My lips part. Whatever I expected, it wasn’t that.
“You are?” I say, inanely.
Ravil nods. “He lives with his single mother. I have a responsibility to step in for these man-to-man talks. Especially when I catch him stripping his girlfriend in my pool.”
I can’t help it. I laugh again. It’s so damn sweet. Here I was thinking Ravil was going to make some wicked threat to the kid. Instead, he’s… well, fathering the boy.
“Is he a relative?” I ask.
“No,” Ravil says. “But the Kremlin is my village. And I’m their leader. I have a duty to look after all of them... if I can.”
Something uncomfortable twists under my ribs. An unease.
Maybe I misjudged Ravil.
Maybe horribly.
But no. He’s a criminal. His tattoos prove it.
You claim to have complete knowledge of my profession—exactly what I do and how I manage my business? You researched this thoroughly?
I didn’t. I essentially racially profiled him. Although he did choke a man at Black Light for insulting me. That was a huge red flag for me.
Still, I have no other proof against him that he’s a bad man. Unfit to be a parent.
So perhaps that’s where I must begin. To build my case against him. Or for him. Either way, I need to build a case. Look at the evidence, weigh it.
I duck my head under the water and breast stroke to the opposite end of the pool. It feels great to be weightless. To exercise without the discomfort of my new shape. Without that bone tired feeling I sometimes get when I haven’t eaten enough protein or red meat for the baby.
I swim laps back and forth. Ravil sits at the edge of the pool and watches.
Eventually, I get tired and come up for air near him, water streaming down my face and hair.
“Why did you become a defense attorney?” he asks.
I squeeze my hair out and labor to climb out and sit beside him. “My father is a defense attorney. He represented some of the biggest organized crime leaders in Chicago. Some people said he must be soulless to represent them. That he lined his pockets with blood stained bills. But the thing is—my father believed, as do I, that every man has a constitutional right to a fair trial.”
Ravil raises a brow, and I catch the accusation in it. I didn’t offer him any such due process. I tried and convicted him based on hearsay. I tried to keep him from his own flesh and blood based on my own prejudice.
I drop my gaze to my bikini top and adjust it to keep my breasts covered.
“I grew up hearing my father defend his choice at the dinner table or family gatherings. People inevitably ask, why would you defend a criminal? Especially if you know he’s a criminal?”
I meet Ravil’s pale blue gaze and swallow.
“He would say, every man I defend is someone’s son. Someone’s brother. Someone’s father. If you were a doctor, you wouldn’t refuse to treat a man because he’d been accused of a crime. You’d do your job. My job is to help him through our legal system, which would be difficult for him to navigate on his own. Just because I stand up in court and touch his shoulder and make him relatable to the jury doesn’t mean I approve or condone what he’s done. But I am going to do my job representing him.”
“And you feel the same?” Ravil asks.
I draw an unsteady breath and nod. “Yes.”
“But you do judge them. Even when you represent them? You won’t condone a criminal?”
The late afternoon sun’s dropped behind a building. The breeze against my wet skin suddenly makes me cold.
The truth is, despite what I just resolved to do—to research Ravil’s background and deeds—I’m not sure I want to know. I’m afraid of what I’ll find.
Which must mean… I’m starting to care about the man. And I don’t want to know if he’s as bad as I originally imagined.
I don’t want to know how many graves he’s dug.
Or women he’s kidnapped—apart from me.
I shake my head. “My judgements and feelings are irrelevant. My job is to guide them through the legal system.”
“Do you work harder if you believe they’re innocent?”
I look down at my fingernails. I keep them short but polished with a French manicure. They’re getting chipped. “Honestly? I don’t think that way. Sometimes, the less I know, the better. I make my case based on the prosecutor’s. It’s not about working harder. It’s more about how solid or weak the case is. If any procedures were violated on the part of the police or prosecution.”
“So you don’t care if Adrian set the fire or not?”
“No,” I answer immediately. “Honestly? My assumption is he did. That won’t stop me from doing my best to get him off.”
“Will you be able to get him off?”
I lift my shoulders. “I have a good chance. Their case isn’t great. I can probably show bias based on the fact that he’s an immigrant. Of course, a jury might have the same bias. But if we’re lucky, I can stop this thing before it goes to trial.”
“Was he working for you?” My throat tightens as I ask the question. I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.
“Are you building your personal case against me?”
Yes.
“No.”
“Do you believe your laws are perfect, Lucy?”
“Of course not.”
“Do you think there may be reasons to break your laws that still fall under a code of what’s right and wrong?”
I go still, knowing he’s telling me something here. I’m not sure I want to hear it.
“Yes,” I admit. “I’m sure there are. I’ve argued cases like that before.”
Ravil simply nods and climbs to his feet. “I’m sure you’re getting hungry.” He offers me a hand.
I take it and let him help me to stand. “Famished.” I sigh because I’m almost always famished these days.
“What do you want to eat tonight? I’ll take you out... if you
