenomenon of home tile designs used by high-end kitchens all over the world, snags the chilled bottle of Grey Goose off the table.

“Let’s not talk about getting laid. It’s been a bitch of a week. ”

Reggie’s twin—my other sister, Valerie—rolls her eyes at Reggie’s flair for the dramatic.

“Why? Did you not get your insides ground up by your favorite Coffee Shop boy toy?” Val names the small breakfast stop in Collyer near my office, which I swear fuels the blood in my veins and apparently is Reggie’s spot to troll her latest conquest.

Reggie tosses back her shot of vodka before offering Val a killer glare. “Jealous much? Cobwebs not getting cleared out, so they’re about to reaffirm you as a vestal virgin?”

Val reaches over and snatches up one of our cousin Nicole’s infamous chocolate caramel brownie bites and cocks her arm back—her intent obvious.

Before she can break a sacred family rule—waste no food baked by our Aunt Corinna or Nicole—I snatch it out of her hand and pop it into my mouth.

Then I stare down my two sisters and nod in the direction of my front door.

“If you two can’t hold your liquor, call a cab, and don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out. ”

Reggie pouts, and Val tries for an air of innocence.

Story of my life with these two.

Still, after I take them down a peg or two, we settle in to watch Chuck’s debut on national television.

I relax back into the cushion of the couch with a content sigh.

It’s been a long year and we’re well overdue for a night like this, where we can just be us again.

Casting a glance in Laura’s direction, my heart trembles.

I have to keep repeating to myself, you didn’t lose her. You didn’t lose her. None of us did.

Almost two years ago, Laura worked on saving the life of a man in the ER.

When he didn’t make it, his family took revenge by shooting up her ER, killing colleagues and friends.

Not long after, she was stalked and almost died when they captured her and her soon-to-be stepdaughter.

Both were held hostage for hours by the monster’s family.

She escaped relatively unscathed, but it forced us to accept the monsters our family had told us about, as their origins still lurk in the shadows, ready to strike at any moment without provocation.

Now, sitting here drinking wine and laughing, you’d never believe Laura’s fine and planning her wedding to the man she worked for as a medical nanny for his daughter while she recovered.

She’s declared more than once she refuses to be coddled by what happened to her—much like the traumas that shaped the rest of our family.

No, none of us are defined by those; we’re defined by something much more profound—love.

Gracie snickers as she tucks her feet beneath her. “Let’s talk about something more important.”

“Like what?” Reggie asks.

“Like how did Chuck get the scoop on how Snowy T thought this was a good idea? I mean, a grand gesture is one thing, but he proposed to his girlfriend in front of a thousand wedding guests using a skywriter where he was the best man. Isn’t there some sort of unwritten rule that this kind of nonsense gets you sent to best friend jail? ”

“Bitchy bride jail, if nothing else,” Laura concurs. Then she drops some gossip of her own into the mix. “I heard a rumor he contacted Amaryllis Events to see if Mama and the rest of y’all are available to plan the wedding.”

I somehow manage to suppress the smug grin that wants to spread across my face, not only because I know Chuck’s about to announce that on his news show tonight, but because of the lightness in Laura’s voice.

I lift my drink to my lips to avoid giving the scoop away when I spy a banner running along the bottom of the television screen.

My insides churn when I snap, “Gracie, rewind now!”

She fumbles for the remote. Silence descends on the room when the distinctive midnight blue and white banner StellaNova uses for up-to-the-minute celebrity news displays information I never expected.

It rips through the lightheartedness of the room before reaching into my chest and squeezing my heart.

Attempted murder charges dropped against

Sal Tiberi.

“Turn up the volume, Gracie,” Laura orders softly.

My eyes cut over to her. “This can’t be happening.” My words are barely heard over the StellaNova celebrity gossip desk’s somber proclamation.

“Earlier today, a controversial court ruling led to the release of an alleged mob consigliere in the Tiberi family. One of the men accused of the attempted murder of billionaire heiress Laura Lockwood had the charges dropped against him due to a chain of custody errors in handling key evidence. The judge ruled that…”

I stare at the television as video footage of the Tiberi defense attorney, Declan Conian, making his way down the Superior Court steps and through a madhouse of paparazzi, flashes across the screen.

When the phone rings, pulling me out of my shock, a bitter laugh escapes me.

“Who wants to bet that’s the courthouse calling to tell us about the release? ”

Laura’s glass trembles violently in her hand.

Reggie leans over and hugs her from behind, carefully maneuvering the glass away before she can hurt herself any more than she already has been.

Moments later, the entire front of our home is lit up like it’s daylight as news crews do everything short of trespass to get a shot of the place where the events Declan Conian is working to erase occurred.

Her own home.

Gracie mutters, “Son of a bitch.”

I couldn’t agree with her more.

Laura’s frozen in place. I practically levitate from my position on the couch and make my way over to her. “Look at me, Laura.”

Her wide eyes, glassy with tears she refuses to let fall, meet mine. “He’s free. He can try again.”

“Liam won’t let him,” I remind her of her fiancé waiting at home. “Neither will your dad or my dad. Our family. Remember all the people who love you who have your back.” My voice is fierce.

I reach for the remote to mute the sound, but Laura says, “Is there anything I can do, Kalie? I need to know.”

I swallow down the bile even as I give her the truth. “Unless there’s new evidence, they can’t try him again for the same crime. It would be double jeopardy.”

Laura wraps her arms around herself and rocks. “He gets to walk.” She shoves to her feet and mumbles, “I…just need a second.”

Helpless, we sit by as she hurries up the stairs to her old bedroom—now my home office. I hear the door click shut behind her before I say what I’m really thinking. “Fuck.”

I know the law. I studied it. But tonight, I feel like justice failed. We were judged and found lacking, and I don’t know how we’re going to live with that.

But I need to try.

Hours after everyone left, I can’t help but draw up the memory of Declan’s flirtatious smile on the day of my law school graduation.

Gorgeous and intense, instead of luring me in, his immediate interest in me—a complete stranger—should have been a clanging of warning bells.

It’s hard to reconcile the man—a man I’ve fantasized more than once about before I found out who he really was—could be so calculating, so ruthless.

I can still recall reading the news article where he’d been named as the counsel of record for the Tiberi family.

The night before, I’d had a particularly lucid dream about running into him again—and what had happened with him when I had.

He’d dragged me into an alley, fumbling with his belt, and my skirt rucked up around my waist. I flush at the memory as I stare down at my pillow.

A media circus ensued once his name was tied to the case. But my unease wasn’t full blown until I saw news articles with photographs of him at hearings with Tiberi family members at his side, challenging evidentiary rules being violated.

Despite everything, justice continued to be upheld. It withstood scrutiny. Until today.