Page 115 of Forgotten Prejudice

“Yes.”

I smiled at him. “But you did want to be in an exclusive relationship with the victim. Isn’t that right, Mr. Bianchi?”

“Objection! Leading, Your Honor,” Jones, the moron, called, but the judge overruled his objection, leaving Dion to answer the question.

“Mr. Bianchi?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” He shrugged.

Going back to my desk, I took a paper from it and stood in the middle of the court. “We got clear orders that whenever Mr. Rogers attended the club, we had to inform the boss. He’d ask to clear his schedule, and he’d get mad if he missed him.” I read the words written in black and white before handing it to the judge as evidence. “So, as you see, some of your employees beg to differ. So how about I ask you again, and this time, you’ll answer me?”

Dion crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back. “Fine. So I might have wanted more.”

“And did you act on it?”

He pulled his shoulders. “Maybe.”

“Would inviting the victim for a vacation in Italy count as doing more?” I handed the judge another piece of evidence, proving me to be right.

“Yes,” Dion hissed.

“So would it be safe to assume that you found it irritating, to say the least, that the victim was romantically involved with the defendant? Who also happened to be your employee at the time.”

Dion bit the inside of his cheek, his jaw twitching. I knew the only way to get to him was to hurt his ego, which was almost as big as mine.

“That’s ridiculous,” he huffed. “Why would I ever be jealous of an employee?”

“Maybe because it reminded you of the time you worked for your father?”

Dion’s eyes widened, and I saw danger crossing them right as Jones yelled another objection. I didn’t care that it was sustained because I’d already gotten what I needed.

An angry Dion.

“So, could it be that you and the victim weren’t, in fact, a couple by the time the crime was committed?” I navigated my question carefully, already knowing Dion’s facial expressions were giving me what I needed.

“I will tell you what I said before.” He sounded irritated. “A week before that shit happened, Shay-Lee came to me.” He hissed that last word, his eyes glancing at Camilo before going back to me. “First, he mentioned that he was done with Diesel, and then he went on and on about how much he regretted wasting his time on him.”

“Isn’t that convenient?” I swirled my finger in the air. “For months, Camilo and the victim were inseparable, which you were aware of. In fact, we have records of texts between you and the victim, in which he is clearly writing that you have no chance with him whatsoever.” I air quoted because those were Shay-Lee’s exact words. “Then, all of a sudden, after the victim was cut off financially, as it was already proven earlier in this trial, he came to you and asked for a place to live?” We’d managed to show that Shay-Lee was cut off by his dad, but Christian explained it as he was worried about his son’s growing use of forbidden substances.

“Yes, that’s pretty much how it was,” Dion answered flatly.

“And it didn’t feel off?”

Dion forced a smile. “No.”

Now, it was my turn to flash him a toothy grin. “Sounds to me like Camilo and Shay-Lee set you up, and you fell for it. Because not only did you give Shay-Lee a place to live, but you also spoiled him with gifts to buy his love. From a twenty-thousand-dollar cat to a brand-new car, you attempted to buy what you knew you’d never have—his attention.”

The vein on the side of Dion’s neck popped, and he looked at me with murderous eyes. Knowing I had to push, I went on.

“Would you agree that you aren’t too surprised by what I’m saying?”

“Yes.”

“So would it be reasonable to assume you figured it out yourself?”

“What are you implying?” he hissed.

“That after you found out Shay-Lee was using you, you decided to get even with him. But things went wrong when he wasn’t alone at the house.”