Mob Lawyer 3: A Legal Thriller Read online

  “So, you aren’t looking for a way in for your boss to get his own cases dropped or any other bullshit?” Alessia asked and narrowed her eyes at me.

  “No,” I confirmed. “I would never be part of that, and neither would Anthony. I can swear to that. It’s just that things need to change, and Chatel would change things for the worse. You would change everything, and it would be better for Brooklyn. Hell, it’d be better for the whole city. You wouldn’t let Webber or Flores push you around, and criminals would get exactly what they deserve, not what those two want them to get.”

  “Because my campaign would be based on honesty and equal justice,” she continued and looked out the window. “Everyone deserves a fair shot, even when they’ve done wrong.”

  I knew her thoughts had strayed to her convicted sister and the struggles she’d faced since her release from prison. That was a good thing, and I knew the people of Brooklyn would eat up her sense of justice.

  “As the DA, you’d be able to set the precedent for equality,” I added gently. “You’d be different from everyone else, and people like that. They need it.”

  “You’ve made a solid argument, counselor,” Alessia chuckled and sipped her tea. “But I’ll need some time to deliberate.”

  “Understandable,” I conceded with a half-smile. “I’ll let the donors know you’re considering it.”

  “Thank you,” she replied as she began to clean up her lunch. “And I’d like to meet them soon. If I decide to run, that is.”

  “Of course.” I nodded.

  I grabbed our tray and tossed the contents in the trash as Alessia stood up and dabbed her face clean of nonexistent crumbs. She looked stunning as always, and I refilled our drinks and met her near the door.

  “I’ll call you tonight with my decision,” she said and took her cup. “Will that work for the, ah, donors?”

  The realization hit me that she still thought Anthony was the only person who would support her, and she didn’t want to run a dirty campaign. I knew what to do with the rest of my day as I smiled and pressed my lips to her cheek.

  “Yes, I don’t think they’ll mind waiting a few hours,” I agreed. “I’ll talk to you tonight.”

  Alessia smiled and waved before she headed back out into the New York sunlight and returned to her office.

  Shit.

  I had to convince her that she had other people interested in contributing to her win. Not only did I want her as the new DA, but I was pretty sure Anthony would be pissed if I couldn’t even carry out the plan I’d come up with. It would take time we didn’t have to find someone else who was worth backing, and that wasn’t including the time it would take to talk them into doing it.

  Okay, I had to assume she’d say yes. That was the best plan for me to take action on. I could talk to some possible contributors, find a location for our headquarters, and look for a campaign manager.

  And I definitely had to quit standing in the middle of the Panera lobby while I made my plans.

  I ordered a couple pastries from the bakery counter, snatched the to-go bag, and headed out to my car. I could do some research on my cell, but it would be much faster with my laptop. I felt my gun press into my back as I sat in the seat, and I realized I’d pretty much forgotten it was there during lunch. I guess it was easier to get used to it than I’d thought.

  I drove the short distance to my apartment and took my shopping bag and pastries upstairs to my apartment. Then I pulled my laptop open and got to work. I nibbled on the food as I created an email account I titled “People for Pizzano” and sent out dozens of emails to local businesses and organizations that I thought might be interested in contributing to Alessia’s campaign. From restaurants to community resource centers to small businesses all over Brooklyn, I sent a little blurb about the possibility of a new candidate for the DA election who was well-known as a supporter for their cause. I ended by asking if each of them would like to be a part of a huge change for Brooklyn and for justice.

  I refrained from asking for donations just yet, and I didn’t even mention her name in the email itself. If they were interested in a new candidate, they could Google Pizzano. If they weren’t, I might hit them up again once she confirmed she would run.

  By the time I’d sent nearly fifty emails, I had five responses. Two asked for more information about the candidate, one asked to be removed from my email list, and the last asked for me to call and explain more. It had come from an after-school program whose sole purpose was getting kids involved with the community and away from gangs.

  It sounded right up Alessia’s alley.

  I dialed the number from the email and asked for Robert when someone picked up.

  “One sec,” a kid answered in a breathless voice before pulling the phone away from his mouth. “Rob! You got a call!”

  A few seconds later, I heard the sounds of laughter and a loud thump before another voice came on the line.

  “This is Rob,” he announced in a thick New York accent. “How can I help you?”

  “Rob, I got your email asking for a call to explain the campaign,” I began as I purposely avoided my own name. “What would you like to know?”

  “First of all, who’s the candidate?” Rob asked abruptly.

  “Well, Alessia Pizzano is an Assistant District Attorney here in Brooklyn,” I answered. “She’s realized she has a greater calling and wants to make a change for our people.”

  “Oh, hey, wait, that’s the pretty brunette, right?” he wondered. “She did an event here a couple months ago. Real nice lady.”

  “That’s her,” I confirmed. “She does a lot of community outreach, and she’s looking for supporters before she announces an official candidacy. Can she count on you as one of the voices to stand with her?”

  “Well, we can voice a lot,” Rob replied with a chuckle. “But we don’t have the funds to back a campaign. We rely on a lot of donations ourselves to keep the doors open and the lights on. Ms. Pizzano would be a really good DA, and I’d like for us to help her, but I’m really not sure how we can.”

  “I completely understand,” I assured him. “I’m sure we can think of a way you can help without taking away from the great work you’re already doing. Does that sound okay?”

  “Absolutely, sir,” he agreed. “You just call up here and ask for me when you have a plan.”

  “Will do, Rob,” I said before I hung up.

  I dug a legal pad from my briefcase and scribbled Rob’s name down next to the program name. It wasn’t a stack of bills to pay for the campaign, but it was a step in the right direction.

  And it seemed to be the first domino to fall.

  More and more emails poured into my inbox with promises to back Alessia in a variety of ways from money to flyers to campaign events. It seemed the ADA’s work was more popular than she’d realized, and I grinned as my legal pad page began to fill up with names of local places that wanted her to not only run against Jordan and Chatel, but also really wanted her to win.

  My little white lie about having funding had turned out not to be so false after all.

  By the time I’d responded to everyone and taken down all the names, it was well into evening, and I started to worry that Alessia had decided to turn me down when my phone vibrated the whole table.

  “Hey,” I sighed when I answered her call.

  “You sound relieved,” Alessia chuckled. “Have you been worried about me, Mr. Morgan?”

  “Well, it’s almost seven, so, yeah, maybe a little,” I said sheepishly. “Is that so bad?”

  “No,” she nearly whispered. “But I have some more questions for you.”

  “Shoot.” I tried to prepare myself for whatever was coming my way.

  “The campaign will be completely, one hundred percent legit?” Alessia pressed. “No dirty money, no scandal, no expectations if I win?”

  “You have over a dozen legitimate organizations ready to back you because they support what you want to do,” I answered with conf
idence before I named a few off my list. “And that’s just a few of the people I spoke to today.”

  “Really?” she gasped. “They want to be part of my campaign?”

  “They do,” I confirmed. “Some have money, some have resources, and the others want to voice their support. It’s well-rounded so far.”

  “Wow,” the ADA breathed, and I pictured her sitting back in her chair and crossing one long leg over the other. “What about a campaign manager?”

  “Ah, I haven’t found one yet,” I said as I mentally chided myself for not even having names ready for her. “But I will, if you say yes. We can interview them together, if you’d like.”

  “You really want me to do this,” she murmured. “And you think I can win?”

  “With all the people I talked to today, I know you can,” I assured her. “Running as the anti-corruption candidate has always played well in politics here, and you would be good for the city, and people know it. Now, you just have to know that, too.”

  There was a brief pause as Alessia contemplated what I’d said. I was confident in her ability to do well in the campaign, even more so since I’d spoken to many supporters already.

  “You know there’s only a few months until the election, right?” she finally asked with a sigh. “Do you think that’s enough time?”

  “We just have to find a campaign manager that believes it is,” I decided. “So, is that a yes?”

  “It is,” Alessia confirmed, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “Now, when do we find a campaign manager?”

  “I’ll set up interviews for this week,” I said as I pumped my fist in the air but kept my voice calm. “Send me your schedule for when you’re available. I’ll find a few options.”

  “I’ll add you to my calendar,” she replied. “And Hunter?”

  “Yeah?” I asked.

  “Thanks.” Alessia’s voice was warm and kind. “I never would’ve done this without you.”

  “You’ll be perfect for this,” I replied. “I’ll find the perfect champagne.”

  Alessia was still laughing when she hung up, and I hopped back onto the search engine to find a campaign manager. My email pinged with an invitation to Alessia’s calendar, and I sent out a few more messages to potential managers before I finally slipped into bed.

  The next morning, seven of the campaign manager hopefuls had emailed back to set up interviews. I forwarded their information to Alessia, and she replied with her top four. Within hours, we had three of the four set up to meet that afternoon and one more tomorrow morning.

  I sent Anthony a quick text to let him know Alessia was on board and that we were looking for a campaign manager. Then I spent the rest of the morning working on more donors, while Anthony said he would work on setting up a super PAC to funnel his donations into helping the campaign. Due to political regulations, he couldn’t use the super PAC to send money directly to the campaign fund, but he could pay for advertisements for Alessia and against her opponents.

  Alessia didn’t want to set up any interviews at her office since she hadn’t declared her candidacy just yet, so we met at a small coffee and bagel shop around the corner. The two of us set up shop in the back with only our coffees and a request to be left alone.

  When our first potential campaign manager walked in, I had to do a double take.

  Sicily Noonan had platinum-blonde hair plastered to her head and a hot pink suit with at least twenty gold bangles on each arm that clacked together as she strode toward us and stuck her hand out.

  “You must be Alessia,” she gushed as she grasped the ADA’s hand and grinned. “So totally rad to meet you.”

  “Definitely rad,” Alessia wavered and shot me a look of concern before she quickly recomposed herself. “Thank you for coming. Please, have a seat and tell us about yourself.”

  “Well, I just graduated from Princeton with my Bachelor’s,” Sicily declared and tapped her long bubblegum-colored nails on the table. “I worked with a few different politicians, but the most recent was Mr. Schaffer, who you may know won his Senate seat with my idea.”

  “Your idea?” I repeated with a doubtful smirk. “Which was?”

  “To smear that rotten turd, Kendrick,” she answered easily. “He had several of his former students that said he wasn’t fair to the women in his class, grading their papers differently, giving them tougher assignments, stuff like that. I didn’t want a misogynist pig in the Senate. Would you?”

  “Did you have any evidence that Kendrick was sexist?” I wondered and shifted uncomfortably.

  “Well, you don’t really need evidence in politics,” the blonde replied with a laugh. “The public doesn’t care about proof. They care about optics.”

  “That was your brilliant idea?” Alessia asked. “To help your candidate win solely by making his opponent look bad?”

  “Well, Mr. Schaffer had some really good ideas about healthcare,” Sicily insisted. “So, he was the better choice. I just helped.”

  “Oookay,” I said. “So, what would be your vision for Ms. Pizzano’s campaign? Do you have any other ideas in mind for her?”

  “I’m thinking ‘the anti-corruption’ candidate.” The blonde waved a flourishing hand over her head as though she was looking at a banner. “Honesty, integrity, and everything Brooklyn needs from a great District Attorney.”

  “Go on,” I encouraged her as Alessia and I shared a look of hope.

  “We’ll just need to find every dirty thing Chatel has ever done and blast him on the front page,” she continued gleefully. “Or we can just make a few things up, it doesn’t really matter. Ms. Pizzano as the angel-- and honestly, you’re like a Victoria’s Angel with those legs and jawline-- and Mr. Chatel as the slimy devil who can’t be trusted. He’ll have to spend millions to defend himself, and then he won’t even have a chance to be on his offensive game!”

  “I see.” My chestnut-haired cohort scribbled a note on her legal pad, and I leaned over to see a bunch of gibberish, followed by an all-caps NO.

  “Great, well, thank you for your time, Sicily,” I said as I rose from the table and shook her jingly hand. “I’ll get in touch with you if you’ve been selected for our next round of interviews.”

  “Thanks a million!” Sicily chirped and nearly skipped out the door.

  “At least she had a degree from Princeton,” I pointed out and was met with a look of annoyance. “About twenty minutes until our next one gets here. His name is Jeffrey Hamilton.”

  We sipped our coffee and read the newspaper as we waited for the next hopeful to arrive. When the bell above the door rang, we looked up to see a nervous-looking gentleman in a brown and red plaid suit walk in holding a faded brown briefcase. He pushed horn-rimmed glasses up his nose as he searched the shop and then made his way to our table.

  “Ms. Pizzano, what an honor,” Jeffrey said as he gently took her hand. “My name is Jeffrey Hamilton.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Jeffrey,” Alessia replied pleasantly and gestured toward the seat across from us. “Please, what interested you about my campaign?”

  “I completely support the desire to improve our prison and justice systems,” he answered. “I know that’s a topic near to your heart, and it is for me as well.”

  Alessia smiled at his response, and they went back and forth discussing his experience in politics, which spanned over twenty years, as well as his family, his desire to help her win, and a few political tactics he would use. They talked for nearly half an hour while I stifled at least five yawns, and then they exchanged goodbyes, and he left before our next candidate was scheduled to arrive.

  “Much better candidate,” Alessia declared with a grin.

  “But so, so boring,” I moaned and dropped my head on the table. “How could anyone work for that guy? No one could survive the morning meeting with ol’ Jeffrey. Half our staff would quit in a week.”

  “Was he really that bad?” she asked. “I thought he was knowledgeable.”

 
“I’m sure he was,” I replied. “But he was also putting me to sleep.”

  “I know we have two more,” Alessia insisted. “But he is my top contender so far.”

  “Well, I figured he’d be ahead of Pinky,” I joked.

  Then a herd of people shuffled into the coffee shop, led by a man who stood well over six feet tall and maybe three feet wide. His shoulders filled the doorway, and I knew his Brooks Brothers suit had to be tailor made to fit his large frame. His dark eyes searched the room, and then a wide smile covered his chocolate features. He motioned to his entourage to sit at a table by the door, then he made his way closer to us.

  “Ms. Pizzano,” the giant man boomed as he extended his hand toward our table. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Darby McDonald, but everyone calls me Bear.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” I murmured as his hand engulfed mine. “Hunter Morgan, attorney.”

  “Very smart.” Bear nodded and gestured to the seat across from us. “May I?”

  “Of course,” Alessia agreed with a pleasant smile. “Now, Bear, I haven’t seen anyone bring extras with them to an interview before. What’s that about?”

  “Oh, my team,” he chuckled. “My communications director, money manager, and volunteer coordinator. We call ourselves the B Team.”

  “Why not the A team?” I snickered.

  “Because my name is Bear,” the man deadpanned and then laughed a thunderous laugh that seemed to vibrate the windows. “No, I mean, that’s cool, but really, it’s because we’ve worked for the underdogs a lot. That isn’t anything against you, Ms. Pizzano, but we’ve won more than we’ve lost with people who didn’t truly expect to win.”

  “I expect her to win,” I pointed out with a smirk.

  “I’m sure you do,” Bear said and smiled easily. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’ve never ran for a political office, right, Ms. Pizzano? You kicked ass in school but tried not to stand out. You never hung out with the cool kids but once or twice to stay out of trouble. Am I on track?”