Chapter 5
"It was Julian's idea!" Dacre shrieked, crawling forward on his knees toward Ronan's shoes, his dignity completely shattered. "Julian said the Vane family couldn't afford an investigation! He said Clara was a loose end! He brought the trunk, Dad! He brought the lime! I just... I just held the door!"
Senator Montgomery Vane backed away slowly, his hand reaching inside his tuxedo coat for his personal encrypted phone.
Before his fingers could clear the silk lining, Silas was behind him. With a swift, brutal chop to the wrist, Silas disarmed the Senator, catching the gold-plated smartphone out of the air while two more enforcers pinned the politician's arms behind his back.
"Senator," Ronan said, turning his cold gaze upon the patriarch of the Vane family. "Did you think that because I grew old, I stopped checking the manifests?"
"Ronan, listen to reason," Montgomery Vane croaked, his aristocratic veneer cracking into raw panic. "My son Julian acted without my authorization. He was trying to protect the campaign funds! We can settle this. The harbor permits are yours in perpetuity. We will give you forty percent of the northern rail expansion!"
"You offered me my own city," Ronan remarked softly. "How generous."
Sybil threw herself onto the floor beside Dacre, grabbing the fabric of his trousers, her face contorted with pure hysteria. "Dacre! Tell them! Tell your father Julian wasn't there! If they search the lodge, my family is ruined! My father's senate seat... my trust fund... Dacre, do something!"
Dacre looked up at Sybil with bloodshot, hollow eyes. The glamour of the engagement was dead; the five-carat diamond ring on her hand looked like a pair of handcuffs.
"You told me it would be clean," Dacre whispered to her, his voice trembling with bitter, venomous realization. "You said your father had the state police under control. You promised me I'd be the head of the Crestwell family by Christmas."
"You idiot," Sybil spat, her voice dropping into a vicious snarl. "You couldn't even keep your own bastard daughter locked in the basement for three hours! You ruined everything!"
Ronan looked down at the pair writhing on the parquetry.
"Della," Ronan said.
The little girl took two steps forward, standing beside her grandfather’s knee. She looked down at her father, her small face solemn, untouched by fear now that Ronan was beside her.
"Della," Ronan continued, his hand resting on her shoulder. "Look at the lady’s neck."
Della tilted her head, her hazel eyes scanning Sybil's bare, trembling throat.
Tucked beneath the sparkling diamond collar that matched Sybil's earrings was a thin, worn gold chain. Hanging from the link was an antique oval locket engraved with a cluster of wild lilies—the traditional crest of the Higgins family from the South Side.
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Della gasped, her small hand flying to her mouth.
"That's Mommy's," Della whispered. Her voice broke, tears spilling over her rosy cheeks. "Mommy wore that every day. Daddy gave it to her when I was born."
