Chapter 4 - The Courtroom Doors
The marble corridors of the downtown family courthouse were packed with the usual morning rush of frantic lawyers, crying toddlers, and bitter ex-spouses trading insults under their breath. But as Vincent Romano walked down the center of the third-floor hallway, the crowd parted like the Red Sea.
People recognized him. Or, at the very least, they recognized the terrifying aura of absolute untouchability that trailed behind him in his charcoal suit. Whispers rippled through the gallery benches as we approached courtroom 4B.
“Isn't that Vincent Romano?” a woman whispered loudly behind us. “What is he doing in family court? I thought he only dealt with federal racketeering indictments.”
“Keep your eyes forward,” Vincent murmured to Harper, his hand resting firmly, possessively at the small of her back as he guided her toward the heavy double doors. His touch was warm through the silk of her dress, anchoring her against the rising tide of panic in her chest.
When we pushed through the doors into courtroom 4B, the trial was already underway in another matter. But sitting on the wooden bench in the front row, looking exceedingly pleased with himself in a cheap polyester suit that smelled faintly of stale cigars and cheap cologne, was Uncle Richard.
Richard turned his head at the sound of the door opening. His oily smile stretched across his face, revealing crooked yellow teeth.
“Well, look who decided to show up,” Richard barked loudly, ignoring the judge’s sharp gavel tap from the bench. He stood up, turning to address the courtroom gallery with theatrical disgust. “Your honor, this delinquent waitress hasn't even shown a stable household since her mother passed away. She lives above a bowling alley! She can’t even afford a lawyer, let alone—”
Richard stopped dead in his tracks.
His eyes traveled from Harper’s expensive cream-colored dress, past the flawless diamond sparkling on her left ring finger, and finally landed on the tall, broad-shouldered man standing directly behind her.
Richard’s mouth stayed open, but no sound came out. The color drained from his ruddy face, leaving him looking like a fish suffocating on a dock.
Vincent stepped forward, his cold gray eyes locking onto Richard with a terrifying, predator-like intensity.
“Mr. Richard Miller, I presume?” Vincent’s voice cut through the quiet courtroom like a razor blade.
Richard swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing violently. “Who... who the hell are you?”
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“I’m Vincent Romano,” Vincent replied smoothly, slipping his hand into his pocket and pulling out the certified marriage license. He let the document catch the fluorescent light just enough for the official red seal to gleam. “And as of eight-thirty this morning, I am Harper’s husband. Which means I am Lily’s legal co-guardian.”
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