Chapter 16 - The Trial Before the Trial

Richard’s protective-order hearing happened before the federal case.

That terrified Natasha more than the cameras.

Federal crimes had files, agents, ledgers, forensic reports.

The hearing was about smaller things.

A wrist.

A threat.

A bedroom drawer.

A photograph with Finally mine written on the back.

Small things were easier for people to excuse.

Priya met her outside the courtroom.

“You do not have to look at him.”

“I want to.”

“Also valid.”

Richard sat beside his attorney wearing a navy suit Natasha had bought him for his fortieth birthday.

He looked thinner.

He looked tired.

He still looked like Richard.

That hurt.

Not because she wanted him back.

Because monsters would have been easier.

The judge reviewed the evidence.

Restaurant security audio.

Photographs of bruises.

Messages.

Records showing Richard accessed Natasha’s medical information.

The surveillance notes found in the apartment.

Then Natasha testified.

Richard’s attorney stood.

“Ms. Voss, you remained with Dr. Castellano for six years?”

“Yes.”

“You planned to marry him?”

“Yes.”

“You attended public events together?”

“Yes.”

“You often appeared affectionate?”

“Yes.”

“And you never filed a police report before the restaurant incident?”

“No.”

The attorney paused as if that proved something.

Natasha waited.

“You are asking this court to believe you feared a man you voluntarily lived with?”

Priya objected.

The judge allowed Natasha to answer.

She looked at Richard.

Then at the attorney.

“I am asking the court to believe fear can live in the same house as routine.”

The courtroom went quiet.

The attorney tried again.

“You had opportunities to leave.”

“Yes.”

“And you did not.”

“No.”

“Why?”

Natasha breathed.

“Because each time I considered leaving, Richard had already made my world smaller.”

Richard looked down.

“He discouraged my work. He tracked my calls. He checked my mail. He accessed my therapy information. He told me friends were jealous. He made me question whether bruises counted if he apologized afterward.”

The attorney said, “Objection to characterization.”

The judge overruled.

Natasha continued.

“And because I was ashamed.”

That word was harder than any accusation.

“I thought intelligent women left the first time. So every time I stayed, I became more embarrassed to tell anyone there had been another time.”

Richard looked at her then.

His face almost broke her.

Almost.

The attorney asked, “Did Dr. Castellano ever apologize?”

“Yes.”

“Did you believe those apologies?”

“Sometimes.”

“Did he ever tell you he loved you?”

“Constantly.”

“Did you love him?”

Priya objected.

The judge sustained.

Richard whispered something to his attorney.

The attorney sat down.

Then Richard requested permission to speak.

The judge warned him not to address Natasha directly.

He agreed.

For five minutes, he described stress.

Work.

Family pressure.

The investigation.

He said he regretted “poor communication.”

He said his restaurant comment had been “an ugly figure of speech.”

He said he had never intended physical harm.

Then the judge asked one question.

“Dr. Castellano, why were you in Ms. Voss’s apartment after she told you she needed space?”

Richard’s answer took too long.

“I was worried about her.”

“Why did you open the music box?”

“I believed it contained material relevant to my family.”

“Did Ms. Voss give you permission?”

“No.”

“Did you believe engagement gave you permission?”

Richard said nothing.

The judge granted a long-term protective order.

Two years.

No contact.

No third-party messages.

No approach within five hundred feet of Natasha’s home or workplace.

Natasha exhaled.

Outside, reporters waited.

She did not speak.

That was another kind of choice.

Matteo stood across the plaza, well beyond the cameras.

He did not approach.

She crossed to him.

“It’s done.”

“For today.”

“Yes.”

“How do you feel?”

“Hungry.”

He blinked.

Then laughed.

“What?”

“I expected a profound answer.”

“I want fries.”

“That is profound.”

They walked to a diner two blocks away.

No private room.

No security visible at the table.

Just a booth.

Natasha ordered fries and coffee.

Matteo ordered nothing.

She frowned.

“You’re not eating?”

“I ate.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

“It is four.”

“I’m fine.”

She pushed half the fries toward him.

He looked at them.

“Is this pity?”

“Carbohydrates.”

He ate one.

For a few minutes, neither spoke.

Then Natasha said, “Richard looked normal.”

Matteo nodded.

“That bothered me.”

“Because you wanted him to look like what he did?”

“Yes.”

“He never will.”

“You sound certain.”

“I have known many dangerous men.”

“Were they all normal?”

“Most.”

Natasha drank coffee.

“Do you think you’re dangerous?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think you’re changing?”

“I think changing is a verb people misuse when they want credit before the work.”

She stared.

“That was annoyingly good.”

“Miriam said it.”

“Of course she did.”

He ate another fry.

Natasha smiled.

Outside, a reporter recognized Matteo through the window and lifted a camera.

Natasha’s shoulders tightened.

Matteo saw it.

“Want to leave?”

She looked at the camera.

Then at the plate.

“No.”

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She picked up another fry.

For once, being seen did not mean performing.