Chapter 44
Estella was distracted, off her game, sweating.
She paced the interrogation room, furious, caged.
She couldn’t stop thinking of Alessia. Where had she run to?
Had she been caught? She might be beloved to the head of the Florelli family, but Estella knew full well that a betrayal like this would bring forth a fury that wouldn’t spare a seventeen-year-old girl.
She was in desperate danger and with Bruna irrevocably out of the picture and Estella in police custody, there was no one there to save her.
Her hands opened and closed helplessly by her sides.
God, she needed her phone. She needed to call Florence, primarily, then Ken after that.
She wanted — with a pain that was almost visceral — to call Ellie, to warn her that her protection was compromised, Estella defanged, and probably never getting out of jail.
She also wanted to hear her voice, one final pointless time.
Finally, the door swung open and Yolanda returned.
Estella faced up to her. There was more salt than pepper now in her chin-length shiny bob.
Good. Estella hoped that she’d made Yolanda work her fucking arse off for this.
She’d hoped against hope that her time wouldn’t run out until her mission was complete, and it was this bony-middle-aged woman who’d ripped her off track, right on the cusp of it all.
For a moment, Estella imagined flying across the room and getting one sharp satisfying punch to the nose of this career-ending cop, before the walls all caved in on her forever.
She held herself taut. The only thing she could do now was stall her for time and pray that Florence hadn’t meant what she’d said. Florence had been right, after all: Estella couldn’t live with the job half done. There was so little glory here.
“Estella,” Yolanda said. “Your representation has arrived.”
Estella watched as Sasha entered the room.
She looked tired, her daughter probably keeping her up at night.
Her gaze was steady but ever so slightly checked out.
Estella felt one more piece of hope crumble.
Sasha had changed noticeably since Yolanda had referenced the possibility of more murders out there, ready to be tied to Sasha’s most notorious client.
It wasn’t that Sasha judged her. Not really.
She represented criminals for a living; she was well passed being shocked by bad deeds.
It was more that Estella had always had a secret sense that Sasha saw through it all, to Estella the human, and that she’d liked her, maybe even believed in her, in some distant way.
That belief was gone now. Sasha was going to do her job, just like she always did, but the fight had gone out of her eyes.
Every last hope she had — maybe even that Alessia had — hinged on this one conversation.
Estella met Sasha’s eyes, hoping her lawyer could read the contrition there, that she hadn’t let her in sooner.
But Sasha simply took a seat at the table, gesturing to Estella to join her.
Yolanda sat down opposite. After the preliminaries for the benefit of the cameras and whoever else was watching, Yolanda wasted no time.
“Earlier this evening there was an explosion at a factory in Maidstone, owned by a Mr Allan Horlock, a longtime associate of your late husband. On the arrival of emergency services, it was found to be a significant meth lab and sorting facility for what appears to be millions of dollars’ worth of street drugs. ”
Estella just nodded. Yolanda already knew that she knew exactly what the Maidstone facility was used for. What she didn’t know was that Estella was also dangling on tenterhooks to find out from Yolanda exactly had happened there tonight.
“While the factory was largely destroyed in the resulting blaze, there did not seem to be any occupants in the building. However in the carpark, we found two vehicles riddled with gunshots. Both were empty but had significant blood splatter across the front seats.”
Estella sucked in a breath. Bruna had warned her.
I’m not your lapdog, Estella. If I do this, I will do it my way.
You didn’t reign amongst mafioso your whole entire life — especially not as a woman — without coming to the end with a series of vendettas.
Bruna had left as brutally as she’d led.
But who was the clean-up crew? Not Luciano, surely?
Was he alive? Was he right now burning through the streets seeking revenge?
She thought again of a seventeen-year-old girl alone in the dark streets.
Think, Estella! She fought furiously to keep herself in check.
The noose was around her neck, but it wasn’t over until her body dropped.
“At about the same time we had reports of a woman being kidnapped around a block from the factory. She was described as elderly and bundled into a white van with blacked out windows.”
Estella tried hard not to react. Bruna had either aimed for maximum distraction on her way out, or she was already dead.
“As we’ve established, my client was at home during these events,” Sasha said, sounding bored.
“Your client was under surveillance at the time. She was found to be visiting the home of Luciano Florelli, a man who was also under surveillance. He, however, was not home, having been called out to the factory in Maidstone after his wife received a tip-off that a significant quantity of the Florelli’s heroin supply — which had been recently intercepted by parties unknown — had in fact been stolen by Grant associates with the aid of a double-crossing family member, and was being stored there on site.
He very narrowly missed being blown up, I may add. ”
Estella privately felt that this was a shame, but she wasn’t going to tell Yolanda just how little she’d grieve the loss of such a man. Yolanda didn’t sound particularly hung up on this point either, her gaze unwavering as she wound closer to her point.
“While Luciano and his wife were conveniently absent, your client was absconding from his home with his granddaughter. Considering we’re talking about a child here, this raises the spectre of a suspected kidnapping attempt.”
“Did you find her?” Estella couldn’t stop herself from blurting. Sasha shot her a furious look, but Estella had to know. Yolanda paused, her head cocked and her eyes narrowed.
“Unfortunately, Alessia Florelli appears to have vanished. There are serious concerns for her welfare, considering her grandmother, Bruna, is believed to be the elderly lady concurrently abducted across town. Rather a busy night, Estella.”
The last time Estella had sat opposite Yolanda she’d only aimed to keep her frustrated, busy and off her tail. This time she could only watch helplessly, as Yolanda sketched out everything she’d uncovered. All of a sudden, Yolanda changed tack.
“Luciano started out as a pimp,” the detective said, as though Estella Grant needed to have the head of the Florelli crime family gangsplained to her. “He moved into the drug trade as his main business, but he still has a significant interest in human trafficking.”
“He’s a charmer,” Estella agreed. Her stomach cramped at the very thought of all Luciano Florelli had done in his long and horrifying life.
A wave of relief trickled through her, as she thought of her achievement tonight and for a second — a closing cell block door in her immediate future not withstanding — she wanted to smile. Yolanda watched her closely.
“Luciano is a monster,” the detective said slowly.
“I’ve watched him for years. He grows stronger as he ages, always hiding behind the image of the benign patriarch.
Nonno, the family man, you know? So proud of his children and grandchildren, his nieces and nephews.
Christenings, graduations, weddings… he presides over them all. ”
“It’s a front,” Estella said, unable to help herself. Yolanda paused, but Estella waved to her to go on.
“It’s not just a front,” Yolanda corrected her.
“But the thing is, his daughters, his granddaughters… they’re his property.
Those big family weddings are nothing more than him demonstrating his power, giving away women to his friends and associates as favours.
Horrifying, when you think about it. But here’s the thing: recently, Florelli women keep disappearing.
Out of abusive marriages, before abusive marriages.
And here you are, Estella, in the company of Alessia Florelli, right before her eighteenth birthday and right under Luciano’s eye. So I find myself asking… why?”
Estella found her heart rate increasing.
An odd feeling was sneaking through her body, as she watched Yolanda speaking.
A tiny prickle, but she knew to pay attention to it.
She watched Yolanda like a hawk. Yolanda didn’t move an inch, but still Estella got the impression the detective was circling her.
“You see, it almost looks to me like Estella Grant might be working with someone within the Florelli ranks, to liberate Florelli women? Is that what’s happening, Estella? They’re not kidnappings, they’re rescue missions?”
“I thoroughly recommend that you don’t answer this question,” Sasha warned her. Estella stayed quiet, waiting.
“But then, I have to ask myself, why would Estella Grant lift one single finger to help the Florellis? These are the people who kidnapped and tortured your mother, the people you hold accountable for her death. They’re the same people who gunned down your father.
You’ve spent years now, working within the Grant family, at war with the people who destroyed your family.
So I have to assume that would be impossible: a fantasy.
It must instead be exactly what it looks on face value: the Grants and the Florellis constantly killing and maiming each other. Except for this.”
She took a piece of paper out of the folder in front of her and slid it across the table.
Estella’s right hand twitched, when she saw what was on it.
She balled her hand into a fist, trying to keep it from shaking, but she couldn’t unsee what Yolanda had just shown her.
A long-lens photograph of two women, sitting together at an outdoor table of a cafe.
They were mid conversation, both smiling.
“Do you recognise them?” Yolanda asked her.
It was quite clear that Yolanda knew that she did.
Estella didn’t respond. She was frozen with horror.
“Violetta and Ava Florelli,” Yolanda said.
“Violetta, Alessia’s mother, and Luciano’s daughter, previously believed to have been murdered in August last year.
Ava, her other daughter, was witnessed being abducted in November.
Clumsy kidnappers again, almost like they wanted the crime to be seen. ”
“You need to destroy this,” Estella whispered, staring down in distress at the photo of the two women, discovered. “They need to be warned. If you can find them, he can too.”
“Stop talking,” Sasha snapped.
“You sound concerned, Estella,” Yolanda observed. “Almost like you care.”
Estella looked at the woman across from her.
Her best and worst adversary. A woman who’d seen the worst of Melbourne’s gang activity, who knew the names and faces of the victims, who knew exactly what the human cost of all that filthy money looked like— drugs unleashed on the streets, families torn apart, innocent bystanders traumatised, vulnerable women and children being used and traded, shooting deaths on suburban streets and shopping centres.
A woman who’d made her life’s work to bring down organised crime. A woman like Estella.
“Yolanda,” she said now, her voice firm, decision made. “I need you to access my phone.”
Yolanda didn’t hesitate, for more than a second.
She signalled to the darkened glass window to their left, and within a minute, the door to the interrogation room opened and a young officer delivered her Estella’s phone in a plastic baggie.
Yolanda didn’t bother with gloves. She simply tipped it out on the table and barked “Passcode,” at Estella.
Estella gave her the digits. “Go to the email inbox,” she said. “Whatever you need is in there.”
“Estella,” Sasha growled, at the end of her tether.
But Estella shook her off. Her lawyer could only watch beside her as Yolanda’s fingers swiped.
Together, they saw her frown, then her eyes go huge and round, as she kept swiping, again and again.
Then she clicked on something that made her scrunch her face up in concentration and then go white.
Her hands started shaking. Finally, she looked up at Estella, her jaw agape.
“Fuck,” whispered Detective Yolanda Markos.
Estella reached out for the phone, and for a long second Yolanda held it tight, desperate not to let go of what Estella had just given her.
Estella had seen just the smallest glimpse of what Alessia had insisting on sending her, the decision that may have sealed the girl’s fate: whole photo album’s worth of victims. You have to find them.
Estella’s fingers were shaking, her eyes imploring.
She tried to keep her face entirely still, angled away from the camera while still making eye contact with Yolanda.
She had no more leverage than this, no other bargain to strike, no weapon to use.
She mouthed the last word she had left, a word that humiliated her with its vulnerability. Please.
“Show me,” Yolanda said finally, reaching the phone toward her, not letting go of the other end.
Estella opened up the messaging app and created a new thread, agonisingly careful to make sure the screen wasn’t angled toward any of the cameras. She typed quickly. “It’s in here,” she said aloud to the room. She let go of the phone and let Yolanda read the unsent message she’d left on the screen.
I’m only half done. One down, one to go. We’re on the same side. I need 24 hours
Yolanda looked up. She pressed the back button, deleting Estella’s words instantly.
Her muscles were visibly trembling and her face was sickly white.
Everything flashed before Estella’s eyes: Alessia running into the darkness; Ellie bloodied and bruised; Bruna’s eyes as she reached to pull her granddaughter safely into her arms; Celestina Carletti — her mother — bending down to kiss Estella goodnight, the night before she was taken.
Yolanda stood up abruptly. “Interview terminated, 9:57PM.”