Page 57 of The Silent Hour

"Anything specific?"

"Nothing I'll discuss on this line. We speak Sunday."

"Fine,” I reluctantly agreed.

"And Ethan?" he called softly.

"Yeah?"

"Do not let wanting the case make you decide you understand the case."

My jaw tightened. "I know."

The line went dead, and Rafa gave me an irritatingly amused look. "Still getting parental lectures at your age."

"Fuck off."

My phone buzzed again with a text message this time. Julia. I typed a quick response telling her I'd call as soon as I was free, then checked my watch. There wasn't much left to debate. Knox and Rafa had two other cases demanding their attention, so they were staying behind. Serena was staying too. She would've handled Cortez without blinking, but there was no reason to drag another partner away from the firm for an initial meeting.

Katerina had volunteered strongly enough that arguing would've wasted both our time, and Eric went where I went.

An hour later, the three of us were headed north. Whatever waited on the other side of that prison glass, I doubted it would be simple.

I just didn’t know yet how complicated it was about to become.

THE DRIVE FROM THE airport to Coleman felt longer than it was. The rental car’s air conditioning hummed unevenly, pushing out a dry chill that did little against the glare off the highway. Florida thinned around us, palmetto scrub and skeletal pines giving way to wire fencing and heat-shimmered asphalt.

Then the federal complex rose ahead, a geometry of concrete and razor wire under a flat white sky, watchtowers standing silent and angular against the haze.

Katerina sat in the back, her dark hair pulled into a severe bun, her gaze fixed ahead as if already cross-examining the walls. Eric rode shotgun, the Cortez file open across his lap, fingers tracing columns of text he’d likely already committed to memory. Eric didn’t enter rooms unless he could predict at least three ways they might go wrong.

We parked in a lot bleached bare by sun, then walked toward the entrance under the weight of the humidity. The temperature dropped the moment the doors shut behind us—institutional cold, smelling of antiseptic and stale air.

Processing was familiar. IDs laid on the counter, belts removed, watches slipped into trays. Our phones were powered down and locked away. Legal binders flipped through by bored hands. The metal detector buzzed once at my cufflinks. I handed them over without comment. Katerina moved through it all unflustered. She’d argued before tougher audiences than a corrections officer.

Eric’s posture never changed—calm, ready.

Another checkpoint deeper in. An officer with keys jangling at his hip led us through a series of gates. Each one clanged shut behind us with a sound like verdicts being sealed—metal meeting metal, final and unforgiving.

The attorney meeting room was bare by design. A steel table was bolted to the floor, chairs that didn’t scoot, walls the color of dust. A camera watched from high in one corner, its red eye unblinking.

Dominic Cortez arrived several minutes later, and somehow, prison hadn’t diminished him. He moved like he still owned the room—broad-shouldered, thick-necked, his khaki uniform stretched taut across his chest and biceps. Well-groomed dark hair, silver-tipped, fell across his forehead. Tattoos coiled like shadows beneath his rolled-up sleeves. Then he smiled—a gold-capped grin, diamonds glinting cold under the fluorescents.

His gaze slid from me to Eric, then settled on Katerina. It lingered there, assessing. I shifted my weight just enough to break his sight line without making a show of it. His grin deepened.

"Señor Marcelli."

"Mr. Cortez,” I greeted coolly.

"They tell me you're the man who wins the unwinnable."

"They tell people lots of things."

His laugh came low and rough. "Please. Dominic."

"I'll stick with Mr. Cortez."

That amused him more. I ignored that and gestured toward the others. "Katerina Romanov, senior associate. Eric Callahan, my chief of staff and right hand." A fancier title for what he really was, and not nearly good enough to describe how vital he was to me.