Semua Bab FRAMED FOR MURDER WHILE PREGNANT: NOW I'M THE MAFIA'S WIFE: Bab 71 - Bab 80

Marissa POV FCI Phoenix Day Four Catherine arrived at exactly 2 PM.They brought me to a small attorney conference room barely bigger than my cell, but it had a real table and two chairs and a door that closed for privacy.Catherine looked exhausted. Dark circles under her eyes, hair not quite as perfect as usual, tension in her shoulders."You look terrible," I said."You look worse. Solitary is already taking its toll." She set down her briefcase. "How are you holding up?""Four days in isolation. I've walked approximately fifty miles in an eight by ten cell, counted ceiling tiles until I've memorized every pattern, and started talking to myself. So great. I'm doing great.""Marissa ""Is he really going through with it? The funeral?"Catherine's face told me everything. "Tomorrow. 2 PM. Small service, family only."I closed my eyes against the wave of pain. "My children are going to watch my coffin lowered into the ground.""Your children are going to believe their mother is at pe

Marissa POV FCI Phoenix Day Five I knew when the funeral was happening.2 PM West Coast time. 3 PM Arizona time.At exactly 3 PM, I was in the recreation cage, standing in the center with my face tilted to the sun.And I let myself grieve.Not for my death I was alive, safe, surviving.But for what this was costing my family.My children, crying over an empty casket.Von, standing strong while falling apart inside.Isabella, watching it all while knowing the truth.My mother, confused and sad, asking where I was.All of them suffering because someone wanted me dead.I gripped the chain link fence and let the tears come.Officer Hayes, supervising my rec time from outside the cage, pretended not to notice.After my hour was up, she escorted me back to my cell without comment.But when she locked the door, she said quietly, "Whatever you're going through, Sanchez, I hope it gets better."She didn't know. Couldn't know. But the kindness in her voice nearly broke me all over again."Than

Marissa POV FCI Phoenix Week Two The days blurred together.Day six. Day seven. Day eight.Each one exactly like the last. Same routine, same cell, same crushing silence.I'd thought the first week would be hardest the shock of isolation, the adjustment to complete solitude.I was wrong.The second week was worse.Because by then, the routine had calcified into something mechanical. Wake, exercise, eat, read, pace, eat, rec time, eat, write, sleep. Repeat. The sameness was suffocating.I found myself inventing games just to mark time differently.On day nine, I recited every poem I'd memorized in college. Took forty three minutes.On day ten, I sang every song I could remember from my childhood. Filled two hours.On day eleven, I mentally redecorated every room in our Los Angeles house. Three hours.On day twelve, I broke.Not dramatically. Not with screaming or violence.I just sat on my bunk after breakfast and couldn't make myself move.Couldn't exercise. Couldn't read. Couldn't e

Marissa POV FCI Phoenix Week Three By week three, I'd developed a system.Not just a routine a mental framework for surviving solitary confinement without losing myself completely. Morning (5:30 AM 12:00 PM): Physical maintenance. Exercise until exhaustion, shower when permitted, eat mechanically, maintain the body because the mind needed the structure. Afternoon (12:00 PM 6:00 PM): Mental engagement. Read, write, solve math problems in my head, recite poetry, anything to keep my brain active and sharp. Evening (6:00 PM 10:00 PM): Emotional processing. This was the hardest part. The time when I allowed myself to feel grief, anger, fear, hope. I'd write letters to my children, compose speeches I'd never deliver, plan the life I'd return to when this ended.The system helped. Made the days feel purposeful instead of just empty.On day seventeen, Officer Hayes brought something unexpected during morning inspection."Package for you, Sanchez. From your attorney."My heart jumped. Cat

Von POV Los Angeles Week Three, Monday Amanda Chen called at exactly 2 PM.I'd spent the morning rehearsing, making sure every word would sound authentic. Marcus had sent me a briefing: Chen was thirty four, Stanford journalism degree, three years at the Times covering criminal justice. Her recent series on prison conditions had won awards. She was thorough, ethical, and exactly the kind of journalist who might accidentally expose something we needed to keep hidden."Mr. Castellano, thank you for speaking with me. I know this is a difficult time."Her voice was professional but kind. Not the aggressive investigator I'd been worried about."I'm willing to talk because the system that killed my wife needs to be exposed," I said, letting real anger bleed through. "If my family's tragedy can prevent another one, then it's worth the pain of reliving it.""I appreciate that. Can you tell me about the circumstances leading up to your wife's death?"I'd prepared for this. Told her about the