Chapter 17
Estella stood like a statue in the warm black of the night.
She could feel her skin prickling with goosebumps despite the summer air and she scoffed at herself, internally.
She’d grown so used to having back-up, of always having protection, that she’d forgotten how it felt to stand alone.
It was utterly exposing and sharply vulnerable, two experiences she avoided at all costs.
She felt the buzz of a message come through to her phone.
She couldn’t risk taking it out in case the light exposed her, but she knew what it meant.
Kenneth was letting her know he and the rest of her men were in position.
In position, that was, four suburbs away, meeting — finally — with Luciano, the leader of the Florellis and his own hoard of henchmen.
The next message she’d have from him would tell her everything she needed to know.
Success or failure. A rallying cry or the end of everything she’d worked for.
Tonight, the first domino would fall, one way or another, setting it all in motion.
A small whimper came from behind her. She wasn’t quite alone.
Ava was bound at the wrist and gagged again.
Estella felt bad for her, but appearances still mattered, after all.
And she couldn’t trust the young woman not to panic, to cry out, or to run.
Far too many lives depended on her silence for the next few minutes of this black night.
Then, movement. A nondescript white van pulled into the parking lot.
No lights on. Ava whimpered again but Estella nudged her with her foot and she went silent.
She, too, knew what was at stake tonight.
Estella watched as a single figure exited the van and moved purposefully toward them.
There was a supreme, terrifying confidence to that walk, not a skerrick of hesitation as they strolled at pace, alone, into a deserted park in the middle of the night.
Estella stepped forward from the trees and showed herself.
The figure didn’t pause until they were toe-to-toe.
There was just enough light from the stars and the distant streetlight for her to make out the details.
A sleek mop of steel grey hair, large dark eyes, a face marked by beauty and by time, a tapestry of wrinkles and lush sensuality. Bruna Florelli. The matriarch.
“Estella,” she said, her voice low and strong. “Do you have her?”
“She’s safe,” Estella said. “Do you trust me?”
The words hung in the air between them, the meaning so unmistakeable that it felt for a second like time slowed down. A blood pact. Bruna looked hard, into her eyes, and Estella knew what this would cost her.
“Give her to me,” Bruna said finally. “And then I will trust you.”
Estella should have known it would come to this. She had no other choice but to make the first leap off this cliff. She turned her head back toward the trees at her back.
“You can come out,” she kept her voice soft.
Ava materialised, still gagged and bound, wobbling a little on her uncertain legs.
Estella heard the small gasp of emotion from the older woman in front of her.
Ava fell into her grandmother’s arms, and Estella gently undid the ties from her wrists and the cloth gag from her mouth.
She stood by, keeping watch, as Ava wept and Bruna held her, stroking her hair and her face, inspecting her for damage.
“Thank you,” Bruna mouthed, over Ava’s shoulder. Her dark eyes were wet with emotion.
“And now your end,” Estella said firmly. Bruna straightened, pulling back from Ava, and holding tight to her hand, anchoring her, for the words that came next.
“It’s done,” she confirmed. “Luciano believes that she is dead, but she’s alive and safe.
It is better no one else knows where she is, but tonight…
” she looked down at Ava and wrapped her arm around her shoulders.
“Tonight I will send her daughter to her on a plane, back to her mother’s arms. Mi gioia,” she addressed Ava, tears streaming freely.
“There will be no more pain. It’s time to go. ”
Ava looked like she was seconds from crumpling, but she took two steps toward Estella and clasped her hand, wordlessly. Then, Bruna led her away to the van. Estella watched them go. Halfway across the lot, Bruna turned and met Estella’s eyes. She nodded, just once.
The pact was sealed.
“You should have seen his fucking face,” Kenneth said gleefully from his seat at Estella’s kitchen table as the sun rose, holding a cold pack to his busted nose.
The early rays of light were hitting low through the windows, casting everything, even her grizzled commander, in an aching red-gold glow.
He looked almost ethereal, greying hair, big pores, bloodstains and all.
“You pissed off Luciano Florelli, kiddo, but Tyler is alive and kicking and back where he belongs.”
“Call me that again and I’ll break whatever’s left of that pretty face,” Estella threatened him and he laughed through his bloodied teeth.
“Hope you’ve got one hell of a final game plan,” Kenneth said easily, and Estella went cold. He caught her expression and chuckled. “You think I survived years of this shit just by being beautiful?” he asked her. “If you want to tell me I’m seeing ghosts and imagining things, you can.”
“What makes you think you’re not?” Estella’s stomach clenched tight.
This man was in her house. In her kitchen.
Florence was gone; her assignment over. She was alone with him.
He’d kept her safe so far, had been loyal, and was all the personal enforcement that she had within the gang.
She had no choice but to trust him. Would it be her downfall?
“Fucking with the Florellis, well, that’s a time honoured tradition.
A year without some kind of bloodshed between us is like a year without Christmas.
You wouldn’t wish it. But you… you’re smarter than that.
Can’t see you starting something this big without a reason.
And unlike last time… I can’t see any reason at all.
Which means there’s something you’re not telling me.
” There was a silence. Nothing but the low hum of the refrigerator, a raucous screech of a cockatoo as it flew overhead, the distant ding of an early morning tram bell echoing up from the main road.
Estella waited, her mind full of spinning plates, unsure which was about to fall.
Kenneth shifted in his seat. “Of course, if you’re not telling me, then there’s a reason for that too.
So maybe I’m seeing ghosts where there’s none. ”
“Ghosts,” said Estella. She thought of Bruna: her father’s mother’s sister. “You’ve got one hell of an imagination, Ken.”
Half of his mouth smiled guilelessly, and he looked at her over his broken nose, his craggy face blood-smeared, dangerous. “Aye aye captain.”