Chapter 6
Bramwell turned back to Saskia, who remained on her knees, staring at the floor with wide, dead eyes.
He reached down and caught her left hand. He didn't wrench it; he simply held it steady as his fingers closed around the eight-carat, emerald-cut diamond ring resting on her fourth finger.
With a slow, firm pull, he slid the platinum band off her skin.
Saskia let out a dry, rattling sob as the metal cleared her knuckle. "Bramwell... please..."
"You are done," Bramwell said, dropping the ring into his vest pocket alongside the photograph. "Your family’s shipping lines are seized as of seven o'clock tonight. Your brother’s licenses are revoked. If I see your face anywhere south of Westchester by tomorrow morning, I will have Kavanagh bury you in the empty plot you bought for my wife."
He didn't wait for her to weep. He didn't look at the crowd of frozen aristocrats.
Bramwell reached down, slipped his hands beneath Dulcie’s arms, and lifted her effortlessly against his chest. The child gasped, instinctively wrapping her small arms around his thick neck, burying her face into the curve of his throat. Her small cardigan bunched against his broad shoulder, her tiny legs kicking gently against his three-piece suit.
"Kavanagh," Bramwell called out as he began walking toward the grand double doors.
"Sir," the enforcer responded, falling in half a step behind his shoulder.
"Take six men to Cold Spring immediately. Surround St. Margaret’s. If anyone in a lab coat tries to shred a document or clear a patient file, put them through the nearest window."
"Understood, Mr. Hollander. What about the guests?"
"Keep them locked in here for forty-five minutes," Bramwell commanded, not breaking his stride. "Let them drink the rest of the champagne. Let them look at what greed looks like when it rots."
The heavy glass doors swung open. The crisp October night air rushed into the foyer, smelling of exhaust, rain-slicked asphalt, and autumn leaves.
Waiting at the curb was Bramwell’s armored Maybach, its engine idling with a deep, muffled rumble, its headlights cutting two beams of clean, white light through the evening mist. The driver sprang from the front seat, opening the heavy rear door with mechanical speed.
Bramwell stepped into the vehicle, settling Dulcie onto the supple leather seat beside him. The child looked around the interior with wide, overwhelmed eyes, taking in the tinted glass, the soft ambient amber lighting, and the thick cashmere blanket folded in the corner.
"Are we going to get Mommy now?" Dulcie whispered, her thumb drifting toward her mouth before she remembered herself and pulled it back down.
Bramwell pulled the heavy blanket around her small shoulders, tucking it beneath her chin with a gentleness that belonged to another life.
"Yes, Dulcie," Bramwell said, his voice deep, solid, and immovable. "We’re going to get Mommy."
May you like
He tapped the privacy partition with his signet ring.
"Drive," he told the chauffeur. "And run every light."
