Chapter 17 - The Plea BargainThree days later, I sat in a soundproof consultation room inside the Metropolitan Correctional Center.
On the other side of the stainless-steel table sat Dominic DeLuca.
He wore a faded orange jumpsuit that hung loosely on his frail frame. His hair was shorn short, his eyes were sunken and bloodshot, and heavy chrome handcuffs bound his wrists to an anchor loop built into the table. The sharp, charismatic man who had walked down St. Jude’s cathedral aisle with his mistress was gone—replaced by a broken, pathetic shadow.
Dominic stared at me through the silence, his throat working desperately before he managed to speak.
"Elena..." his voice was a raspy whisper. "Please... you have to help me. The public defender told me they're looking at eighteen years. Eighteen years, Elena! I won't survive in here!"
I sat back in my chair, my posture effortlessly regal, wearing a tailored cream wool coat.
"You brought this on yourself, Dominic," I said softly. "You chose Jessica. You chose Julian Vance. You chose to steal from a dying man who gave you everything."
"I was stupid!" Dominic wept, tears streaming down his hollow cheeks, smearing dirt against his pale skin. "I was influenced by Jessica! She told me you were holding me back! She told me you were just an ordinary girl with no vision!"
I let out a soft, dry laugh. "And that was your biggest mistake, Dominic. You measured my worth by what I showed you, rather than who I was."
Dominic fell forward as far as his handcuffs allowed, his forehead pressed against the cold metal table. "Please, Elena... tell your father to drop the civil claims. If you drop the civil claims, the prosecutors will lower my sentence to five years! I'll sign the divorce papers today! I won't ask for a single penny! Just give me a chance at a life!"
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I leaned forward, looking down at the man who had tried to humiliate me in front of five hundred people.
"The divorce papers were already finalized by Judge Harrison two hours ago, Dominic," I whispered into his ear. "And as for your sentence... five years isn't nearly enough time for you to reflect on what you threw away."
