My father set his Scotch down so hard the amber liquid sloshed over the rim.
The Continental went completely quiet around our booth. Men who ran numbers, docks, and real estate across northern Illinois stopped talking and looked toward Arthur.
My father wiped his fingers on a linen napkin, hurried over, and stopped two paces away.
“Arthur,” Richard said, trying on an easy smile that looked brittle at the edges. “I didn’t realize you were in the market for a wife.”
“I wasn’t,” Arthur replied. “Until I watched you spend an hour offering your daughter to degenerates because you can’t manage your book with Carmine Romano.”
Richard’s smile vanished.
My mother arrived at his elbow, her cigarette extinguished, her jaw set tight. “This is a private family negotiation, Mr. Costa.”
“You gave up privacy when you brought her to a public dining room to barter off,” Arthur said.
He did not raise his voice. He did not gesture. He simply stood there, solid and unyielding, the dried blood on his cuff clearly visible under the chandelier.
“The debt is three million,” Richard said, trying to regain his footing. “Carmine gives me until Friday. If you want Evelyn, that is the number. Full assumption of the note.”
“I will wire three million dollars directly to Carmine’s account before midnight,” Arthur said.
Richard breathed out, his shoulders dropping in visible relief.
“On three conditions,” Arthur added.
Richard frowned. “Conditions?”
“First,” Arthur said, “the money is not a dowry, and it is not a loan to you. It is a purchase of complete release. You will sign a legal surrender of all family claims, trusts, and ties to Evelyn before we leave this building.”
My mother stiffened. “She is our daughter.”
“You just priced her at three million,” Arthur countered. “She stopped being your daughter the minute you put her on the block.”
He pointed a finger at Richard.
“Second condition: neither of you ever contacts her again. No holidays, no phone calls, no dropping by my residence in Oak Park. If you need money, you do not come to her. If you run into her in public, you cross the street.”
Richard’s eyes darted toward the other men watching from their booths. He looked humiliated, but fear won out over pride.
“And the third?” Richard asked.
“If I ever catch either of you speaking about her medical history to another soul in this city, Carmine Romano’s debt will be the least of your concerns.”
Silence hung thick between them.
My mother looked at my neck. “The diamonds she’s wearing belonged to my mother.”
Arthur reached into his suit jacket, pulled out a heavy clip of folded hundred-dollar bills, and dropped it onto the table between our glasses.
“Keep the diamonds, Evelyn,” Arthur said, without looking at my mother. “She has been paid for them.”
Richard swallowed hard. He looked at the cash on the wood, then glanced toward the front doors where two of Arthur’s associates were already standing watch.
“Do you have the release paperwork?” Richard muttered.
“My attorney is waiting in the private office down the hall,” Arthur said. “He’s been drawing it up since I sat down with her.”
Arthur turned his back on my parents and looked at me.
“Stand up, Evelyn.”
My knees felt numb, but I stood.
He did not grab my arm or touch my waist. He simply stepped aside to give me room, then walked beside me toward the back corridor.
The private office smelled of old paper and stale coffee. A thin man in gold-rimmed spectacles sat behind a mahogany desk with a fountain pen and three copies of a legal release.
Richard signed first, his pen scratching aggressively against the heavy bond paper. He didn’t look at me once.
My mother signed beneath him, blew on the wet ink, picked up her clutch, and walked straight out the door into the rain.
Arthur picked up the signed documents, handed them to his lawyer, and took out his phone. He dialed a single number.
“Carmine,” Arthur said into the receiver. “Check your corporate wire. Richard Vance’s account is settled in full. The girl belongs to my household now.”
He hung up before Romano could reply.
“Let’s go,” Arthur told me.
We walked out through the rear exit into the cold Chicago downpour. A black SUV waited under the awning, its engine idling with a low rumble. Arthur opened the rear door for me, waited until I slid onto the leather seat, and climbed in beside me.
The driver pulled away from the curb, tires hissing on wet asphalt.
I stared at my grandmother’s diamonds resting against my black velvet dress. My hands rested in my lap, stiff and cold.
“You shouldn’t romanticize this,” Arthur said quietly as the city skyline drifted past the window.
I looked over at him. “I’m not romanticizing anything.”
“Good,” he said. “I run businesses that require violence. My life is dangerous, and my house is noisy. I have four children: ten, eight, six, and three. Their mother died two years ago, and I have gone through five nannies because none of them can handle the pressure or the hours.”
“You want a governess,” I said.
“I want a wife who lives under my roof, manages the staff, protects my children when I am away, and doesn’t scheme behind my back,” he replied. “I don’t need heirs. I already have four. Your doctor’s diagnosis means nothing to me.”
The truth of my situation settled over me like iron.
I was not going home. I would never sit at my parents’ dinner table again, and I would never bear a biological child of my own. My body was still broken by the diagnosis I had received this afternoon.
Arthur reached into his pocket, took out a linen handkerchief, and handed it to me.
“Wipe your cuff,” he said. “Some of that man’s drink spilled on your sleeve.”
I took the cloth and pressed it against the damp fabric.
“What are their names?” I asked.
Arthur looked at me through the dim light of the cab.
“Leo, Clara, Matteo, and Sofia,” he said.
I folded the handkerchief neatly and placed it in my lap.
“Tell me about Leo first,” I said, as the car turned onto the expressway heading west.
No Comments yet!