Chapter 6
Fleur tugged on Edric’s sleeve again, her little patent-leather shoes stepping carefully over the shattered glass of Sterling’s champagne flute.
"Daddy," she whispered, her voice cutting through the heavy silence of the salon. "Can I take off my cardigan? It has glitter on it."
Edric knelt down on one knee in front of her. His hands, which had broken the necks of three syndicate rivals in the Newark docks, were impossibly gentle as he unbuttoned the small pearl buttons of her sweater. He slipped the cardigan from her shoulders, folded it neatly, and set it on the clean end of the gift table.
"There," Edric said, smoothing down the lace collar of her birthday dress. "Better?"
"Better," Fleur said, smiling faintly. Then she pointed a tiny, curious finger at Ottilia. "Is Auntie going to jail now?"
Ottilia flinched, pulling her feet back beneath the armchair as if the child’s finger were a loaded gun. "Edric... please. Don't let them take me in handcuffs. Think of the press. Think of the Whitburn name."
"You should have thought of the name before you bought a mourning veil for a three-year-old," Edric said, rising back to his full height.
Two uniformed state troopers entered through the terrace doors, their sidearms holstered but their hands resting on their belts. Behind them walked Silas, holding a pair of heavy steel handcuffs.
"Mr. Whitburn," the lead trooper said, nodding respectfully. "The perimeter is secure. The driver surrendered without incident. The vehicle has been cordoned off by the bomb squad."
"Take Councilman Sterling first," Edric directed, gesturing toward the man shivering against the service door. "He has a lot of city contracts to explain to Agent Cole."
The troopers moved swiftly, hauling Sterling to his feet. The councilman offered no resistance, his eyes glassy, his spirit entirely broken as the cold steel clicked around his wrists.
"Edric, we can settle this!" Sterling pleaded as he was dragged toward the terrace. "I’ll testify against the Chicago syndicate! I’ll give Cole the names of the judges on the take! Just don't let them put me in general population!"
"Talk to the prosecutor, Arthur," Edric said coldly. "I don't manage prison rosters."
The doors shut behind Sterling.
Edric turned back to Ottilia.
She was weeping now, genuine tears of terror running down her pale cheeks, smearing her makeup into grotesque lines. "Edric, I’m your sister. We shared a nursery. I held you when our mother died. You can't do this to me. You can't put me in a cage."
"I’m not putting you in a cage, Ottilia," Edric said.
Ottilia blinked through her tears, a faint, desperate spark of hope lighting her eyes. "You're... you're letting me go?"
"No," Edric replied, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on the back of Silas’s neck stand up. "I’m putting you on a plane to our estate in Palermo. You will live in the mountain house. No phone. No internet. No passport. You will have two armed guards outside your bedroom door for the rest of your natural life."
Ottilia gasped, shaking her head violently. "Palermo? That place is a ruin! It’s in the middle of nowhere! It’s an exile!"
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"It’s an existence," Edric corrected. "Which is considerably more than you planned for my daughter."
He looked at Silas. "Put her in the transport van. If she opens her mouth before she reaches the airfield, gag her with that mourning veil she brought for Fleur."
