56. AMANDA

Lorenzo Ricci finally gets enough composure back to retrieve his microphone and find a camera.

“Obviously, this has not followed proper procedure,” he says. “But such is the nature of live television.”

He glares at Dante and me.

“And given that the prince and princess have broken the rules of the debate, I shall offer Chancellor Huber another opportunity for rebuttal.”

Huber clears his throat.

“I’ll need a few minutes to organize my thoughts,” he says.

Ricci touches his earpiece and nods.

“Our producers are going to a live analysis of the debate with our panel of experts,” he says. “We will return with the chancellor in just a few minutes.”

The red lights on the cameras all go out at once. The camera operators sling off their headphones and group together on the stage, no doubt talking about what’s happening in the next segment.

Ricci drops his microphone on the table and storms off, muttering something in Italian. Huber heads behind the large black curtain that’s been serving as the backdrop to the stage.

I feel Dante’s arm wrap around my waist and I lean into him.

“My father always says, if I can’t fix it, I’ll bugger it up so that nobody else can,” I say. “Looks like we took that to a whole new level.”

He smiles. “It’s over now. Whatever the outcome, at least we know we were honest with ourselves. And each other.”

“What about the children?” I ask.

“I think your shot at Isabella over colluding with Huber will hurt her in the eyes of the people. We can only hope she’s smart enough to realize she should leave well enough alone.”

I scan the foyer and catch Maria, Carlo and Dad looking at an iPad and talking with their hands.

“Something interesting’s going on over there,” I say, nodding in their direction. “I wonder what they’re watching.”

Suddenly from behind the curtain we hear Isabella’s voice, sharp and hissing: “Emilio, that’s enough! You’re drunk!”

We glance at each other and duck through the slit in the curtain to the back of the stage. There in front of us is Emilio, unshaven with his hair standing up. I’m pretty sure he slept in his clothes.

“Emilio!” Dante calls as we hurry towards him. “Good lord, man, are you all right?”

“Leave him be!” Isabella snaps. “This is none of your concern.”

“He’s my friend and my cousin,” Dante says, brushing past her to put an arm around Emilio.

“’I’m so sorry, Dante,” Emilio slurs. “S’all my fault.”

“What’s your fault?” I ask. “Emilio, where have you been? We’ve been worried about you!”

Isabella’s eyes flash and she levels a warning finger at her son.

“Don’t say a word,” she says coldly.

Meanwhile, Huber looks like he’s swallowed a bug.

“This – this is government business,” he stammers. “Private business between me and the duchess.”

Dante ignores them. “We’ll get you some help,” he says to Emilio.

“I don’t deserve it,” Emilio moans. “It was me. I set you up.”

Oh my God. Dante and I exchange a look – that explains it. It explains everything.

“But why, Emilio?” I ask.

“Not one word!” Isabella cries, panic written across her face.

“She made me,” he mumbles.

Dante rounds on his aunt. Her eyes go wide.

“He’s drunk, obviously – ”

“Shut up,” Dante growls. “I should have known it was you.”

“How did she make you?” I ask. “Did she threaten you?”

“So sorry,” he says. “I screwed up so bad…”

“It’s nothing we can’t get past,” I say. “We’ll figure it out.”

“S’all gone…”

Dante puts a hand on his shoulder. “What’s all gone?”

“Steiger money… pissed it all away…”

Tears are streaming down Emilio’s grubby face, leaving streaks in his skin. Isabella’s eyes are wide with horror – not at the state he’s in, but the fact he’s confessing. What kind of a monster is she?

“This, uh, obviously, uh, comes as a shock,” Huber says.

“Cut the shit, Julian!” Dante barks. “I know you were the one who leaked the photos to Lorenzo. It had to be you, Isabella doesn’t know anyone in the media.”

Dante turns to Isabella. “I’ve wondered for years whether there was anything left of your money. Emilio’s always been a high roller, but I never knew it was that bad.”

“This is sick,” I say. “Instead of getting him help, you blackmail him into hatching a scheme to replace Dante as monarch? And steal the Trentini fortune for yourself?”

Isabella’s face turns to stone, but her eyes are still blazing.

“I’m not saying another word,” she says.

“What about you?” I say to Huber. “Got anything else to say?”

He doesn’t. His eyes dart around the room as if looking for an exit.

“Darling,” I say.

“Yes, my love?”

“Where I come from in America, conspiring to overthrow the government is considered treason. What’s the deal here in Morova?”

“Mmm,” he says. “Unfortunately, I’m not the government. But I don’t imagine the good people of my homeland would take kindly to learning Julian here colluded with Isabella to replace the rightful heir.”

That gets a rise out of the old bastard. He steels his fleshy jowls and looks us in the eye.

“You can’t prove anything,” he says. “And the referendum starts in an hour.”

I look over to see Isabella grinning smugly. Emilio is weeping openly now.

“We need to get Emilio to a hospital,” Dante says. “But as soon as he’s taken care of, I swear I’ll do everything in my power to see you two in court over this. I don’t care if it takes every penny of my personal fortune, you’re not going to get away with this.”

“We’ll see,” says Huber. “I’ll be sure to discuss it with the chief justice while he’s at my home for dinner on Sunday.”

Dante gives them one last round of dirty looks before picking Emilio up under the arm and helping him back to the opening in the curtain.

“This is why we need to fight,” he says as we emerge onto the stage. “I won’t leave my homeland in the hands of these parasites.”

“Uh, Dante,” I say.

“We can’t allow corruption like this to drag down Morova!” he says, more to Emilio than me.

“Dante.” I say again.

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, darling, what is it?”

I point towards the edge of the stage. He turns his head to see what I see: dozens of people, staring at us with their eyes wide and their mouths hanging open.

At the front of the pack is Lorenzo Ricci, now a whole new shade of green.

“What’s going on?” I ask, looking for our friends.

“Ho-lee sheep shit!” my father hoots as he bounds up the stairs and onto the stage. Maria is close behind, with Carlo bringing up the rear a bit more slowly. Their eyes are dancing.

“What’s going on?” Dante asks, eyes darting around the room.

Dad looks over to Ricci.

“Why don’t you tell ‘em, you little peckerhead?”

“The, uh. The lapel microphones,” Ricci says, staring blankly ahead. “They were. Uh. They were. Live.”

Dante and I look at each other, eyes wide, as it sinks in.

“We heard every word,” Maria says through a triumphant smile. “So did viewers all around the world. Every. Single. Word.”

“That’s what you all were looking at before we went backstage!” I say.

Carlo nods. “The talking heads were doing their analysis – you two were on the receiving end of some very unflattering words, I must say – but the audio kept cutting to your microphones.”

Dante looks at Emilio, then back to Carlo.

“You heard… everything, then?”

“I’m afraid so, sir.”

Dante helps Emilio into a chair. His cousin is almost on the verge of passing out.

“Maria – ”

“I’ll have an ambulance here as soon as possible.”

Dante smiles. “What would I do without you?”

“Let’s hope you never have to find out.”

There are dozens of people milling around now, trying to make sense of what’s going on. As they do, Dad emerges from behind the stage curtain.

“I was gonna go pay my respects to Isabella,” he says. “By which I mean laugh in her face. But she’s gone. So’s Huber.”

“I doubt they’ll get far,” I say.

“It’s like you’re psychic,” Maria says, turning her iPad screen towards me. On it is an image of the duchess and the chancellor, ambushed by media in the alley behind the building.

Dante looks at me and smiles.

“Remember how not that long ago, all we could talk about was how crazy our lives were?” he asks.

“Yup,” I say. “Apparently the universe took that as a sign to roll up its sleeves and say ‘here, hold my beer while I screw with them a little more.’”

I feel a weight on my shoulders as Dad wraps an arm around each of us.

“You two really need to start bein’ normal,” he says.

“We were just talking about that,” says Dante. “But before we do, we’re going to have to sit around for a few hours while the entire population decides what it’s going to do about us.”