Chapter 6 - THE NIGHT ARTHUR CHOSE HER
Pier 19 smelled of diesel, rust, and lake water.
Victor Vescari waited beneath warehouse lights with Michael tied to a chair.
Arthur entered alone.
At least that was what Vescari believed.
“You look tired,” Victor said.
“You look alive. We can fix both.”
Victor laughed.
Michael’s face was bruised.
“Don’t give him Clara.”
Arthur looked at his brother.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
Victor’s smile disappeared.
“Then why are you here?”
“To keep you talking.”
The lights went out.
Clara emerged through the maintenance tunnel with Gregory and four Costello men.
Chaos followed.
Shots.
Shouting.
Metal ringing.
Arthur reached Michael.
Clara moved toward the control room.
Then Victor appeared behind her.
He pressed a gun against her ribs.
“Enough!”
Arthur froze.
Emergency lights flickered red.
Victor dragged Clara forward.
“There she is.”
Arthur slowly lowered his weapon.
Clara’s eyes met his.
Do not.
She knew what he intended.
Arthur dropped the gun.
Victor smiled.
“The great Arthur Costello.”
He pressed the barrel harder against Clara.
“On your knees.”
Arthur obeyed.
Everyone stopped.
Michael stared.
Gregory stared.
Clara’s throat tightened.
Five years earlier, Arthur would have burned a city before kneeling.
Tonight he did it without hesitation.
Victor laughed.
“All this for a secretary?”
Arthur looked directly at Clara.
“No.”
Victor’s smile faded.
Arthur continued.
“For the woman I love.”
Clara stopped breathing.
Victor’s attention shifted for one second.
Enough.
Clara drove her elbow backward.
Arthur lunged.
The gun fired.
Arthur jerked.
Blood spread across his shirt.
“Arthur!”
Gregory shot Victor in the shoulder.
Michael tackled him.
Clara dropped beside Arthur.
The world narrowed.
“Look at me.”
Arthur’s eyes struggled to focus.
“Where?”
“Side.”
Clara ripped open his shirt.
The bullet had entered beneath his ribs.
“Stay awake.”
Arthur smiled weakly.
“You always say that.”
“Arthur.”
“I meant it.”
“Save your strength.”
“I love you.”
“Shut up.”
His smile widened.
“There she is.”
“Arthur!”
His eyes closed.
The ambulance arrived eleven minutes later.
Clara rode with him.
She held pressure against his wound.
For the first time in years, she did not care who saw her crying.
At the hospital, surgeons operated for four hours.
Michael sat opposite Clara.
“I did this.”
She looked at him.
“Victor did.”
“I brought him into our lives.”
“Yes.”
Michael flinched.
Clara did not soften the truth.
“But what you do next decides whether this is the end of your story or the beginning of a different one.”
Michael stared at the floor.
“You sound like him.”
“No.”
She looked toward the operating-room doors.
“He sounds like me.”
At dawn, the surgeon appeared.
Arthur would live.
Clara nearly collapsed.
She entered his room two hours later.
Arthur was pale beneath white sheets.
Machines surrounded him.
She sat beside the bed.
Three years earlier, she had occupied almost the same position.
Different hospital.
Different bullet.
Different Clara.
Arthur woke near noon.
His eyes found her.
“You stayed.”
“Temporarily.”
“Cruel woman.”
“You were shot.”
“I noticed.”
Clara poured water.
Arthur watched her.
“What I said at the pier…”
“Pain medication.”
“Before I was shot.”
“Adrenaline.”
“Clara.”
She stopped.
Arthur’s expression became serious.
“I love you.”
She set down the water.
“You don’t get to say that and erase what happened.”
“I know.”
“You humiliated me because you were afraid.”
“I know.”
“You made me feel pathetic for loving you.”
His eyes closed briefly.
“I know.”
“I spent five years waiting for scraps.”
“You deserved everything.”
“No. I deserved honesty.”
Arthur looked at her.
“Yes.”
She sat.
“I love you too.”
His breath caught.
“But that does not mean I’m coming back.”
The hope in his face faded.
Clara continued.
“I don’t want to be your assistant.”
“You won’t be.”
“I don’t want to manage your violence.”
“You won’t.”
“I don’t want a relationship where love means cleaning blood off your cuffs at two in the morning.”
Arthur was silent.
“Then what do you want?”
Clara looked through the window.
“Something ordinary.”
Arthur almost laughed.
“I have no idea how to do ordinary.”
“Learn.”
He studied her.
“Is that a chance?”
“It’s homework.”
Arthur smiled.
“I was terrible at school.”
“I know. I saw your transcripts.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“You had access to those?”
“I had access to everything.”
For the first time in weeks, Clara laughed.
Arthur stared at her.
Not possessively.
Not hungrily.
With wonder.
Then he whispered, “I missed that.”
Her laughter disappeared.
“What?”
“You.”
A knock interrupted them.
Gregory entered.
His expression was grim.
“Sorry.”
Arthur immediately understood.
“What happened?”
“Victor escaped during transport.”
Clara stood.
Gregory continued.
“And he took Michael.”
Arthur ripped the heart monitor lead from his chest.
Clara pushed him back.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“That’s my brother.”
“And you have stitches holding your insides together.”
Arthur glared.
Clara glared harder.
Gregory looked between them.
“Good to have you back, Clara.”
She pointed toward the door.
“Get out.”
He obeyed immediately.
Arthur stared.
“I thought you quit.”
“I did.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Clara leaned closer.
“Arthur Costello, if you tear those stitches, I will personally sedate you.”
He smiled.
There it was.
Not the old relationship.
Something new.
May you like
Something neither understood yet.
And somewhere outside Chicago, Victor Vescari was preparing his final move.
