Chapter 32
Estella was gathering steam with every day that passed.
There was something to be said for living on the edge, her awareness now sharply honed for threats.
Be it the Florellis escalating the war between them, the consistent danger from within her own ranks, or the constant breathing of Yolanda down her neck, Estella was battle ready.
She’d been born for this, after all, readying herself since the age of twelve.
Estella was a goddamned criminal athlete.
No time for yoga now, she started her day with a solid round at the punching bag in her home gym, absorbing shock after shock through her boxing gloves, forcing her bones to numb themselves to the sensation of being jarred every time she took a hit.
When the time finally came she’d dish out as much hurt as it took to win, get back up off the mat as many times as she could, because while there was every chance she couldn’t win against odds as long as these, she would sure as hell go down swinging.
No more distraction: she didn’t need Kenneth to remind her of that.
She kept her mind disciplined and sharp.
She got up early and went to bed early, a model goddamned citizen.
She eschewed all forms of numbing: no more alcohol, sex, or anything stronger than a black espresso coffee.
She stayed focused, meeting only clandestinely with Florence, with more layers of security and subterfuge than the KGB.
She did none of the crucial work — or the daily work of distraction — both were the work of others now.
Instead, she spent countless mornings in dutiful widowhood, keeping her mother-in-law company in her Ascot Vale home.
She took bunches of flowers and sweet treats from the bakery, the picture of Grant family serenity.
If the police were surveilling her, they’d be disappointed, and if the Florellis were stalking her, they’d see nothing but catch-ups between women.
Despite all efforts at resting to keep herself sharp, at night her dreams kept betraying her.
Sometimes it was Mike’s face, a leer appearing above her in their old bedroom.
You’ll never win, he hissed in her ear and she would wake abruptly, heart banging like a drum, sweat running in rivulets down her chest. Other nights it was Ellie, those big dark eyes full of danger, poised on the other side of a ravine, the space between them nothing but a rickety, swaying, broken-down old bridge.
Estella pressed her face into her pillow and tried, with everything she had, to think nothing.
It was then, in the early hours, drifting in and out of reality that her mother would come to her.
And those were the worst moments of all.
Despite it all, Estella would wake up, drink her black coffee, pummel the hell out of her punching bag, shower off the stench of fear and dress to fucking kill.
The latest Florelli girl was still gone without a trace.
Two of Luciano’s nephews found themselves arrested for drug trafficking and one of his cousins died unexpectedly of a mysterious heart attack in the middle of a family dinner, even though he was only forty-three and fit as a fiddle.
They were in uproar. Good. The Grants thrived heartily in the mess of their enemy’s chaos.
Chess pieces kept moving. Yolanda seemed quiet but Estella knew that appearances were deceiving.
The last time Yolanda had gone dark she’d piled five new murders onto the table as if they were little trophies, and she couldn’t wait to award Estella every single one.
Estella knew her time was running out, but she’d started this marathon far too long ago to give up on the final sprint.
When you were this exhausted, something had to give.
And so, once in a while, savouring it like a whole mouthful of decadent silky chocolate, she would lie back in her sheets and think of Ellie.
Sometimes she allowed herself the heat and burn of it, slipping her fingers between her thighs and thinking of Ellie giving it all up, all for Estella.
Afterwards, loose-limbed with pleasure she’d feel an after-hit of her own power, as if even the memory could fuel her.
But every now and then, far more rarely, she’d let herself sink into something so much darker.
She imagined Ellie, soft-eyed and tender, a home, a life, her head in Estella’s lap, her laughter on a cold evening, her body warm, her mouth tender.
The sweetness carried her through, even as it inevitably turned bitter when she forced her mind back to the reality at hand.
Despite the dull throb of pain, she still allowed herself to go there whenever she felt the need run too deep.
After all, there were only two ways out of this: she’d be dead or she’d be in prison.
If she was in prison, she’d have all the time in the world to dream; if she was dead, none of it would matter anymore.
But if she was unlucky enough to have her life flash before her eyes as she went, then by god she’d want a little bit of sweetness to hang onto as she finally bled out.
She started staying at work late; far later than a legitimate business woman should be staying in the office, but truth be told, Estella was starting to prefer focusing on work than being home, alone with her ghosts.
Ken had the night off, so tonight it was Vera keeping guard.
While her anteroom was silent she could just about feel her bodyguard’s irritation mounting as the night dragged out.
Estella, of course, dug in her heels and worked a little longer, just to show Vera who was boss, but finally, she locked up her desk, picked up her handbag and strode out.
Vera didn’t so much get to her feet as uncoil like a tightly wound spring.
She led the way to the car, senses bristling like an alley cat, and Estella felt like a child with a parent holding each hand.
Vera drove her home, wordless as always.
In fact, she’d probably heard the woman say a total of about three words in the whole time she’d worked for her.
“Hold up.” Oh, wow, two more words. Estella felt almost amused as Vera spoke suddenly, her voice stern, as she nosed the front of the car up the drive, stopping close to Estella’s front gate. The amusement died, as she glanced up and saw the reason for Vera’s uncharacteristic chattiness.
Sprawled on the ground right outside her front gate like an abandoned parcel was a body.
The headlights of the car highlighted a hint of chestnut in the long dark hair spilling onto the stones like blood and Estella’s heart stopped cold in her chest. There, almost inches from her front tyres, lay the crumpled form of Ellie Graham.
Vera flicked on the child locks before Estella could leap from the car.
Somewhere in her very distant mind she knew that Vera was just doing her job, protecting Estella from throwing herself headlong into unknown danger, but she was incapable of comprehending anything right now; she’d tear Vera limb from limb before she let her stop her.
Vera moved too fast for her as Estella clawed at her in blind terror.
Her bodyguard exited the vehicle, gun drawn — a fact Estella could only distantly grasp — because who cared if this was a fucking trap?
She frantically shoved her body from the backseat through to the front and tumbled out the passenger door, crumbling to her knees at Ellie’s side.
Her hands were on the body in an instant.
She was sipping air like her lungs had turned to stone, unable to fully draw breath, crying out in relief when she found warm skin under all that blood.
Ellie’s blood. Ellie was groaning, eyes opening on Estella’s face and Estella was gritting her teeth so hard she couldn’t even inhale, so somehow it was Ellie who was reassuring her.
“I’m okay. It’s okay, I’m okay….” she mumbled, and Estella almost collapsed on top of her at the sound of her voice.
“You’re not.” Estella was choking on fear. “You’re bleeding—”
“It’s… I’m… it’s…” Ellie closed her eyes again, as if she were too tired to finish the words.
“Stay with me!” Estella wanted to shake her, but instead she pushed her bloodied hair from her face and Ellie opened her eyes, hazily, before they drifted closed again.
“Call an ambulance,” Estella ordered Vera, who still had her gun drawn, her head up, keeping watch as though whoever had dumped Ellie here was still lurking instead of disappearing into the dark streets like a fucking coward.
“No!” Ellie found her lungs. Estella jerked back at her ferocious vehemence. “No ambulance. No hospital. He said…he said they’d come for my family, Estella. No!”
Estella looked down at Ellie in the bright white of the car headlights.
Blood had oozed down the neck of her dress, her eyes were hazy, angry, scared and everything about her was completely terrifying.
She took in the deepest breath she could, gripped Ellie’s hand and turned to Vera, grim words falling from her lips.
“Call my mother-in-law.”