Chapter 4 - THE PRICE OF LOYALTY
Dominic Costello arrived at Arthur’s estate the following evening smiling.
Arthur wanted to kill him immediately.
Clara convinced him not to.
They had returned to Chicago under heavy security, though Clara refused the penthouse and refused Arthur’s estate.
She took a room at a downtown hotel registered under another identity.
Arthur did not argue.
That frightened Gregory more than anything.
Arthur Costello had begun accepting the word no.
Clara watched Dominic through surveillance cameras from an upstairs security room.
Silver-haired and elegant, Dominic looked every inch the respected patriarch.
He embraced Arthur.
“My boy.”
Arthur tolerated it.
“You said it was urgent.”
Dominic poured himself a drink.
“I heard Vescari attacked one of our safe houses.”
“Our?”
Dominic smiled.
“Old habits.”
Upstairs, Clara zoomed in on his face.
Gregory whispered, “He’s good.”
“So is Arthur.”
Downstairs, Arthur sat opposite his uncle.
“Vescari wants Clara.”
Dominic’s expression barely shifted.
“That secretary?”
Arthur’s eyes chilled.
“My assistant.”
“Former assistant, from what I hear.”
Arthur said nothing.
Dominic continued.
“She knows too much. Always did. I warned you.”
There.
The opening.
Arthur leaned back.
“You warned me she was stealing.”
“She was.”
“Were you lying?”
Dominic smiled faintly.
“I was protecting you.”
“From what?”
“Attachment.”
Upstairs, Clara felt something twist inside her.
Dominic had seen them years ago.
Seen what Arthur refused to name.
And manipulated it.
Arthur’s voice remained calm.
“You told me she was preparing to betray me.”
“She had false passports.”
“So do you.”
Dominic’s smile disappeared.
Arthur placed a folder on the table.
Inside were copies of the Vescari transfers.
Dominic looked at the first page.
Then the second.
When he looked up, the affectionate uncle was gone.
“You should have stayed out of this.”
Arthur’s face became stone.
“You sold my docks.”
“I built those docks.”
“You sold my men.”
“I built this family before you could shave.”
Arthur stood.
“So that’s your defense?”
Dominic’s hand moved toward his jacket.
Arthur’s men entered simultaneously.
Dominic laughed.
“You think this ends with me?”
“No.”
Arthur stepped closer.
“I think it starts.”
Dominic was taken downstairs.
Clara watched until the security door closed.
She should have felt relief.
Instead, she saw something on another monitor.
A hotel hallway.
Her hallway.
A man in maintenance clothing approaching her room.
“Gregory.”
He looked.
Clara enlarged the image.
The man’s right hand never left his pocket.
“He’s armed.”
They moved.
Too late.
An explosion shook the hotel feed.
Arthur heard it downstairs.
Every screen went black.
“Clara.”
He ran.
By the time they reached the hotel, fire alarms screamed and guests flooded the lobby.
Arthur ignored everyone.
“Twenty-third floor!”
A firefighter blocked him.
“You can’t go up.”
Arthur shoved past.
Smoke filled the stairwell.
Gregory followed, cursing.
They reached the floor.
Clara’s room door had been blown inward.
Arthur stopped breathing.
“CLARA!”
Nothing.
He entered.
Flames crawled across the curtains.
The bathroom was empty.
Bed empty.
Blood marked the carpet.
Arthur stared at it.
Then a voice behind him said, “You’re standing in my exit.”
He turned.
Clara emerged from the service stairwell holding a stolen fire extinguisher.
Arthur crossed the room in three strides.
Then stopped inches from her.
He wanted to touch her.
She saw it.
For once, he waited.
Clara closed the distance herself.
Not an embrace.
She placed one hand against his chest.
“I’m alive.”
Arthur shut his eyes.
Her palm felt his heartbeat hammering.
“You’re shaking,” she whispered.
“I know.”
Arthur Costello admitted it without shame.
That changed something.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Later, investigators found the attacker dead in the service corridor.
He carried a Vescari insignia.
Clara sat in an ambulance while a paramedic bandaged her palm.
Arthur stood several feet away.
He had not issued orders.
Had not demanded access.
Had not treated her like property.
Clara looked at him.
“You can sit.”
Arthur sat.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Permission.”
She almost smiled.
Almost.
Then her expression sobered.
“Dominic said this doesn’t end with him.”
“I know.”
“Vescari has someone else inside.”
Arthur nodded.
“And until we know who, nobody can be trusted.”
“Except Gregory.”
“Maybe.”
Gregory, standing nearby, looked offended.
“Wonderful.”
Clara ignored him.
“We need to make Vescari believe I died tonight.”
Arthur looked at her sharply.
“No.”
“Arthur.”
“No.”
“You don’t get to decide.”
His jaw flexed.
Old Arthur would have ordered.
New Arthur forced himself to listen.
Clara explained.
The hotel attack gave them an opportunity.
Release a story about an unidentified female casualty.
Remove Clara from surveillance.
Then use her supposed death to flush out whoever inside the organization reported to Vescari.
Arthur hated every word.
Because it was brilliant.
“You’ll need to disappear again,” he said.
“Yes.”
His eyes lowered.
This time, the idea did not anger him.
It frightened him.
“Where?”
“Only Gregory and I know.”
Arthur looked up.
“You don’t trust me?”
“I trust that you would burn down Chicago if you thought I was in danger.”
Arthur could not deny it.
“That makes you a security risk.”
Gregory coughed to hide a laugh.
Arthur glared at him.
Clara stood.
The paramedic finished her bandage.
Arthur rose too.
“When will I see you?”
“I don’t know.”
He nodded.
No argument.
Clara took two steps.
Then stopped.
She returned and placed something in his hand.
Her old apartment key.
Arthur stared at it.
“You kept this?”
“I forgot it was in my coat.”
It was not romantic.
It was barely meaningful.
But Arthur closed his fingers around it like treasure.
Clara walked away.
The next morning, every criminal organization in Chicago received the same rumor.
Clara Hughes was dead.
Victor Vescari celebrated.
Dominic Costello laughed from his cell.
And Arthur stood alone in Clara’s empty apartment.
On the kitchen counter sat a coffee mug.
Cheap cinnamon coffee.
He brewed one.
Tasted it.
May you like
Made a face.
Then drank the entire cup anyway.
