by Rimmy London
“Hello!” The voice was familiar and Luke replaced the gun—he recognized it too. My father’s horse seemed relieved as it clambered to a stop on the slimy ground,. “What’s wrong?” my dad asked—his voice was strong even as he slid from the saddle. “There an emergency?”
“No Sir,” Luke answered, stepping back and giving me the obvious lead. My dad turned to me, waiting.
“Well, actually dad there is an emergency.” I said. He made his way up the ledge to stand beside me. “I think I’ve found a way to try and help get Givanni—”
“Ella,” His stern voice didn’t stop me this time.
“To help him,” I held my hand up. “Wait. Senator Boswik—how do you know him?” That did it. My dad’s angry face melted into confusion.
“Dovan? He helped me with the grazing laws and cattle rights. He’s a good man. What does he have to do with anything?”
“He’s trying to help Givanni too. But he can’t be upfront about it. There’s corruption everywhere—”
“Well, that’s the government for you.”
I huffed.
“Yeah, I know. But this is important enough for him to sneak around trying to help.”
My father kicked one boot at the dirt. “So what is it, Ella—why are you out here? I could see your horses dancing around in that storm and knew right off who it was. I was sure you couldn’t wait two days. But, why would you come out here?”
My chest tightened a little, and digging into my pocket I held up the invitation. “I need you to take me here. Tomorrow.” I said. His eyes narrowed. “Your name is on the invitation, so I can’t go without you.”
“And Dovan will be there,” he stated, sounding entirely too uninterested.
“Yes, and maybe there’s some way to talk to him and see what’s going on.” I waited for an answer but he just wiped at the brim of his hat. I knew what he was going to say, and I couldn’t let him say it. “Dad, someone from the United States government is working with the Italian mafia to try and frame Givanni for murder. We have to do something. At least try. It’s not like we’re going anywhere dangerous. It’s just a dinner—please.” All my emotion escaped in the last word, and all I could do was hope he said yes. Glancing over at Luke I didn’t like the hard set in his jaw. I turned back – Luke could disagree all he wanted, it was my father who had the final say.
With a jerk of his head, he stepped down and gathered the reins in his hand again. “Alright, Ella. Let’s go.”
The breath caught in my throat—there was no backing out now.
Chapter 6
“Your invitation please?” My father’s lip twisted up in a polite smile as he held out the invitation. The woman flipped through her list quickly, checking us off and smiling sweetly. “Thank you, Sir.”
Even with a designer suit, my father’s hat looked appropriate as it dipped in return. I linked my arm with his, my clicky heels tapping out a quick rhythm. We didn’t start a conversation, just kept up with the flow of guests weaving through marble hallways. When the ballroom opened up in front of us, I finally took in the number of people. It was packed with hundreds of guests. My father’s lips pressed together and we sidestepped to the wall, observing. Although I tried to keep a hopeful expression I felt crushed, sure I could never hold a private conversation with Senator Boswik in this crowd—or even find him.
“So, what do you plan to do? Interrogate the entire room?” my dad asked with a dry laugh. He nodded toward a table, and I followed. My mind was working double time. The dinner would be over in two hours—I had to think of something.
“Mind if we join you?” Marco’s voice was distinct. In slow motion I curved my lips into a smile, forcing myself to remember Givanni’s exact words—the reason he trusted this man.
“Have a seat.” My father said, glancing at me.
I tried to wake up. “I’m sorry. Dad, this is Marco Ginetti. He’s the President of Shellbrook, and Givanni’s uncle.”
My father’s eyebrows lifted with awareness and he stretched his hand across the table. Chattering pleasantries, Marco’s manner was friendlier than I’d seen. The beautiful woman next to him smiled and blushed, her deep brown hair pulled back in a sleek twist.
Smiling when the conversation turned to me, it was as if Givanni had never existed, and I’d merely worked for Marco without a single bump in the road. I laughed, not even sure what the joke had been. What were the odds that this man would just happen upon our table? That he would enter the room minutes after and spot us in this crowd? Glancing down at my hands I clasped them together atop the silky cloth. “Is Senator Boswik here this evening?” I asked, catching Marco’s look of warning right before he replaced it with a toothy smile.
“I believe so… when the awards begin we will see him I’m sure.” There were nods and mumbled agreement, each of us glancing around the room again. Marco caught my eye, shaking his head at me like I was five.
I glared back. There was no way I would let him ruin this chance. Standing I cleared my throat. “There are a few people I would like to meet, and since we have some time I think I’ll wander the room for a bit.” Ignoring the silence that followed I pushed in my chair and left with a swish of pale grey fabric.
The crowd was mostly seated, giving me the chance to cover ground quickly. Trying not to look rushed, I kept my stride long and meticulously checked the faces of every table I passed. But near the front of the room, I began to see a pattern. Men and women with place cards and neatly pressed suit coats were similar despite their differences, and I realized I’d reached the preferred seats. I made my way to the side of the room, scanning faces.
“Excuse me, Miss.”
“Oh,” Stepping back I allowed what looked like a father and son to pass, the son grinning back at me shamelessly. His youthful face was attractive and I failed to suppress a smile in return, appreciating the minute of distraction.
I’d reached a back hallway aside the last row of tables. Reasoning that I could be back in my seat in five minutes, I started down the hallway. Turning corners, the long stretch of tile flooring passed a set of bathrooms before ending with a single door. Leaving the social chatter behind, I pushed the door open cautiously and stepped through. Curtains and seats, along with stairs leading to various levels had me feeling like I was officially backstage. There was a mumbled conversation from the opposite end of the room, and after a clicking step I whisked my heels off and looped my finger through the straps, padding behind the curtains in bare feet. My breath caught when I heard it, and I teetered to a stop. Senator Boswik. Making my way more slowly I listened to their conversation. The other voice was foreign to me, but it rang with authority.
“You know my position Dovan. I cannot be involved in this type of activity.”
“Save it, Jerry!” Senator Boswik’s voice was desperate, and I fought with the urge to get a glimpse of his face. “You are involved, so what are you going to do about it?! I know how this works, and I doubt you have been oblivious till now. Find that decency I respect you for and end this connection - sever it!”
It was silent and I pleaded whoever this was they would agree. It had to be Givanni they were talking about.
“Goodnight Dovan. Do not contact me again.”
I felt my heart drop, but really there hadn’t been much hope, to begin with. Whoever the other man was, he wanted to stay clear.
“It has to come from you, Jerry,” Senator Boswiks voice was turned in another direction. “You have the power to stop this, Mr. President.”
I flinched. One shoe slipped from my hand and hit the floor, the sound like a clash of cymbals. Jerry Manwell? Clutching the other to my chest I waited with wide eyes, not daring to breathe. Seconds passed… and then minutes. I drew in a shaky breath. “Dovan,” I whispered, his name passing through my lips so gently I could barely hear it myself. But it was enough.
Parting the curtain with one hand the senator stared back at me with a mixture of fear and anger. “Who are you?” He hisse
d, his words as hushed as mine had been.
“A friend of Givannis. Do you remember me? I came to your office with him…”
“Loriel,” He breathed, familiarity washing over his features. “You shouldn’t be here.”
My hands were shaking, but I doubted I would be given another chance like this one. “Please Dov—Senator Boswik, Givanni is innocent. He is being manipulated and I worry that his trial will never be fair.”
“Of course it won’t!” He gripped my elbow, pulling me further into the curtains. “Dear girl listen to me…” He glanced agitatedly around the room. “Innocent people die every day. People just like you trying to break down something that is impossible to stop.”
My heart felt crushed. Where was the idealistic courageous man Givanni had spoken of? “But if we do nothing…” I argued.
He shook his head violently. “No, you misunderstand me. I will not rest until Givanni is a free man. You have my word on that. If I were to die they would be found out. But you…” He left it at that, his eyebrows rising.
Not this again. I was tired of being protected as if I was the only mortal in existence. “Look,” I started, trying to ignore the fear in his eyes. “Just let me help, please. I am going to get involved whether you do or not.”
Releasing my arms he studied the floor for a long time. “I’m sorry,” He huffed. “But I’m afraid I can’t help you. Return to your seat.” He left quickly, and alone in a room full of curtains and shadows I couldn’t help but turn and run.
I raced down the hall in bare feet until, rounding the corner, I tripped to a stop and tossed my shoes on the floor in front of me —quickly stepping into them.
Glazed meats and steamed vegetables had been piled high on every table, leaving the room oblivious to my stumbling around. All except for one man—Allan Conner lifted his gaze. His eyes settled on me like ice. “Well good evening young lady,” he cooed.
My stomach coiled sickeningly, the spike in my pulse almost overtaking me. I told myself it just wasn’t possible even as my legs screamed at me to run. But he was there, standing agilely from his seat—less cumbered by his massive size than I would have hoped. His white suit was identical to the one I had seen when we first met. No doubt it gave the impression he wanted to strangers, and was like a slap in the face to all who knew him well enough. Something filthy, torn, and soaked in blood would be more fitting.
“And what a chance meeting this is, don’t you agree?” His voice dripped with false gentile. He took a step closer and I glanced at his table, seeing the young lady he was with, her eyes as large as dinner plates. She knew him well. The other guests were oblivious to anything but themselves and their splendid conversation. “I said, don’t you agree?” he repeated.
My eyes shot back to his, my already shaking body trembling all at once. “Don’t expect an answer from me,” I mumbled, not wanting to draw attention.
Darkness crept into his face and he took a confident step forward. “No, I suppose I shouldn’t,” He shifted his mass, rolling from one foot to the next. “But I’m glad we’ve met so that I can give you something I’ve held onto all this time.” His fat hand clamped around my wrist before I could move, pulling my hand up steadily. “Let this be a memory and a warning,” His finger traced the scar along my wrist, and I shuddered.
Clamping my hand into a fist I tried to feel strong—to be courageous like I’d wanted from Dovan. But when it came to Conner, all I ever felt was fear. Clear, cold, unrelenting fear. The photograph he pressed to my hand was folded and worn. “What happens once, hardly happens twice—and anyway I doubt he could come to your rescue again. You, who hardly has the nerve to stand in front of me.”
The power that surged from my core was like a shock of heat and steel, ripping through every part of me. Whipping my hand across his face, it struck like a lash of leather. The room hushed in reaction.
He tumbled back in shock before steadying himself, and his eyes became a deadly threat. “You would not survive again—and neither will he,” he growled. “Keep your distance.”
I fled, widening the space between us as quickly as I could. It seemed like all eyes in the room had turned to me, and I tried to keep from falling apart. With a quick glance at my table, I saw my father and Marco were watching me, but whether or not they’d seen my interaction with Conner, I couldn’t tell.
I changed direction and backed into the most secluded corner I could find to unfold the picture. Keeping it cupped in my hand I fell into the memory. The crossed hands tied with cords were dripping blood. I could remember every sensation from the pressure of the plastic against my skin when they were tied, to the searing pain when it cut through. The complete fear of being abducting and not knowing why. Tightening my fist around the photograph I squeezed as hard as I could, smashing the infuriating picture. Threaten me all you want, I thought angrily. Because I know your type, and you only threaten what you fear.
The rest of the evening was a blur, with the way I jumped into the lead at our table, manipulating the conversation as much as I could. I was ridiculously afraid they were going to ask about Conner, so I didn’t give them the chance. Instead, I planned to find out once and for all if Marco was a friend. My questions never stopped. What awards did he know about? Did he know the Senator well?
Switching tactics I decided to learn more about his childhood. Where did he grow up? Who was he close to? Which schools did he attend? Did he have any family? Eventually, he tired of my antics, although he didn’t seem to know why I had pried at him like a seagull to a tightly sealed clam. His frustration, though, was clear enough.
“No Ms. Lane—I was very close to my parents. Just as, I am sure, you are to your father. My only brother was my dearest companion, and we were practically identical in skillset. Our only difference was in courage—he was the courageous one. He’d stand-alone against an entire army if it suited him. And he was killed for it.” He took a breath, and I made the connection slowly—Givanni’s father. “Now if we could perhaps sit silently for a moment?” he asked, taking a long drink from his sparkling glass.
The other two at our table didn’t object to that, glancing at me as if I was about to spout a dozen more questions. But I was too shocked to feel ashamed. He knew. Marco knew what had really happened to Givanni’s parents. I let my eyes flicker up from the dessert plates, seeing the hard lines of his face and wondering if that meant I could trust him—or not.
The ride home was a blur, and my father seemed at a loss as to what conversation I could be trusted with. To him, I guessed that the evening had been a bore and a shocking display of rudeness from his daughter. We entered our hotel room and I slumped down on the padded bench by a glowing gas fireplace, sure the shock would wear off soon and I could produce a clear thought. My dad snapped the deadbolt behind us, letting out a long sigh. “Ella…” He spoke quietly, padding across the soft carpet and settling next to me. He took the time to slip off his boots. “Who was that man?”
I finally turned from the gas flames. “I told you, it was Mr. Ginetti. My boss.” I said.
He was shaking his head at me. “No, not him—the other man. The one you hit.” My lips parted. Even from the other side of the room I should have known he would see me.
“Allen Conner.” Came a voice from the back of the room. We both gasped, my father on his feet. Pushing aside a dark velvet curtain, Senator Boswik held traces of an apology on his face. “He is the most prominent criminal this side of the Pacific.”
I stood as well, still rolling the tiny, crumpled photo in my hand. “So what is a prominent criminal doing at a political awards banquet? “ I accused, “That seems like a pretty clear conflict of interests.”
My father laughed. “Those two occupations are surprisingly similar,” He turned to face the Senator. “But this I think you already knew Dovan. Tell me what you are up to.”
Dovan shrugged, pulling out a chair and falling into it, exhausted. “To tell you the truth Charles, I think I’m at a wall
, and Loriel here just might be able to get me around it.”
“Not a chance,” my dad returned.
“Hold on,” I said, crossing the room to pull out an adjacent chair. “I thought you were against this—against me. You said it yourself. Why change your mind now?”
My father huffed, but seemed just as interested to hear the answer. It was a tense minute before Senator Boswik looked up. “An awards banquet is a terrible place to talk, and I would never work with you so publicly. But, what I need from you—I can’t in clear conscience ask it of you Loriel Lane.” The deep sincerity that rang in his voice was unnerving, like he belonged to a more patriotic time in history. He took a breath. “But I abandoned my conscience years ago—that should help.” He winked at my surprised face, standing and pacing the room as he continued. My father did not look amused. “The only thing we really need to free Givanni not only of the crime but of the accusation in the first place, is hard evidence that he is being manipulated… or set up. We all know by whom.” He glanced in my direction and I nodded. “You will never find evidence like that in Italy, but here in the United States, we are so particular about documenting everything. I just happen to know who has hard evidence, but for a senator to retrieve it would be close to impossible.” His eyes scanned my father’s end of the room. “Manwell has them,” he continued. “They show a clear connection to the United States Government and the IM with a dominance on their side that, although it has been strained the last few years, is still clearly in effect. Also, they have a written description of the very day that Givanni is accused of murder…” He paused, glancing at my father and waiting for a reaction. He didn’t get one. “Well, they had planned on framing Givanni, but they didn’t know a reporter had been working undercover with the group.” He paused, and I tried not to look thrilled as my father glanced my way. “To get to them you would have to board his yacht, and find where he keeps the documents.”
