TWENTY-THREE

after you threw the shoe at him?"

"Jesus Christ!" I exclaimed, banging my hands down on to the metal interrogation table. "We've been through this ten times already!"

Van Der Bilt lawyer simply shot me a cold glare. "When the opposing side get their hands on you, their questions will be ten thousand times worse. I'm trying, if you'd be so kind as to cooperate, to prepare you for that eventuality."

I picked up the empty polystyrene cup in front of me that had once held coffee and began shredding it. I wasn't nervous, though I did have a tendency to fiddle with things when I was. I wasn't even worried. I was just plain angry, so angry that I couldn't think straight.

"Florence."

I looked up sharply. "Hmm?"

"Were you listening?"

"No."

Van Der Bilt cleared his throat and shuffled his papers. "I was saying that if conditions in court looked to be...unfavourable...we should perhaps explore our other options."

"Unfavourable?" I scoffed. "I clearly acted out of self defence, and I didn't even kill the guy! What jury wouldn't be able to see that?"

"One that cant see past your involvement with Arturo," he said simply.

"But judicial bias-"

"Happens every single day." Van Der Bilt watched me carefully to see if I would say anything further but I'd been stunned into silence. "Where the mafia are concerned, everybody has an opinion."

"But the mafia are powerful, too, right? They manipulate jury selections all the time..."

"Sure," he agreed. "But we're working against the Genovese who will do the exact same thing."

I leaned forward. "So we do it better."

"Maybe." He shrugged. "But I don't work on the principle of maybes, and I know that you don't either."

"Don't pretend you value my work ethic just because I found out Arturo basically forced you into hiring me," I snapped. In this room, we weren't employer and employee, but something different. Perhaps even after I got out - if I got out - things wouldn't be the same.

"I'm simply saying that this is an unusual situation."

"You work for the Lucchese mafia, you're supposed to specialise in those." I had to lean back then, surprised at my own scathing tone. It was no use taking things out on the man who had the power to get me out of this. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm just feeling..."

"Betrayed? Confused?"

"Something like that," I muttered.

"And I'm trying to help," he reminded me. "So if you'd be so kind as to cooperate..."

"Right. About those other options."

Van Der Bilt leaned back in his chair for a moment and studied me. He was a balding man, and his hands rested on his protruding gut as his eyes scoured my own expression. "Would you like another coffee, Florence?"

My gaze narrowed. "Give it to me straight."

"I should have known you'd see through that tactic," he chuckled.

"My career might be based on lies and coercion, but I do still have a law degree from Cambridge."

"Indeed you do," he agreed coolly, deflecting my agitated tone. "So. Should our efforts be fruitless in court, and the verdict - god forbid - points to your guilt on the charge of manslaughter, we may be able to angle a plea bargain."

"You've got to be kidding me." I slammed my chair back from the desk and stood, pacing the room. "No. No way. No."

"It's not what you think."

"Really? Well-"

"You could simply give up a few names here or there, testify against an insignificant figure from the Luccheses, or even the Genovese - somebody who wouldn't be missed."

"That simple," I replied sarcastically.

"You and Arturo might not have another choice."

I stopped my pacing and folded my arms, glaring at the man sat a few feet away. "Don't make out like we're in this together when he's god knows where doing absolutely nothing. He hasn't even visited in three days, so don't pretend he's a part of this. He's not."

Van Der Bilt nodded but kept quiet as he gathered his papers and slipped them into a leather brief case. He picked up his own empty cup, along with my shredded one, and dropped them into the bin by the door. He paused before opening it. "Mr Lucchese has sent me to defend you, Miss Genovese. That is the greatest gesture of care he could give, I believe."

"Right." I rolled my eyes and flipped him off once the door closed behind him just for good measure.

Gesture of care my arse! It had been three days and I hadn't even seen him. Not one visit, no phone calls, nothing. Half of me was even glad. After all, I knew the next time I saw him I wouldn't be able to control my anger and hurt.

Tomorrow I would be questioned by the opposing counsel, which I knew would be hell. And the day after that we were due to go to trial.

My life and future hung in the balance, and for the first time I wasn't sure whether Arturo could save me...

"Florence." A voice tugged me from the uncomfortable world of sleep. "Miss Genovese."

When I opened my eyes I was disappointed to find that I was still stuck in a crappy prison cell, complete with the most uncomfortable bed I'd ever had the misfortune of laying on. I looked over to the source of the voice and found Pedro holding my breakfast on a plastic tray. It looked like the type of thing you'd have at school, shiny red with dips in the shape to accommodate a plate and cutlery. As if arranging such implements without a pre-made holder would be much too difficult.

"Please tell me this is all a bad dream," I said flatly, taking the tray and examining the measly meal on it. Some porridge and a plastic cup of water.

"I would, but mom raised me to tell the truth." Pedro grinned.

I rolled my eyes. "She'd be proud."

"She is."

"I'm sure."

"Eat up," he commanded sternly, locking the door behind him. "You've got an interrogation to go to."

"Don't remind me." I took a bite of porridge and immediately grimaced. "Jesus, the food doesn't even get any more bearable."

Pedro threaded his thumbs through his belt loops and shot me a lazy smile. "You won't have to deal with it much longer, I'm sure."

"Well I'm glad somebody is sure, because my lawyer sure as hell isn't."

"Just woo the jury with your accent, everybody loves a British girl."

"I'm pretty sure it's against the code of conduct for an officer to hit on a prisoner," I teased. For a cop, Pedro had been surprisingly good company these past few days. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was on the Lucchese payroll...a thought that made me shudder. Was there anything genuine in my life? Anything untainted by Arturo's manipulation?

"You know what?" I slammed the tray down beside me on the mattress. "Just take me to the lawyers now. Let's get this over with."

"Atta girl!" Pedro grinned. He unlocked the cell door and cuffed me, as was standard procedure when escorting prisoners from one place to another. It didn't even faze me by this point.

I was led to the same room where I'd been meeting with Van Der Bilt for the past three days, except this time when I entered the set up was much more formal. The lighting seemed a little lower, or maybe that was just in my head. Either way, there was definitely a running tape recorder on the table that hadn't been there before, and there was no offer of tea or coffee.

Pedro led me over to the metal interrogation table and cuffed me to one of its legs. I shot him a nervous glance but even his reassuring smile couldn't calm me.

All I could think about was Van Der Bilt's doubt. I'd always thought the case would be simple, I'd win by a landslide, but now I wasn't so sure...

Sat opposite me was a woman in a beige trench coat with choppy scarlet hair cut close to her head. When she met my eyes I felt my heart freeze over. She reached towards the tape recorder and switched it off.

"Let's talk about you and Arturo."