Rage of Angels is a 1980 novel by Sidney Sheldon. The novel revolves around young attorney Jennifer Parker, as she rises as a successful lawyer after being framed for threatening the chief witness against a Mafia boss by mistakenly giving him a dead canary with a broken neck which in turn leads to a situation that promises to break Her life's dreams. As the story progresses, the protagonist is romantically torn between a famous politician, who helps her rise again and a Mafia boss, the man that framed her who later swears to destroy her after he comes to know of her affair with the politician that had short-lived though long enough to gift her a son.
From the book
Two thousand years ago in Rome, the contest would have been staged at the
Circus Neronis or the Colosseum, where voracious lions would have been
stalking the victim in an arena of blood and sand, eager to tear him to
pieces. But this was the civilized twentieth century, and the circus was
being staged in the Criminal Courts Building of downtown Manhattan,
Courtroom Number 16.
In place of Suetonius was a court stenographer, to record the event for
posterity, and there were dozens of members of the press and visitors
attracted by the daily headlines about the murder trial, who queued up
outside the courtroom at seven o'clock in the morning to be assured of a
seat.
The quarry, Michael Moretti, sat at the defendant's table, a silent,
handsome man in his early thirties. He was tall and lean, with a face
formed of converging planes that gave him a rugged, feral look. He had
fashionably styled black hair, a prominent chin with an unexpected dimple
in it and deeply
set olive-black eyes. He wore a tailored gray suit, a light blue shirt with
a darker blue silk tie, and polished, custommade shoes. Except for his eyes,
which constantly swept over the courtroom, Michael Moretti was still.
The lion attacking him was Robert Di Silva, the fiery District Attorney for
the County of New York, representative of The People. If Michael Moretti
radiated stillness, Robert Di Silva radiated dynamic movement; he went
through life as though he were five minutes late for an appointment. He was
in constant motion, shadowboxing with invisible opponents. He was short and
powerfully built, with an unfashionable graying crew cut. Di Silva had been
a boxer in his youth and his nose and face bore the scars of it. He had
once killed a man in the ring and he had never regretted it. In the years
since then, he had yet to learn compassion.
From the book
Two thousand years ago in Rome, the contest would have been staged at the
Circus Neronis or the Colosseum, where voracious lions would have been
stalking the victim in an arena of blood and sand, eager to tear him to
pieces. But this was the civilized twentieth century, and the circus was
being staged in the Criminal Courts Building of downtown Manhattan,
Courtroom Number 16.
In place of Suetonius was a court stenographer, to record the event for
posterity, and there were dozens of members of the press and visitors
attracted by the daily headlines about the murder trial, who queued up
outside the courtroom at seven o'clock in the morning to be assured of a
seat.
The quarry, Michael Moretti, sat at the defendant's table, a silent,
handsome man in his early thirties. He was tall and lean, with a face
formed of converging planes that gave him a rugged, feral look. He had
fashionably styled black hair, a prominent chin with an unexpected dimple
in it and deeply
set olive-black eyes. He wore a tailored gray suit, a light blue shirt with
a darker blue silk tie, and polished, custommade shoes. Except for his eyes,
which constantly swept over the courtroom, Michael Moretti was still.
The lion attacking him was Robert Di Silva, the fiery District Attorney for
the County of New York, representative of The People. If Michael Moretti
radiated stillness, Robert Di Silva radiated dynamic movement; he went
through life as though he were five minutes late for an appointment. He was
in constant motion, shadowboxing with invisible opponents. He was short and
powerfully built, with an unfashionable graying crew cut. Di Silva had been
a boxer in his youth and his nose and face bore the scars of it. He had
once killed a man in the ring and he had never regretted it. In the years
since then, he had yet to learn compassion.
No comments:
Post a Comment
leave your opinion