1
Kirsten Hunt
“Good morning, Kirsten,” my paralegal, Vera, cheerfully greets me as soon as I walk into the office. “You have the monthly administrative meeting with the ADAs this morning, then there are two appointments waiting for you before you have your morning briefing. It’ll have to be a quick one, since you have to be in court by ten. Finally, this afternoon is the strategy session for your gun possession trials, followed by appointments with domestic violence victims and potential witnesses.”
I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of burnt coffee and preparing myself for yet another day filled with consoling victims of crime and their families while attempting to assure them there will be some form of legal repercussions eventually. The slow-moving wheels of justice are an aggravating but necessary part of the process. I’m about to head straight for the employee meeting to get it over with when the rest of the peppy brunette’s words finally dawn on me.
“Wait, what? Two appointments are waiting for me? There’s only one on my calendar.” Blowing a strand of blonde hair from my low bun out of my face, I double-check the calendar on my phone one-handed, since my briefcase is in the other.
“Yes, two. Ms. Bertelli is here to speak with you about her father’s case. She wouldn’t let me schedule her for an actual appointment time and insisted that she would wait for you in your office.”
“You left that woman alone in my office?” I exclaim.
“I’m so sorry, but she’s a trained assassin,” Vera whispers. “I don’t want to get on her bad side.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “Pull up the new case assignment document and notify everyone while I get Ms. Bertelli out of my office.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she quickly agrees.
“And if I’m not out in five minutes, send in the security guards to remove her.”
Vera nods and I storm down the hall to my office that’s in the back corner of the long, narrow hallway. Thankfully, the other attorneys are all gathered in the conference room, so no one will overhear this conversation.
The fact that there are constantly eyes and ears on me is exhausting.Trust no oneis my motto. Details about me and high-profile cases are constantly getting leaked to the media thanks to my untrustworthy colleagues. I’m the only one in the office elected to my position. And as everyone’s boss, there’s always someone bad-mouthing me, hoping to replace me in the next election.
Being the district attorney of the biggest city in the country is a coveted position. A powerful one I worked my ass off to obtain. I refuse to let anyone, even a known assassin, intimidate me.
That’s why, when I find Serafina Bertelli pacing around my perfectly organized space like it belongs to her, I tell her, “Youcan’t just come in here and demand to see me whenever you want.” Setting my locked briefcase underneath my desk, I glance over my desktop to ensure nothing looks out of place. It’s not like I leave files lying around on it. Everything is right where it should be, so I try to soften the blow, since I don’t think she was in here snooping. “I understand that you’re still mourning your father, but I have dozens of families waiting on me to give them closure as well.”
“Closure?” the tall, lean blonde, who could pass as my sister, scoffs at me. “I would be happy with a single arrest!”
“Serafina, you know that I’m not in charge of making arrests. Obtaining warrants for suspects is the responsibility of the detectives assigned to the case. I’ll help expedite getting them signed by a judge, but I can’t personally have anyone arrested.”
“The police don’t care about my father’s death! They probably celebrated it because he was a mob boss.”
“The officers are sworn to serve and protect everyone in the city equally.”
“Oh, really?” she asks with a raised brow.
“Yes.”
“Have you even questioned the other mob families?” I force myself not to flinch at the mention of the ruthless criminals. “The Ferraros are already on probation for gun charges. Do you think it’s a coincidence that my father, the boss of The Bronx was shot and killed in Manhattan, Creed Ferraro’s borough?”
“Again, I don’t interview suspects. That’s the detective’s job. I’m sure they’ve followed all leads —”
“Bullshit. There are no suspects because nobody in Manhattan cares that my father is dead,” she huffs. Crossing her arms over her chest, she glares at me. “What if I told you my father mentioned that the bosses discussed having him hire a hitman to take you out in a meeting last summer?”
Holy shit.
Death threats are nothing new for me, but most come from angry criminals behind bars who can’t touch me.
The mob bosses of NYC are a whole different story. They have serious connections and money. Not to mention, they all think they’re above the law, so they probably wouldn’t have any qualms about killing me to get me out of their way.
“Your father told you that the bosses discussed killing me?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm despite my internal turmoil.
“Yes! And that was before you even arrested the Ferraros.”
Tucking the loose strand of hair behind my ear, one of my annoying nervous gestures, I tell her, “That’s preposterous. Why would they want me dead before I ever arrested them?”
