Chapter 4 - The Predator’s CageThe temperature in the corridor dropped twenty degrees.
Dante forced a tight, defensive smile, lowering the barrel of his weapon just an inch, though he didn't put it away.
“Boss,” Dante said, his voice carrying a subtle, dangerous edge of challenge. “Just doing a little housekeeping. We have a leak in the estate. Someone patched you up last weekend, and this little maid here seems to have a lot of answers about mysterious wire transfers.”
Arthur didn't blink. He walked slowly down the corridor, his heavy leather shoes clicking rhythmically against the stone floor. He didn't look at Dante; his dark, burning eyes were fixed entirely on me—on the bright red welt spreading across my cheek where Dante had struck me.
When Arthur stopped beside Dante, he was a full head taller than his enforcer.
“Housekeeping,” Arthur repeated softly.
“We can’t have traitors inside the walls, Arthur,” Dante pressed, stepping slightly sideways as if to shield his position. “You know that better than anyone. If she’s hiding something—'
Bang.
Before Dante could finish his sentence, Arthur’s fist connected with Dante’s jaw with the force of a wrecking ball.
The sickening crunch of bone echoed off the stone walls. Dante flew backward, crashing hard against the floor and sliding several feet before hitting the wall, his silver pistol skidding across the concrete.
The two guards flanking Dante instantly drew their weapons, raising them toward Arthur.
In a flash of lightning-fast movement, Arthur drew his own sidearm from his waist, leveling the barrel straight between the eyes of the nearest guard.
“Drop them,” Arthur ordered, his voice dangerously calm.
The guards looked at Dante, who was spitting blood onto the floor while clutching his shattered jaw, and slowly lowered their weapons, stepping back.
Arthur holstered his gun, turned his back entirely on his bleeding enforcer, and walked over to where I stood flattened against the wall. He reached out, his large hand gently cupping my bruised cheek, his thumb brushing over the split lip with a tenderness that completely contradicted the brutal violence he had just unleashed.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Arthur asked, his voice low and intimate, ignoring the rest of the hallway completely.
“No,” I whispered, my voice shaking.
Arthur’s gaze shifted back to Dante, who was struggling to push himself up from the floor, wiping blood from his chin with a murderous glare in his eyes.
“Dante,” Arthur said, not bothering to turn around. “You’re relieved of your duties at the Chicago estate. Pack your things tonight. If I ever see your face in this city again, I won't just break your jaw.”
Dante staggered to his feet, panting heavily, shooting a venomous look at both of us. “You’re letting a nobody whore tear the organization apart, Arthur. Everyone knows you’re weak. Everyone knows you’re losing your edge. You won’t last another month.”
Arthur didn't flinch. He didn't even blink.
“Get out,” Arthur said.
Dante spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor, cursed under his breath, and stumbled down the corridor, his guards trailing nervously behind him like stray dogs.
When the heavy footsteps faded into silence, the hallway felt suffocatingly quiet.
Arthur turned back to me. He dropped his hand from my face, though he didn't step away.
“You shouldn't have stayed in this house, Norah,” he said, his voice heavy with a strange, dark regret.
“Where was I supposed to go?” I whispered, tears finally spilling over my eyelashes. “You people own this city. There’s nowhere to hide from a Costello.”
Arthur reached out, his fingers gently catching a tear as it slid down my cheek.
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“You’re not hiding anymore,” he said quietly.
Before I could ask what that meant, he scooped me up effortlessly into his arms, ignoring my gasp of surprise, and carried me away from the cold stone corridor, straight toward the private residential wing upstairs—right into the lion's den.
