Mafia's Ex Wife

Chapter Twelve

Elisabeth

I've done this a thousand times.

Maybe more.

Nothing about county jail or what I'm here for is new. Back when I was a practicing defense attorney, I was at this jail almost daily meeting with clients and collecting records. I've stared down all kinds of criminals inside these walls and walking in here today should be a piece a cake.

Except it isn't.

As I sit in my car in front of the jail, I can feel my skin start to crawl and it takes every bit of therapy I've had to fend off a panic attack. My heart is in my throat as I clutch the wheel, trying to psych myself up for what I'm about to do.

It shouldn't bother me the way it is, especially considering that I had married into one of the most ruthless crime families the city of Boston has ever seen. The things I watched Jax's dad and his men do still shook me to my core, and the things I heard about were even worse, and back then, I had to sit across from those men at family dinners each week. I ran with way bigger criminals than Steven Arias.

Arias is low level. I'd put in a little research on the guy and until now, he's only been busted for a few possession charges and as an accomplice to an armed robbery where he drove the getaway car. It should be just like any other normal case.

He is no normal criminal, though. He's not facing a simple robbery charge or assault charge or even a drug charge. He's facing murder.

The murder of my best friend.

The murder of my sister-in-law.

The murder of Emily Hale.

If I wait any longer, they won't let me into see him and there is no telling when I'll get the courage to come back, so in one brave swoop, I grab my bag and I hightail it inside.

My heels click against the busted gravel parking lot, my hair pulled neatly into a ponytail draped over my shoulder. I had to dig into the back of my closet to find a dress that made me look the part, and even with its long sleeves, the vicious chill in the air has me wishing I'd brought a jacket.

A sharp bleach smell hangs in the room, trying to mask the mustiness. Everything is the same depressing shade of beige—the tile, the paint, the cracked leather chairs where family members and other lawyers wait to be called back. It's busy for a Tuesday.

There is a window to the side that leads to the back office, and a woman sits there picking at her cherry red nail polish. She'd rather be just about anywhere else, and she audibly groans when she sees me coming.

"Visiting hours end in ten minutes. We've stopped taking new requests." She inches the window open just enough so I can hear her. She's about to close it, but I catch the seal before she can.

"I'm actually here to see my client. Steven Arias. And visiting hours don't apply to attorney client meetings."

She purses her lips, annoyed that I know how things work around here, and she starts furiously tapping at her keyboard. "This says Arias doesn't have counsel."

"Well, that's changing today." I give her a tight smile as I slide my ID across the counter. "I'll be representing him from now on."

After she's entered my information into the system, she directs me to wait over to the side and she disappears into the back. Fifteen minutes go by before I see her again, but when I do, she waves me over.

"Go through the metal detectors and someone will meet you on the other side to take you back."

I follow her directions and get in line. When I pass through security, I start to gather my things, but I'm stopped dead in my tracks when I hear a familiar voice behind me.