That stupid text message held no credibility, but with the footage, it could mean everything. I grabbed my phone with shaking hands and texted my lawyer.
Gretchen The Dope Attorney
I need you to look over some papers that Eugene wants me to sign tomorrow. We’re transferring custody to him. I’ll have visitation.
Imani, what? Why? We've been fighting this custody for a year
I know. It just makes sense right now. We’ll talk tomorrow.
I set the phone down and stared at the ceiling, tears streaming down my face. I was giving up my son, Marco, and my freedom. I’d be foolish to think that this would end here. He was going to keep using this damn video to get anything that he wanted. I just needed to figure out a way around this.
The alternative was watching good people I loved pay for Vincent DeLuca's final act of revenge from beyond the grave.
My phone buzzed.
MARCO
I know something's wrong. Let me help. Please.
I typed and deleted a response five times before finally deciding on how to respond.
Please don't contact me again.
I blocked his number before I could change my mind.
Then I called Eugene.
"I'll sign the papers," I said when he answered. "But I need proof you'll destroy the video. I need a guarantee."
"You're not in a position to negotiate." His voice was smug. "You'll sign, you'll stay away from Marco Moretti, and if you're very good, I might let you see Marcus on holidays, too. Maybe."
"Eugene, he's my son and has nothing to do with any of this."
"Trust me, Imani. I'm going to make sure he forgets all about you." He paused. "Papers will be delivered tomorrow. Sign them. Or everyone you care about burns."
He hung up. I sat in that hospital bed, alone and broken, and realized I'd just lost everything that mattered. I wanted to scream, but that would alert people that something was wrong. So I cried silently and hoped like hell that I figured a way out of this mess.
All because Vincent DeLuca had been smart enough to set one final trap before he died. And Dez walked straight into it taking us all with him.