Chapter 8 - The Trial of Leo
The aftermath of the vineyard attack was not settled in a back alley, but in a federal courtroom in Manhattan. The DeLuca family had officially severed its ties with the old ways. Matteo spent three weeks in depositions, turning over decades of financial records that detailed every transaction the syndicate had ever made—clearing the ledger by paying the state forty million dollars in back taxes and fines.
It was the price of legitimacy.
The final piece of the transition took place on a Tuesday morning in March. A family court judge had requested an interview with Leo to determine if the DeLuca penthouse was a suitable environment for a child who had experienced such significant trauma.
The courtroom was small, private, and quiet. The judge, an elderly woman named Magistrate Henderson, sat behind a low desk rather than the high bench, her glasses perched on the tip of her nose.
Matteo sat in the front row, his hands clenched in his lap, his jaw tight. He looked more terrified in that quiet room than he ever had facing a dozen rival bosses in a warehouse.
Camryn sat next to Leo at a small table. The three-year-old was dressed in a tiny navy blue blazer and khakis, his dark curls brushed back. He was holding a small rubber truck Camryn had given him.
"Mr. DeLuca," Judge Henderson said, looking over her papers. "The reports from the child welfare agency indicate that your son has made remarkable progress over the last six months. His verbal skills have returned to the normal range for his age, and his behavioral incidents have dropped to zero."
"Yes, Your Honor," Matteo said, his voice tight.
"But the court must consider the history," the judge continued, her eyes shifting to Camryn. "Miss Jenkins, you entered this household as a domestic worker. You are now... what, exactly?"
Camryn looked at Matteo, then down at Leo, who had reached out to hold her thumb. "I am his family, Your Honor," she said clearly. "I am the person who stays when the lights go out."
The judge looked at the little boy. "Leo? Can you tell me about your home?"
The room went entirely silent. Matteo held his breath, his heart knocking against his ribs.
Leo looked at the judge. He didn't hide behind Camryn. He set his truck down on the table, his tiny hazel eyes bright and clear. He looked at his father, then at Camryn, and then back at the woman with the white hair.
"Home is big," Leo said, his voice small but perfectly clear. "But we have a tent. Daddy lives in the tent too. And Cammy reads the blue truck book."
The judge’s expression softened. She looked at the little boy’s hands—no longer bruised from throwing toys, no longer curled into fists. "And do you feel safe in the tent, Leo?"
May you like
"Yes," the boy nodded firmly. He reached up, took Camryn’s hand, and pulled it toward his face, pressing his cheek against her palm. "Cammy is my home."
Judge Henderson smiled, a genuine, warm expression that broke the cold formality of the room. She signed the document in front of her with a sharp flick of her pen. "Case dismissed. The court finds the DeLuca residence to be an exemplary environment for the child. Good luck, Mr. DeLuca. You have a remarkable family."
