Chapter 61
DRASKO
Sleepless until dawn, Drasko slipped out of bed before Grace awoke.
He got dressed like he usually did for a special occasion.
For a moment, he debated whether he should write her a letter or not. Finally, he scribbled several lines on a piece of paper and slid it under his pillow. If he came back to his room tonight, that meant he would be alive, and he would get rid of it. If not…
Drasko had his coffee. Read the newspaper. The headlines screamed with the reminders of what day it was and how it would unfold.
Wild Crowds Surround the Benham Auction House!
Greet the World’s Richest Families That Attend the Most Exclusive Auction!
If only they knew.
The drawing room was cast in early sunlight, too sharp for his gloomy thoughts.
His butler came with a letter. “A boy just brought this.”
Cream paper, brown seal, and a diamond in the center—Drasko knew what it would say.
I should burn it , he thought with indifference but finally ripped it open to see the fateful words.
The Crimson Tear is to be up for auction at the Benham Auction House by six o’clock.
You remember the terms…
Drasko thought of Grace again.
A roar broke out of him, loud, savage, like that of a tiger. He punched the wall, again and again, his knuckles bursting with blood and pain.
Right away, he went still, his forehead against the wall, palms above it, the cold marble calming the rage inside him.
For the longest time, he stood by the open window, pressing a white handkerchief against his bruised knuckles, and watched the restless sparrows jump from branch to branch.
There had to be a way out of this. He would give it all up. Every penny. Every diamond. His own businesses. He would walk away from her, yes, he would, if only he could live in her shadow, in a world where she existed, watching over her, knowing that she was safe.
He heard the click of her heels against the floor in the hallway and mustered all his confidence to face her.
“Good morning,” he said as she walked in, in a beige summer dress and hat, her intense eyes on him right away as if she were trying to read him.
“I have to meet Mr. Kleinstein, the director of the auction house, at noon,” he said. With the Crimson Tear . “But I was thinking… I need to sort out some business, and then… Then, well… I thought maybe we should skip the auction and stay home.”
This could be their last day together.
“Home?” She scrunched up her eyebrows in surprise. “But… The diamond, Drasko. Where is the Crimson Tear?”
He didn’t know how to lift himself up and smile so she didn’t suspect anything. He had told her some watered-down story about Uriah’s game. Not the terms, of course.
So, now he talked about the auction, avoided looking at her, tried to sound cheerful though his chest felt like a lifetime of sobs had collected there and waited to burst.
He was still talking, trying to come up with the right words, something cohesive, without giving away the storm raging inside him.
It happened within seconds, the succession of actions—the sound of her quick steps, her dress momentarily brushing against him, her body suddenly pressed against his, her hands cupping his face.
For a heated moment, their eyes met. Her quick whisper, “I love you,” grazed his lips.
And before he had a chance to say anything else, she shut him up with a kiss, passionate and insistent.
His entire body wanted to burst into pieces. He wanted to carry her away from everything that threatened this happy moment. He wished for many more to come yet knew—fucking knew—that he’d run out of time.
She withdrew abruptly, little fast breaths escaping her.
“Well,” she said, gently pushing away from him. She started fixing her dress, her gaze everywhere but him. “I suppose I should leave you to your business.” She turned around to walk away.
And the ache in his heart came back. Drasko felt the prickle of it.
This is it.
Finally, he had it all, her , she was his all, and these were the last bits of it.
“Grace,” he called out, halting her to a stop, her back to him as if she were a thief running away.
He walked up to her, willing himself to be patient. Control—that seemed to be his enemy around her.
He placed his hands on her delicate waist, her body right away responding with a little tremor.
Drasko closed his eyes and inhaled her scent, flowers and powder and love, wishing he could trap it so it was the last scent he knew at the end, whatever that “end” meant.
He bowed his head, resting his forehead against the top of her head. These were their last moments together, the most precious and so powerful in their helpless finitude.
Soon, he’d be gone, having never told her enough times how much she meant to him.
“I love you,” he whispered, then opened his eyes, and straightened up. “Come here,” he said too swiftly, knowing that if she repeated the words back again, he’d break down.
He nudged her to turn around. His heart skipped a beat as he met her eyes misted with tears.
He could drown in them. If he could, he would have, for that was how he’d prefer to die.
He would die for them. And would kill for them, too.
He would gather all the diamonds in the world and throw them high into the sky on a sunny day, so that they rained like fireworks in the sunlight and he could see her eyes light up in awe instead of hurt.
“I hate this,” Grace said softly. “These moments. They only last seconds, and I hate them.”
“What moments, darling?”
“When we are about to part for the day. It… It has always been like this, since day one.”
He smiled. “I shall see you soon.”
Was that a lie?
He reached for her face. “There”—he tucked a loose strand of her hair behind a ruby pin—“you look beautiful, darling.”
He kissed her forehead and took a step back, letting go of her, trying to ignore the devastating thought that this was goodbye.
He took a ride to the Bankees’ headquarters.
“Zeph, I need to talk to you and Mr. Handley.”
Zeph studied him suspiciously. “What is happening, mate? Besides the auction and all. The city is buzzing.”
Mr. Handley met them in his office.
“What can I help you with, Mr. Mawr?” inquired the man, shrouded in the finest suit and thick cigar smoke, his gaze heavy and probing.
“By the way, my wife is delighted with her gift. She sends her warmest regards. But I assume there is pressing business since you came to see me on a day like this. Shouldn’t you be at the Benham Auction House? ”
“How much do you care for this city?” Drasko asked, taking a seat across the desk from him, Zeph by his side.
Handley raised his eyebrows. “Mr. Mawr, that’s a heavy question. This is our home. Our turf. Our place of business.”
“I am not talking about your business. How much do you care for the wealthy?”
“With all the influence that the Bankees have, we cannot, nor will we, jeopardize our ties with the city. Perhaps, you’d care to elaborate?”
Drasko chose his words carefully. “What if you had Mawr capital at your disposal?”
If Handley had fewer manners, he would have whistled or laughed, at the least.
He cocked his head just a bit, studying Drasko as if he could read his thoughts.
Zeph seemed amused, rolling a cigarette between his fingers and looking between the two men.
“What are we talking about, Mr. Mawr?” Handley finally asked, a businessman after all.
“If something happens to me, and it might, and it probably will, ” Drasko said, slowly taking a cigarette case out of his jacket’s pocket, “I want my wife to be safe.” He pulled a cigarette out.
“If there is ever a chance of her being harmed, a complaint from her, any unfair treatment by the mighty, a mere rumor that might jeopardize her career, the tiniest threat to it—I want you to give this city hell. Pull the funds out when needed, make those accountable bankrupt, and cut them off from their gold mines. In short, do your worst.”
Zeph leaned over to offer the light. “Harsh.”
“Not quite. Just business. I want your word that no one in this lifetime will dare cross Grace Mawr. And on top of the services you already handle for me, in my will, I shall leave you and your men shares of Mawr Industries. You will, it is a promise, be richer than the royals.”
“Oy, a will?” Zeph shifted uneasily in his seat. “What’s this nonsense about a will?”
Handley narrowed his eyes at Drasko. “What is it that you think is about to happen, Mr. Mawr?”
“If I told you I knew, I’d be lying. It’s a precaution.”
“Hmm.” Handley took a moment to think. “You know what they say, ‘You put your trust in the gangsters and all…’”
Drasko’s gaze shifted to Zeph. “I’ve found that gangsters are more loyal and trustworthy than noblemen.”
Zeph flicked his cigarette, shaking the ashes off, and sucked his teeth. “I don’t like this sort of talk, brother. I worry.”
“There is no need to worry. What I need right now is a deal. If ”—Drasko took a meaningful pause—“I am gone and anything ever threatens my wife, I want you to wage war on this city.”
Handley sat in silence for some time, then lit a candle, opened a drawer, and took out a small icon of a saint and a razor.