One measured blink that was somehow predatory, his attention a stalking weight on Judge Hartford, and then he drawled solemnly, “Not guilty, Your Honor.”
Immediately the entire room lit up with flashes and commotion. Whispers reverberated like gunshots through the cramped courtroom, and they only disappeared when Judge Hartford called for order three times, the last voiced in a commanding yell that raised the hair on the backs of my arms.
I looked up at Dante to find a small, self-satisfied grin on his too-red mouth. Without hesitation, I tugged at the back of his suit jacket to get him to sit down and stop his bizarre gloating. He settled into his chair willingly, an innocent expression affixed to his strong features.
I didn’t know who he thought he was fooling with those wide eyes and slightly raised brows, but a small part of me applauded his audacity.
On trial for murder, potentially facing a lifetime behind bars, and still, Dante Salvatore managed to have fun, however inappropriate it might have been.
Arraignments were often boring, but this was shaping up to be the most sensational one I’d ever attended.
“Your Honor, the accused has clear ties to England and Italy,” Dennis stood to say when the judge addressed him to state his case for not posting bail for the defendant. “His own brother, one of the wealthiest men in Britain, is here today and would have resources enough to get Mr. Salvatore out of the country––”
“Objection,” I murmured under my breath at the same time Yara stood to say the very same thing. “Conjecture.”
Judge Hartford slanted Yara an unamused look. “I hardly need Mr. O’Malley to state the obvious, Ms. Ghorbani. Your client has known connections in Europe and the UK, enough legitimate business to have access to significant monetary resources if he should want to flee the country, and sufficient motivation to do so. I see no reason he should not be detained until trial.”
Beside me, Dante stiffened slightly, the only clue that the idea of incarceration was unappealing to him. Then again, the fastest timeframe for a trial as big as this was at least six months but more likely one to three years. New York and its residents loved a good mafia case, and it was a prime opportunity for the city, its officers, district and US Attorneys, and government to showcase their protection of the city.
“With all due respect, Your Honor,” Yara said in that misleadingly lovely voice that meant she was about to kick verbal ass. “The prosecution has fairly insufficient proof to bring this to trial in the first place.”
“That matter is not currently up for debate, Ms. Ghorbani,” Judge Hartford interrupted coldly.
“No,” she agreed easily. “But my client is an established member of New York City society. He owns multiple businesses in the city and most of his living relations are residents. This is his first criminal offense on American soil, and therefore, he cannot be considered a threat to the public if he is granted bail. Furthermore, he was unduly attacked this morning based on these accusations, and there is a real threat of bodily harm should he be kept in the general population in prison awaiting trial.”
Judge Hartford stared at her flatly before his eyes flickered over to Dante and his jaw went tight.
He did not want to grant bail.
But he would.
While it wasn’t guaranteed, bail was the right of any person awaiting trial unless they were a proven danger to society, like a serial killer.
Of course, it was my opinion that Dante had probably killed numerous people in his sordid life, thus earning that distinction, but I wasn’t about to point that out.
“I know your reputation, Ms. Ghorbani, and I won’t have any shady business conducted in this courtroom, is that understood?” He waited for a firm nod then continued. “As I see it, Mr. Salvatore is a flight risk, but he poses no immediate threat to the public. I do not pretend to care about the safety of your client, Ms. Ghorbani, but I will allow bail to be set. Mr. Salvatore, I am releasing you on ten million dollars bond and placing you on house arrest. You will only be permitted to leave your residence for church, therapy, or medical appointments and will be monitored via GPS bracelet.”
There was a clamor in the room as shutters clicked, and people balked, then whispered at the decision.
House arrest.
For a man like Dante, a man who seemed like a barely leashed beast at the best of times, I imagined house arrest was akin to being locked in a cage for the next six months to three years.
Yet he sat there beside me in his bespoke black suit, sleek and powerful as a panther, looking nothing short of mildly bored and perhaps a little drowsy. I felt like shaking him until his teeth rattled, yelling at him that this was the rest of his life at stake and demanding him to tell me why he was so utterly blasé about the whole thing.