Crime Daddy's Plaything

Hailey

They believe that a courtroom is where the truth dwells. But it is a lie.

I've stood in enough of them to know that truth isn't important here; performance is. You win cases not with facts, but with conviction, timing, and how stable your hands seem in front of the jury.

And today, every eye was on me. The youngest attorney in Virginia, the mayor’s daughter.

Who everyone knew had never lost a lawsuit.

But this time, my opponent wasn’t a small thief or a crooked council member. This time, it was him.

Zeke Massimo.

He is a threat to society, a notorious criminal,and a mafia leader.

The man half this state feared, and the other half worshipped. He'd built an empire on drugs, blood and silence.

Even when the FBI finally pinned him down, on federal racketeering charges, he walked into custody as if it were a fashion show, reporters snapping photos as if he was a celebrity instead of a criminal.

He was my father's greatest enemy.

And here was my time to finally make Dad proud.

I straightened behind the prosecutor's desk and smoothed my blue blazer. My pulse hammered in my throat, but I kept my face calm and collected. My dad was at the gallery. I could feel his gaze on me. He'd probably wish my twin sister, Vivian, was here instead. His ideal daughter, the one with the white coat and halo.

But tonight was not Vivian's stage; it was mine. I have to prove to him that I am also worthy to be a Bruce, he wanted me to be.

The bailiff's voice pierced through the hush. "All rise."

Chairs were scraped, and the jury stood. Reporters in the rear rows raised their pens like vultures detecting blood, and suddenly the defendant rose.

Zeke.

Despite being tied at the wrists and engulfed in an orange jumpsuit, he rose like a monarch, taking the bows of his people. He stands at six feet four, with strong shoulders and a sharp jaw sprinkled with stubble. His eyes fixed on me across the room, dark as obsidian, inscrutable yet scorching.

He grinned slowly but fatally. It was as if he already knew how this trial would end, viewing me merely as a delightful piece of entertainment to bring him there.

I pushed my throat away from stiffening. My voice remained firm as I said, "The prosecution calls Agent Daniel Carter."

Daniel stepped to the stand, the witness I had battled so hard to protect. He spent two years undercover in Maximo's empire. The man had seen it all—the weapons, the shipments, the corruption, and the bloodshed. He was my ace and my assurer.

He swore his oath and settled in the witness stand. His gaze was sharp and firm.

I moved closer to him, the sound of my heels clicking against the polished floor.

"Agent Carter, during your undercover assignment, did you witness the defendant's involvement in illegal arms trafficking?"

"Yes," he said, his voice steely. "On multiple occasions, I observed Mr. Massimo arranging shipments across the states."

A ripple went through the jury box, his pen scratching against the note he was taking. I shot my next inquiry, and he responded without hesitation, the tale flowing cleanly, sharply, and undeniably.

With each syllable, my confidence grew. After years of struggling to break out from Vivian's shadow and being disregarded by my father, I proved them all wrong.

I looked at Zeke, who sat in his chair, appearing bored and spinning his cuffed hands like a man turning through a magazine. When he caught my gaze, his lips curled.

"Try harder, counselor," he mouthed. I ignored him and asked my next question.

I pressed forward. "Can you confirm the dates of the shipment, Agent Carter?"

"Yes, June 5th, July 12th, and August 3rd." He answered without pause.

I wanted to grin, but my professional mask remained locked. The jury leaned closer, and then I realized this was working.

"And where were these shipments delivered?"

He stuttered, his gaze flickering sideways to Zeke for a split second. "warehouse, on Twenty-Third Street,…"

It was solid, and the evidence was in line with it. I allowed myself one glance at Zeke.

But something in his tone snagged. There was only a slight hesitation. His eyes flickered sideways, but not at me but on Zeke. A shiver threaded down my spine.

I sharpened my tone. “Agent Carter, do you stand by this testimony?”

He pressed his lips; he didn’t answer. A collective gasp rippled through the courtroom.

“I—uh, I don’t clearly…” He stuttered, droplets of perspiration beading on his forehead.

No, this isn’t happening, not when my father is watching. I felt my body stiffen as I realized he was being manipulated right where he was.

“I can’t be certain.” His words stumbled now, spilling out of order. “It was two years ago. The exact shipments blur together.”

“No,” i snapped, the word cutting out sharper than intended. “agent carter, you just testified—”

The defense attorney stood. “Objection, your honor. The witness had already admitted uncertainty. The prosecution is badgering.”

Zeke glanced at me, a small smirk on his face. For the first time, I noticed my heart skipping; was it anxiety or fear?

“Sustained.” the judge ruled, his gavel cracking once.

My jaw tightened in dissatisfaction, then i gave a curt nod and stepped back toward my table.

He cleared his throat, his gaze sharp as it wavered from mine to daniel’s. "Agent Carter, you are under oath. Are you telling this court that you well remember those dates?"

My fingers clenched around my pen as I turned away from Daniel and back to Zeke. He glared at him as if to threaten him.

His Adam's apple bobbed. Sweat beaded along his hairline. "I… uh, must have… misremembered."

Everyone gasped, even me, and the jury tensed. A murmur sounded throughout the gallery. The judge's brow wrinkled, but Zeke remained still, his smile broadening slightly.

And at that moment, I realized Daniel wasn't mine anymore. Zeke Massimo had somehow found his way to him.

Zeke Massimo

My heart crashed into my ribs. I attempted to rescue it by asking harder questions and stabilizing the flaws in his testimony. But the more I pressed, the more sharky he got.

Dates were fuzzy, and the locations he provided were jumbled. The clean net I had created unraveled in front of me. The jury saw everything, including my father.

"No more questions," I eventually responded, my voice tight. Daniel stepped down, his shoulders stooped to escape my sight. I pushed myself to glance at Zeke, who was already observing me. He mouthed the words slowly and deliberately.

You can’t win.

Something within me flinched, but not because of his arrogance. I had expected it; it was because a part of me, hidden deep where I didn't want to look, trusted him. The judge slammed the gavel down, signaling a recess. Reporters rushed toward the entrance, cameras blazing.

My father didn't look at me as he went, his security encircling him.

However, Zeke stood up, still chained, and briefly met my gaze before two guards dragged him away. He maintained his free-spirited demeanor. As he passed, he leaned in close enough that his breath touched my ear. "This is my court, counselor," he grumbled, "you just perform in it."

And then he vanished, shackles clinking like applause behind him. I sat there, my body frozen, the echo of his words buried in my flesh. For the first time in my career, I felt a sense of defeat.

And it had Zeke Massimo' grin on its face.