The Interview

My nerves were in overdrive. I had never been that nervous before. That’s what happened when you walked into a maximum-security prison where only the most dangerous and violent criminals were held.

I pressed my visitor’s ID against the scanner for the third time. The guard at the gate kept staring at me as I signed in. It felt like the weight of my father’s name was printed on me. Carrying the Moretti name often felt like a curse rather than a blessing.

No one thought I was a prosecutor’s protégé by merit. They all thought Papá pulled strings to get me to where I was.

I saw several guards whispering among each other as they glanced at me.

“Director Moretti’s daughter,” was what they were probably whispering behind the glass. I’d heard those words more times than I cared to admit.

It was a painful reminder that I would never just be Chiara. My father’s reputation and influence would follow me wherever I went.

I squared my shoulders as the final door buzzed open. I wasn’t going to show any weakness. That was the kind of place that ate people up and spit them out whole.

Four security guards led me through the prison. Some would say it was extreme, considering all the inmates were locked up. However, that particular prison housed the worst of the worst.

I was led to the interview room, which was colder than I expected. It was a dull space with a glass wall, steel chairs bolted to the floor, and a dull metal table dividing prisoner from prosecutor.

On the far side, they had brought him in already: Emilio Vitale, cuffs at his wrists, sleeves rolled up just enough to see the tattoos covering his forearms.

When he looked up, I almost gasped. Emilio was…young and beautiful. His blonde hair was slicked back with a few tendrils falling on his face. He had he palest blue eyes I had ever seen. His nose was crooked, probably from being broken too many times, and his lips were pink and full.

He had a strong jawline and eyes so hollow they gave me the chills. I could tell he worked out because of his taut muscles and got into a lot of fights due to the black eye he was sporting. His looks belonged on the cover of a magazine, rather than in jail.

“Signorina Moretti,” he murmured, voice smooth and calm. “I appreciate the courtesy.”

“Trust me, I’m not here out of courtesy,” I replied before I could stop myself, and it made him smirk.

He looked like a bad boy, but I had to admit he had the manners of a gentleman. But I wouldn’t fall for his act. Even though he didn’t look the part, I knew all the fucked up things he had done.

I was scared of him. I would have rather been anywhere else, but I was Elena Grimaldi’s protégé. I wanted to be a prosecutor like her, and she was mentoring me. She had an emergency, and I was forced to go on her behalf.

Emilio was having an appeal for his case, and we wanted to make sure everything was iron-clad and he wouldn’t be getting out of prison.

I set my leather folder on the table’s ledge. Emilio was so dangerous that a glass wall divided us, but there was a small opening at the bottom, just wide enough to pass papers through.

“I’m here to record your statement, Vitale,” I said.

He shrugged, studying my face the entire time. If I saw him in the street, I would probably think he was hot, but even I couldn’t deny that he had the coldest eyes known to man.

Twenty minutes in, I was flipping pages, reading aloud charges he wouldn’t contest; racketeering, money laundering, and possession of restricted weapons. He didn’t flinch at any of it.

I didn’t know what I expected, but I didn’t think he would be calm through all of it.

I was so nervous that my pen rolled too close to the slot. He slid it back without looking down. It felt like his eyes were staring into my soul as his cuffed hand brushed mine through the gap. His skin was warm, contrasting the cold sensation of the cuffs around his wrist.

I pulled away instinctively.

I looked away, and my eyes went to the security guards. There seemed to be a little commotion somewhere because they looked nervous as they glanced at Emilio.

Before I could dwell too much on the matter, Emilio cleared his throat, drawing my attention back to him.

“Tell me, Prosecutor Moretti…” His voice was dripping with sarcasm because I wasn’t even a prosecutor yet, and he knew that. “Do you believe everyone here deserves to be here?”

I got irritated and shook my head. Elena had warned me that he would try and distract me from the topic at hand.

“Save your games for your lawyer,” I snapped. “Don’t waste my time.”

He only smiled, folding his arms causally. He was too casual. For a man who had been told several crimes that he wasn’t supposed to appeal, he was acting a little too cocky for my liking.

Even if he had his murder charges expunged due to lack of bodies, he was still going to end up right back in prison.

I hated him, and I wanted nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face. I was about to call him names when a muffled thud made me jump.

There was a voice on the speakers that said: “We’ve got smoke in the staff wing. Moving non-essential personnel—”

I let out a loud gasp as I looked through the glass. There was Emilio, and that smug look of his. He was up to something, and I could feel it.

I gathered my papers hastily, not wanting to show him any more of my unease. He watched me the entire time, and I felt like prey being stalked by a predator despite him being the one behind the glass wall and in shackles.

“This conversation is over,” I said, expecting to see him next in trial.

“I’ll see you on the outside, bella,” he said as he was pulled away by a guard to be taken back to his cell.

“You’ll rot in here,” I retorted as I also left.

Minutes later, I signed my exit form. A guard checked my bag, waved me out, all apologetic about a minor kitchen fire. I didn’t even care that there was a fire. I was just happy to get out of that place.

There was relief when the sun finally hit my skin and I was out of the stuffy air in that prison building. I relaxed for the first time since I entered the building.

Everyone was scared of Emilio. Not only was he a ruthless criminal, but he was also a mass murderer and the former Don of the Italian mafia. There were rumors that his replacement was a woman.

However, my father didn’t know for sure, even though he was the director of the Antimafia Investigation Directorate (DIA). He had yet to crack down and arrest the current Don of the Cosa Nostra like he had arrested Emilio.

I shook away the thoughts of the notorious criminal and drove to my apartment. I was training to become a prosecutor, but I wasn’t sure I would understand why evil people like Emilio even existed.

As I drove to my apartment, I noticed multiple police cars heading towards the prison I’d just come from. I didn’t think much of it. They were probably overreacting over the kitchen fire that had taken place before I left.

I lived in a two-bedroom apartment complex that was in the better parts of Sicily. My father paid for it because he wanted me to be comfortable and safe as I pursued a career in criminal law. It was more than people my age even had.

As soon as I put down everything, I took out my phone and realized I had multiple calls and text messages from my father. I called him immediately without reading any of the messages because it seemed like an emergency.

“Hey, Papá,” I greeted.

“What the fuck did you do, Chiara?” He asked.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, confused at the accusation of a mistake I didn’t even know I had made.

“He got out!”

“What?”

“Emilio Vitale escaped from prison, and it’s all your fault!” He yelled into the phone before the line went dead.