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“It’s never enough time, is it?” Marcello smiled ruefully.
Marcello squeezed Alessandra tight one final time before stepping back with his hands extended. Alessandra hated this part, watching her brother being cuffed and escorted from the room. She wiped the tears from her eyes, determined to be strong for him.
Alessandra morosely gathered her belongings and left the jail. She sat in the car with her eyes closed and leaned back against the headrest. Each time she left, she wanted to bang her hands against the steering wheel and scream. She cursed her father for doing this to his children.
Once she collected herself, she turned her phone on. *Ding, ding* Several messages rolled in. She received a genuine invitation that made her smile.
***
Chapter Sixteen
Drake shuffled paperwork on his mahogany desk, pausing to think of Alessandra for the umpteenth time that morning. He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his wavy hair, turning to gaze out the window of his spacious twenty-fifth-floor office. It was his private retreat where he found solace when he lost grip on a case and needed to revisit discovery.
Self-preservation should have him hating Alessandra and forcibly keeping her at arm’s length, but he was a sadist. All he wanted to do was command her to hop on his desk and spread her legs open so he could feast on her. The more time they spent together, he realized she was the whole buffet, not just a snack.
Damn Alessandra for proving to be the perfect wife—thoughtful, eager to please, and so sexy his cock ached to be in her. They connected on a deeper level than he thought possible. He planned on asking her to take their relationship to another level, starting with introducing her to his family.
A thirst to prove himself had always driven him. The son who was never good enough and constantly pushed to achieve perfection—anything less was for plebeians.
When the district attorney wrote a letter of recommendation for the U.S. attorney’s office, Drake felt validated. While his case record spoke for itself, it felt good to have recognition. But his mother got into his head when she implied marriage would strengthen his personal image. If only she knew of his proclivities. She’d clench her pearls in shock and likely disown him.
Bitsy Walker was a hard woman to please, but if anyone were up for the challenge, it would be Alessandra. He hoped to gain his parents' approval once they saw the genuine connection he had developed with his wife.
A sharp knock startled him from his reverie. He reshuffled his papers, pretending to be busy.
“At ease, Drake,” Jerry joked.
“To what do I owe the honor, Judge?”
Judge Matthews tapped the crystal face of his Bulgari watch. Drake turned his wrist and realized it was half past noon. He was late for their weekly lunch at The Dearborn.
“Shit, I got caught up.”
“I come bearing gifts.” Jerry held up the takeout bag. “I brought you a Chicago Cheesesteak.”
Feeling suddenly ravenous, Drake dug into his sandwich with gusto. He wiped a dribble of au jus from his stubbled chin. After a few delicious bites, he placed the remains back onto the foil wrapper.
“Thanks for the meal.”
“Lost in discovery, or is something else on your mind? A certain fiery redhead Mrs., perhaps?”
“Discovery, actually. But you know we can’t discuss that.”
“So let’s talk about the real issue. How’s your lovely wife?” he asked with a gentle smile.
Drake groaned and ran his hand through his hair again. It might be good to gain advice from the only person he knew who was happily married.
“How do you do it?” Drake asked.
“Be more specific,” Jerry said patiently.
Drake looked at his wedding band. “Marriage! She drives me fucking crazy. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”
Jerry listened as Drake spoke in circles, attempting to articulate his feelings properly. He walked over to the credenza, poured two fingers of whiskey into crystal glasses, and handed one to Drake.
“Let’s call it an early day,” Jerry suggested taking a sip of his drink. “Are you planning on debuting her at the club?”
Jerry owned a successful member’s-only BDSM club. It catered to Chicago’s elite and networked with high-profile clientele in every major city. Drake retained a private suite.
