Judge Miriam Calder raised one hand. “Mrs. Vega, please allow counsel to proceed.”
Dorian did not look at Marisol.
But he smiled.
Not a wide smile. Not one the judge would catch. Just a small cruel bend at the corner of his mouth, the kind Lucas had seen too many times in the doorway of the mansion kitchen, in the car after court-mandated visits, in the reflection of the television when Dorian thought no one was looking. It said: No one believes you.
Lucas noticed.