Chapter 3
“Do you know how many people look at me every day, Nora?”
She said nothing.
“Hundreds.”
Arthur continued.
“Every 1 of them wants something. Money. Protection. A favor. Or my head.”
His thumb brushed across her lower lip.
Norah inhaled sharply.
“When people see me, they see a bank vault or a target.”
Arthur leaned closer.
“But you looked at me bleeding on your floor and saw a man who needed bandages.”
His eyes did not leave hers.
“You didn’t ask for anything. You didn’t use what you saw. You told me to stay still and fixed my arm.”
“I was doing my job.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
His free hand rested against her knee.
Norah could feel heat from his body.
“I paid the debt because I want you free.”
Arthur’s attention fell briefly to her mouth.
“I need to know that whatever happens next isn’t happening because you owe me money.”
Norah’s heart beat painfully hard.
Every practical instinct she possessed told her to stop this.
Getting involved with Arthur Costello meant danger without an exit.
A shallow grave.
A lifetime of looking over her shoulder.
But she could still see the man who had appeared at her basement door.
The one who had begged for somewhere safe to collapse.
“What happens next?”
The question escaped before she could take it back.
Something in Arthur broke.
“This.”
His hand moved to the back of her neck.
He pulled her toward him.
Their mouths met hard.
Not gentle.
Desperate.
Years of restraint seemed to collapse at once.
Norah initially lifted both hands against his chest, intending to push him away.
Her palms met solid warmth beneath his shirt.
Instead, her fingers closed around the fabric.
Arthur made a low sound in his throat and pulled her closer.
He kissed her like a man who had been holding his breath for years and had suddenly remembered oxygen existed.
One hand gripped Norah’s waist.
She stopped pretending she was going to resist.
For several moments, practicality disappeared.
She kissed the criminal.
The murderer.
The man half of Chicago feared.
When Arthur finally pulled away, both of them were breathing hard.
He rested his forehead against hers.
“I can’t stay away from you.”
His voice was nearly broken.
“I tried.”
His eyes remained closed.
“God help me, I tried.”
Norah looked at him.
Her father’s debt was gone.
But something far more dangerous had replaced it.
Norah refused Arthur’s demand that she move upstairs.
The morning after the kiss, he told her to take a guest suite in the east wing.
Vaulted ceilings.
A proper bed.
A heavy door with an iron key.
Norah said no.
She put on her uniform.
Tied her hair back.
Returned to pushing her cleaning cart through the house.
Moving upstairs would make the relationship real.
It would turn Norah from an employee into something else.
A kept woman.
A possession.
A person waiting inside a gilded cage.
The basement allowed her to continue believing she remained independent.
Arthur did not force the issue.
He allowed her the illusion.
Everything else changed.
Arthur no longer pretended not to see her.
If Norah polished the main staircase and he passed on his way out, his hand sometimes covered hers on the banister for 2 seconds before he continued.
If she served coffee during a meeting, Arthur watched her.
Not casually.
Territorially.
The men around the table noticed.
It took 6 days for the rest of the house to understand.
On Tuesday afternoon, Norah was fighting with a commercial dryer in the industrial laundry room.
Hot cotton and bleach filled the humid air.
She believed she was alone.
The heavy door closed.
The deadbolt engaged.
Norah turned.
Dominic stood there.
No smile.
No restless energy.
Only controlled calculation.
He smoked despite the strict fire rules.
Gray smoke rose into the fluorescent light.
“Maria says you’ve been doing double shifts.”
His tone sounded casual.
“Taking Frankie’s old pantry rotation. Cleaning the study every morning.”
“There’s work to do, Mr. Costello.”
Dominic laughed without humor.
He leaned against the folding table.
“You know, when Frankie disappeared, the boys had theories.”
Norah’s stomach tightened.
“Some thought Colombians got him. Some thought he skimmed from a dock shipment and ran.”
Dominic tapped ash onto the clean floor.
“But I know Arty.”
His voice became quieter.
“I’ve known him since we were kids. Arthur doesn’t disappear someone for skimming unless he makes an example out of them.”
His eyes settled on Norah.
“Frankie vanished quietly.”
A pause.
“That means it was personal.”
Norah stared toward the dryer.
“I don’t know anything about Frankie.”
“Don’t play stupid.”
Dominic pushed away from the table.
“I know Frankie was bothering you.”
He came closer.
“And Jimmy saw Arthur walk into that pantry.”
Dominic stopped close enough for Norah to smell peppermint gum over stale tobacco.
“Arty has lost his mind.”
His voice became a hiss.
“He paid off a $240,000 hospital debt for a woman who scrubs toilets.”
Norah did not respond.
“He’s distracted.”
Dominic’s eyes hardened.
“In our world, distracted gets you killed.”
“Then talk to him.”
Norah met his eyes.
“I just work here.”
Dominic laughed.
“You think you’re still a civilian?”
He stepped closer.
“You think the uniform makes you exempt?”
His voice lowered.
“You’re a vulnerability.”
The Colombians were pressing Costello territory around the docks.
The unions were threatening strikes.
The family was approaching a street war.
And Arthur, Dominic said, was playing house in the basement.
“I love Arty like a brother.”
The threat in his tone became unmistakable.
“I would die for him.”
Then he looked directly into Norah’s face.
“But I won’t let a charity case bring this family down.”
His advice was simple.
Take the cleared debt.
Accept severance.
Leave Chicago.
“Because if you stay and he gets killed because he’s looking at you instead of the crosshairs—”
Dominic stopped.
The unfinished sentence said enough.
He dropped the cigarette and crushed it beneath his shoe.
Then he unlocked the door and left.
Norah remained inside the laundry room.
She gripped the metal basket until her fingers hurt.
The worst part was that Dominic was right.
She had become a weakness.
A trip wire inside a minefield.
That night Arthur came to her room.
He looked exhausted.
Dark circles sat beneath his eyes.
When Norah opened the door, he said nothing.
Arthur simply entered, wrapped both arms around her, and buried his face against her neck.
He breathed deeply.
As though she were oxygen.
Norah initially remained still.
Then her arms moved around his back.
She felt the holstered gun beneath his jacket.
“Dominic talked to me today.”
Arthur went rigid.
He pulled away enough to see her.
The tiredness vanished.
“Did he touch you?”
“No.”
Norah smoothed the front of his jacket.
“He said I’m a liability.”
Arthur’s jaw clenched.
“He told me to leave Chicago.”
“I’ll handle Dominic.”
“Arthur, he’s right.”
He stared at her.
“You paid my debt. You gave me my life back.”
She forced herself to continue.
“But your focus is slipping, and your men can see it. I don’t belong here.”
“You belong to me.”
Arthur’s grip tightened at her waist.
The statement was not civilized.
It was territorial.
“I don’t care what Dominic thinks.”
His voice became harsher.
“I don’t care about the unions. I don’t care about the docks.”
Then something darker came through.
“You are the only thing in this godforsaken life that doesn’t make me want to put a bullet in my own head.”
Norah went still.
“You aren’t leaving.”
“You can’t keep me in a basement while a war starts outside your front door.”
“Watch me.”
Arthur kissed her.
Hard.
Desperate.
The argument disappeared beneath it.
Norah kissed him back.
But fear remained beneath everything.
Arthur believed force could solve almost anything.
Norah understood another law.
Debt always came due.
The Costello family was approaching its payment.
The war arrived at 3:15 a.m. on Thursday.
A thunderstorm concealed the first sounds.
Norah was awake.
She was almost always awake now.
Arthur was upstairs in his study managing a crisis involving supply routes downtown.
The estate lost power approximately 20 minutes earlier.
Then Norah heard a sound beneath the thunder.
Sharp.
Rhythmic.
Automatic gunfire.
She sat upright.
Another burst followed.
Closer.
Then the heavy concussive blasts of a shotgun shook dust from the basement ceiling.
Shouting filled the floors above.
Glass shattered.
More gunfire.
The Colombians had attacked the estate.
Norah climbed from bed.
Her bare feet hit the cold floor.
Every survival instinct told her to hide.
Turn off the flashlight.
Stay beneath the bed.
Pray nobody entered the staff quarters.
Then she thought about Arthur upstairs.
Norah took the iron fireplace poker from the corner.
A ridiculous weapon against rifles.
She unlocked her door and slipped into the corridor.
The basement was dark except for lightning flashing through the small windows near the ceiling.
Cordite and burned wood were already entering the air.
Boots pounded on the stairs.
Norah hid inside a recess near the boiler room.
A body tumbled down the steps.
It struck the concrete.
A flashlight rolled away.
Its beam landed on the dead face of one of the estate guards.
His chest had been destroyed by gunfire.
Norah pressed her hand over her mouth.
2 men came down the stairs.
Dark tactical clothing.
Professional movements.
They were not Costello soldiers.
They spoke rapidly in Spanish.
“Check the doors.”
One chambered his rifle.
“Leave nobody.”
They were clearing the basement.
They intended to kill the staff.
Norah tightened both hands around the poker.
She knew exactly how useless it was.
Then a figure appeared at the top of the stairs.
Arthur.
He descended without making a sound.
His white shirt was soaked in blood.
None of it appeared to be his.
A suppressed handgun rested in his right hand.
His face was perfectly calm.
Arthur did not warn the intruders.
He raised the pistol.
2 suppressed shots.
The first man collapsed with a wound through the side of his head.
The second turned.
His rifle came up.
Arthur stepped inside the arc of the barrel before the weapon could settle.
His left hand shoved the rifle upward.
The man fired into the ceiling.
Arthur pushed his handgun beneath the man’s jaw.
He pulled the trigger.
The intruder dropped.
The entire confrontation lasted less than 4 seconds.
Arthur kicked the rifle away.
Then his head snapped toward the darkness.
“Nora.”
His voice cut through the ringing in her ears.
Norah stepped from the recess.
The poker fell from her hand.
Her entire body shook.
Arthur crossed the basement in 3 strides.
He seized her by the arms and examined her frantically.
Face.
Neck.
Shoulders.
“Are you hit?”
His calm finally broke.
“Did they touch you?”
“No.”
Tears spilled down Norah’s face.
“No. I’m okay.”
She struggled for breath.
“Arthur, what’s happening?”
“A breach. 3 trucks hit the gate.”
He grabbed her hand.
“Dominic is holding the foyer. There are too many.”
Arthur began pulling her through the corridor.
“We’re going to the panic room.”
“What about you?”
“I finish this.”
The coldness returned to his face.
He looked toward the staircase.
“They came into my house.”
His voice flattened.
“They don’t leave.”
Arthur dragged Norah toward the wine cellar.
Blood and smoke thickened the air.
Behind a rack of vintage Pinot Noir was a concealed keypad.
Arthur entered a code.
Part of the wall opened.
Behind it stood a reinforced steel door.
He pushed Norah inside.
Emergency lights illuminated shelves of supplies and several security monitors showing rooms throughout the estate.
“Lock it.”
Arthur remained outside.
His blood-covered hand pointed directly at her.
“You do not open this door for anybody except me.”
His eyes burned.
“If you hear Dominic, you keep it closed.”
A pause.
“If you hear police, you keep it closed.”
“Arthur.”
Norah moved toward him.
“Please.”
She grabbed his shirt.
“Stay with me.”
For a fraction of a second, the criminal boss disappeared.
May you like
Arthur seized the back of her neck and kissed her.
Violent.
