Chapter 13
The trial began in April.
The courtroom was packed.
Reporters. Spectators. Family members of the victims.
Marco was brought in wearing a prison uniform. His hands were cuffed.
He looked older. Tired. Defeated.
He saw us in the gallery—me, my brothers, Sarah, Rose.
His eyes met Leo's.
And for a moment, something like regret crossed his face.
Then the trial began.
The prosecution laid out their case.
They presented evidence of Marco's criminal history.
They called witnesses who had seen Marco commit other crimes.
They called Detective Carter, who testified about the day our father was killed.
And then they called Sarah.
She walked to the witness stand.
She was nervous, but she held her head high.
She told the court about her marriage to Marco.
About the abuse.
About the gambling.
About the day he left.
About the thugs who had come to her house.
About how the Donnelly brothers had saved her and her son.
Her voice was steady. Her testimony was powerful.
I could see the jury watching her, listening to every word.
When the defense cross-examined her, they tried to paint her as a bitter ex-wife, as someone who was lying to get revenge.
But Sarah didn't back down.
She told the truth.
And the jury believed her.
Then it was the defense's turn.
They called their own witnesses.
They tried to paint our father as a dangerous criminal.
They presented the ledgers from the chop shop.
They called Jimmy Rizzo, who testified that our father had been running the chop shop for years.
And then they called Marco.
He walked to the witness stand.
He looked at the jury. He looked at us.
And he told his story.
He told them about growing up poor, about his father dying when he was young, about living on the streets.
He told them about our father giving him a job, about teaching him how to fix cars, about being like a father to him.
He told them about finding out about the chop shop, about wanting a cut, about our father refusing.
He told them about going to the shop to collect, about arguing, about our father pulling a gun.
He told them about shooting our father in self-defense.
He told them about running away, about living in fear for ten years.
He told them about Sarah and Leo.
About how much he loved them.
About how sorry he was for everything he had done.
"I'm not a good man," he said, his voice breaking. "I've done terrible things. I've hurt people. I've destroyed lives. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
He looked at us.
"I'm sorry for what I did to your father," he said. "He was a good man to me. And I betrayed him. I'll have to live with that for the rest of my life."
He looked at Sarah and Leo.
"I'm sorry for what I did to you," he said. "You deserved better. You both did. I hope one day you can forgive me."
The courtroom was silent.
The jury looked moved.
I looked at my brothers.
Tony's face was hard. Vinnie's was angry. Joey and Tommy looked conflicted.
I didn't know what to feel.
Anger? Pity? Sadness?
All of it, maybe.
The trial lasted two weeks.
In the end, the jury found Marco guilty of manslaughter in the death of our father.
And guilty of murder in the deaths of three other men.
He was sentenced to thirty years in prison.
With no chance of parole.
He would be in his seventies when he got out.
If he got out.
As the officers led him away, Marco looked back at us.
He looked at Rose, who was crying.
He looked at Sarah, who was holding Leo tight.
He looked at Leo, who was watching him with big, confused eyes.
And he looked at us.
The Donnelly brothers.
The sons of the man he had killed.
He nodded.
Once.
May you like
And then he was gone.
---
