Pearce Hudson: #1 My Italian Devil

23.Liar liar pants on fire

I don't know how I came to think I could be a lawyer. Of course I got into one of the best law schools in the country and of course I passed the bar. But when you're a lawyer being defended there's nothing more boring. After going back and forth for a while I snapped back to reality and began listening.

"Mrs. DeNiro would you like to add anything?" Judge Edwards asked.
"Your honour?"
"Anything you'd like to add?"
"I want to get divorced. I had waited for him, yes but that was a long time ago. He left. He didn't reach out. I didn't know what to do. I was out of place. This was all in the past now and I'd like to move on."

The judge looked between me and Dante, pushed his glass back and sorted through some pages and began to read them, silently. He took off his glass, folded his hands and then spoke, "I'm throw out this divorce."

I stood up so fast the tables moved. "You can't quash this divorce!"
"Pearce settle down," Kat grabbed my blazer sleeve.
"I wanna be free. You can't quash this divorce!"
"Mrs. DeNiro," the judge warned.
"On what grounds are you quashing this divorce?!" I shouted.
"On the grounds that I don't want to break up marriage. On the grounds of what we've been going back and forth for the past hour. The pregnancy. Your father's will. His company!"
"Oh this is total bullshit!"
"Mrs. DeNiro if you don't calm down-"

I stamped my feet but stopped shouting. I grabbed my purse and rushed out of the room. There were more elements to the quashing. Of course they found about the pregnancy, thanks to my team. Also my team created sales receipts for baby clothes and toys to make it look more plausible. But one thing, one big thing, was my father's apparent will. I read it over and over again as I walked towards my car.

I, Pedro Antonio DeNiro, residing at 647 Beacon Street, Boston, Massachusetts, declare this to be my Will, and I revoke any and all wills and codicils I previously made.

In case of my death, I leave 70% of my company, Lux industries, in the hands of my son-in-law, Dante Marco Capaldi. I also leave 4% of the company to my wife, Demetria Jennifer Petras, 2% to my mother Isabella Gina DeNiro, 4% to my eldest son, Paul Constantine DeNiro and 2% to my youngest son, Peter Dmitri DeNiro. The rest of the company is left to my partners.

In case any of the executor pass on before I do, that share of the company would go to my granddaughter, Alessandra Katerina DeNiro....

70 fucking percent! Where did this come from? When did he....I read a few times over trying to make any sort of sense. What was my dad thinking? Then a light bulb turned on in my head.

"Pearce!" Ross shouted my name. "What happened?"
"What I hoped would happen," I shoved the piece of paper against his chest. "How did we not discover?"
Ross took a few moments to go over the will, "70 percent?! Your dad must be crazy right?"
"He wrote this will after we got married. See this date. Can you see if my dad had another will."
"Why? What are you thinking?"
"I just have this feeling. Call it a hunch, but I'm pretty sure Paul read dad's will. I mean not this one, a previous one."
"What makes you think that?"
"The day my dad dis...that day I went over...after the fight Peter said something...that didn't occur to until now. He said, the only reason Paul made such a big deal was because mom and dad would disown us."
"But he couldn't have been sure, right?"

I shook my head, "He said you and your husband and then Nonna said husband traitor. Not ex-husband. I shouted Dante being an ex-husband at Pearce's birthday. Paul knows something."
"I'll look into it," Ross squeezed my shoulders. "Are you going home?"
"Yeah. I need a breather. I'll see you at the warehouse."

I threw my purse randomly onto the floor as I unlocked my apartment door. I shrugged off my blazer and kicked off my heels. I unscrewed the wine bottle on the coffee table and took a big a swig. The alcohol burned a little has it went down my neck but left a sweet and sour after taste. How did I get myself into this mess? The hearing ran in my mind like an old memory. Clear, precise and true. It didn't matter. It'd be all worth it when Dante goes to jail.

If he goes to jail.

Loud knocking from the door, caused me to spill wine on my dress. I dabbed at the stain while walking to the door. "Coming." I opened at the door.

Dante.

Standing at my door.

I slammed the door shut in his face, bolting the lock. I pressed up against as a barrier.

"Pearce open the door."
"Leave me alone Dante!"
"Just open the door."
"You got what you wanted right? So just go!"

He didn't reply instead he breathed out loudly. He hit the door frustrated. "I just wanted to be with you."

I didn't reply.

"Is that a crime? Will you open the door so I can at least talk to you?"

I lightly banged my head on the door. I took a deep breath and unbolted the door.

"Thank you," he smiled lightly.

He didn't look smug. He wasn't gloating. I expected him to be. His expression was soft and caring. He moved to the door trying to get him but I refused to let him in.

"No. You wanna talk let's talk, out here. Last time you were in my apartment you bugged it."

"Pearce don't me childish."

"You wanna talk to me you play by rules."

He opened his mouth, assuming to argue, but he closed his mouth. The corners of his eyes crinkled and he laughed.

"You were always so stubborn."
"Thank God for your unwanted opinion."

He pulled his blazer sleeve up and checked his watch.

"It's time for lunch. Wanna grab some? How about the cafe across the street?"

"The one where I slapped. Wow that's a good memory."

Dante's face turned stony.

"Okay let's go."

The waiter sat us by the window. With the winter nearing the cafe had removed the outdoor tables. I drummed my fingers waiting for him order. He was wasting my time. The waitress stood, impatiently popping her bubble gum. Her hand poised on her notepad, fingers curled around a pen.

"He'll have the steak panini and I'll have a turkey sandwich and an Iced Tea," I blurted out.

"One steak panini, turkey sandwich and iced tea coming up," the waitress read off before leaving.

"Okay now talk," I gestured to him.

"Let's start all over again."

"Start what?"

"Being husband and wife."

"This isn't something you can just start over."

"I know that. I know-"

"No I don't think you know. You up and left. That afternoon I came back the FBI were crawling all over the place. Where were you Dante? You didn't call or anything? No you don't understand."

"I'm trying to make up for it."

I faced away from him and stared out the window. The sun was up but the light breeze had picked up into a strong chilly wind. The waitress brought our orders and left without saying a word, probably noticing tension between us.

"Okay," I said after a bite of my sandwich.

"Okay what?"

"Okay to start over."