Taking a single spoonful, Desmond froze

The heavy, suppressed weapon gleamed dully under the swinging incandescent bulb. Sienna stared down the barrel, her eyes wide with primal, animalistic terror. The beautiful socialite was completely broken, her elegant manners and public smile replaced by pathetic, groveling desperation.

"Desmond, you can't kill me!" Sienna shrieked, holding her manicured hands up to shield her face. "My father is Marcus Blake! He commands the northern ports! If I go missing, he will bring an army to your doorstep! He will burn this mansion to the ground!"

"Do you think I fear a war with the men who helped harbor my wife's captor?" Desmond asked, his deep voice carrying a measured, lethal calm.

"He will slaughter everyone in this house!" Sienna pleaded, her American accent pitching into a hysterical wail. "Including the maid! Please, Desmond, just let me walk away! I will leave the country! You have your wife back! Let it go!"

Desmond looked down at the trembling woman. He felt absolutely nothing for her. The affection he had feigned for the sake of the syndicate merger evaporated instantly, leaving behind a cold, calculating void that craved only retribution.

"Does betrayal taste as sweet as you imagined, Sienna?" Desmond asked.

He did not pull the trigger. Death was too quick, too merciful for the woman who had stolen a year of his wife's life. He holstered the weapon smoothly, his refined hand and finger tattoos flexing as he adjusted his suit jacket.

"Did you think my men would let you walk away?" Desmond asked.

He reached into his pocket and retrieved his encrypted smartphone, dialing a single digit.

"Are my lieutenants stationed in the grand foyer?" Desmond asked into the receiver. "Will you send four men down to the sub-basement immediately?"

He lowered the phone, looking at Sienna with absolute disgust.

"Will you enjoy the isolation of my warehouse, Sienna, while you wait for your father's inevitable failure?" Desmond asked softly.

Moments later, the sound of heavy boots echoed down the stone corridor. Four heavily armed operatives in dark suits arrived, their faces grim and professional.

"Will you ensure she is taken to the black site at the docks?" Desmond asked his men, pointing to the weeping woman on the floor. "Are the soundproofing panels installed correctly in that facility?"

"Yes, Mr. Ashcroft. The facility is fully prepped," the lead operative nodded.

They hauled Sienna roughly to her feet. She screamed, thrashing wildly against their iron grip, but they were unyielding. They dragged her backward up the stairs, her shrieks echoing against the stone walls until they finally faded away.

Desmond turned his attention away from the corridor and walked back into the small, damp cell. Victoria was sitting on the edge of the mattress, wrapped in a blanket Elsie had found in a supply closet.

The housemaid was kneeling beside the emaciated woman, gently wiping the dirt from Victoria's face with a damp handkerchief. Elsie’s sophisticated black maid dress was stained with dust, but her graceful posture remained unwavering.

"Elsie," Desmond said gently, dropping his interrogative cadence for only the second time, unable to force his rigid speech pattern in the face of such profound gratitude. "Is she warm enough?" he quickly corrected, catching himself.

"She is freezing, Mr. Ashcroft," Elsie answered softly, looking up with her expressive brows drawn together in concern. "She needs a doctor immediately. She is severely malnourished."