001

"All rise!" The bailiff stood at the left of the court bench as as the people seated at each table rose, along with those sitting in the galley. "The Honorable Judy Mathis will be presiding." As he said those words, a short brunette woman seemingly in her 60s made her way towards the bench, taking a seat. "Please be seated."

The rest of the people in the courtroom sat after that, with the bailiff reading aloud. "The State of New York against Anthony Milo Gambini. Mr. Gambini is accused of three counts of racketeering, five counts of extortion, and twelve assault and battery charges, your honor." The large black bailiff looked up to the judge, whose eyes narrowed as she looked at the table where the defense sat.

There in a pinstripe suit with his hands folded neatly across his lap sat Anthony Gambini. To his left, his attorney sat whispering something into his ear as a hush fell over the courtroom for a brief moment.

Near the rear of the courtroom, Kaitlynn Stryfe took a deep breath, settling back into her seat with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Just looking at that man made her want to break down in tears, or fling herself at him in a fit of rage-- the smug smile she could see on his face in profile didn't help matters much. It was as if the whole thing was a joke to him. Knowing the way his mind worked, it probably was.

He'd been wearing a suit similar to the one he had on right now the last time she'd seen him...

Just like the last time she'd been summoned to a meeting with Gambini via cryptic text message, she'd found a black Town Car waiting for her outside the building she'd been living in. She wondered how he knew that she'd moved to New York City, seeking the relaxed atmosphere of the East Village as though she hoped to become one of the artists who hung out at the corner Starbucks. She'd even started taking art classes twice a week at the community center. Her little life was really quite pathetic these days. She'd even spent Christmas alone, eating ice cream from the carton after a lovely dinner of Chef Boyardee ravioli.

Once inside the car, she endured the humiliation of the hood being yanked down over her head, knowing better than to fight it. The last time she had, and had ended up with a fat lip for her troubles. Their stupid precautions completed, she found herself sandwiched between two goons she could smell rather than see. She recognized them, and had even given them nicknames in her head. Stinky and Spice. The former had a lovely case of halitosis-- today's stench a lovely miasma of dirty socks and onions; the latter wore Old Spice, the kind with the ship on the bottle that reminded her of her brother. With a full bladder, she was driven around the city for what seemed like a million years and was likely no more than twenty minutes. They always seemed to wait until her anxiety hit a huge peak before the car screeched to a stop. The hood was yanked free, leaving her hair staticky. A few minutes later she was escorted to the conference room of an anonymous office building.

Wiping her sweaty palms on the jeans she wore, she sat down heavily in a chair midway down the length of the massive boardroom table. With a sigh, she put her head in her hands, steeling herself although fearing the worst. On the other side of the table sat the pinstriped Anthony Gambini. Rarely wearing a smile, he pushed up from his seat and moved towards her position, taking occupation of the chair closest to her.

Hands folded neatly, he crossed one leg over the other and shook his head. "Oh, Kitty. It's always a pleasure to see you. It's a shame it is always under such duress though. Would you care for something to drink? You look tired."

Of course she was tired. She'd been working double shifts at that Irish pub in an effort to make rent. "Under duress?" She snorted in a totally un-ladylike manner, lifting her head to stare daggers at him, "is that the politically correct term for blackmail these days?" She shook her head as if the question was merely rhetorical. "No. I don't want anything to drink. Or eat."

"You'll find I have always been a fan of the social pleasantries. But since you seem so uninterested in such things, allow me to get to the point. Of late, I have been having a change of heart as it relates to you, Kaitlynn. I've been asking myself. What more can I take from you? And now...I am having a more difficult time finding the answer."

Leaning forward in his chair, he canted his head to the side and watched her more closely. "I've cost you your husband, your financial security, and your hopes for whatever happy ending you were thinking was to happen. Your husband believes you were cheating with him with a gay man in the hopes of getting pregnant." His eyes took an almost pitiful stare, as though he were filled with sympathy. "All those terrible secrets you kept, and all you had to do was reveal them. But you wouldn't, and so here we are. And I still have the same question: what more can I take from you, Kaitlynn?"

"Nothing," she said in a quiet voice, closing her eyes for a moment as she took in a deep breath, "I have nothing left to lose. No career. No love..." her voice broke on a near sob, "I don't even have two dimes to rub together. My savings are gone. I gave them to you."

"Yes, yes you did. However it didn't quite make good on the extraordinary sum of money your husband cost me by closing his company." Looking to the floor, his head began to shake back and forth as though he were disappointed in her. "I asked myself again and again what possibly you could do to repay the debt you owe me. And it was a difficult question, because as stated, you really have no belongings left to offer. But there is one thing. It occurred to me, thanks to the idea being presented by one of my associates. You do have one thing that I would find beneficial." His eyes trailed up her body, as his hand reached forward and placed itself on her thigh. "A gift every woman born is blessed with, and something every man can always find a use for."

Her eyes widened slightly as she realized what he was hinting at. "No," her cheeks flushed red in embarrassment, or quite possibly anger as she stared at him in horror, feeling the heat of his palm against her leg as though he was branding her with it, "even you couldn't possibly be that heartless."

"Kaitlynn, my heart has nothing to do with this. I realize this may not be the way you hoped all this debt would be paid, but you have nothing left that I want. And after a few personal...sessions, I feel that your performance could be your saving grace, depending on how good you are. I believe in paying people what they are worth, after all. It's just good business. Besides I don't think you would like the other option."

One of the men standing behind him slid a manila folder towards him, which he opened and removed some black and white photos of her husband taken at various places. "You may not have your husband underneath your doting gaze, but I've managed to keep an eye on him. And if we can't come to an agreement, I will understand. And will make sure you get priority seating at his burial service."

She looked at the pictures, reaching out and picking one up from the table. Teardrops splashed down on the glossy paper as she ran her fingers over the lines of her estranged husband's features. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to live in a world where he was dead and buried. "I want your word," she said quietly, not looking up from the image as her fingertips left greasy smears in their wake.

Finally, she looked up, tucking her dark hair behind her ears as she met his gaze unflinching, despite the tears that still welled up. "Promise me you won't touch him. Promise me this ends here, and the debt is squared if I..." she faltered at actually saying the words, "if I give myself to you." It didn't matter much to her now. Alex already hated her and thought she was a whore. She might as well prove those rumors right.

The very hint of a smile began to tug at the corners of Gambini's mouth as a noise was heard coming from the floors below. Glancing up to his men, the one closest nodded as they all headed out of the only entrance. Gambini leaned back into Kaitlynn. "Well one time won't forgive the entire debt, but you can definitely repay most of it just by showing some initiative. I admire how willing you are to make these payment arrangements. So many could take notice...." Leaning back in his chair, he uncrossed his legs and spread them. "I say we begin with the preliminaries now. Unwrap your future, and be a good little sex kitten, won't you?"

Swallowing hard, she slid to the floor, already close enough that she didn't really have to crawl. She was thankful for that little fact as her shaking hands reached out and unzipped his pants. Tears still flowed over her cheeks as she eased his pants down slightly, revealing the truth about how much he got off on making her suffer. Taking a deep breath, she wrapped her fingers around his length, and was just about to bring her lips to it when the door of the room exploded inwards.

Several man made their way in, each with weapons drawn. Each wore what appeared to be a flak jacket as one in particular placed his weapon into the wide eyed glare of Anthony Gambini. Much like the others he came with, the letters FBI were written in white across his chest. Gambini's eyes stared at the weapon as the man kept it trained on him.

"Anthony Milo Gambini, I presume? Please don't get up." The rest of the men circled the room, checking for anyone else and then returning their attention to the lead agent. "I'm Special Agent Farrell, and you sir... are under arrest for felony extortion, racketeering, and attempted murder. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can not afford one, one will be appointed for you."

Kitty rocked back on her heels, looking overwhelmed as her face grew red. Her eyes were wide as they took in the guns that were also pointing at her. Slowly, she lifted her hands, inching back away from Gambini. "I... I'm not with him," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

The lead agent glanced over to her, nodding his head. "Oh, we know, Mrs. Stryfe. We still need to take you in for questioning. Your husband is waiting for us."

She blinked, wondering if she was going crazy, or if she'd heard the man correctly. "My husband... is waiting?" And then the pieces clicked into place as she managed a small smile through her tears.

"Yes, ma'am. Your husband." One of the agents jerked Gambini out of his seat, pushing his head down against the table as he was handcuffed. His eyes were full of fire, though his face showed little in the way of emotion. Agent Farrell continued. "Along with a mole we had planted inside this man's organization, your husband helped us turn state's evidence. Mr. Gambini here is looking at at least 30 years in prison. And that's if he is really, really lucky! And judging by what I can see of him, I don't think he was all that lucky."

"And I thought I was the one who was going to get fucked!" She laughed sarcastically, looking at him there with his pants falling down as her own personal demon was cuffed like a common criminal.