Chapter 4 - The Sound of Silence
The black sedan cut through the wet Chicago streets, the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers the only sound between Nora and Leo. The boy stared out the window, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek.
"You think you're smart, don't you?" Leo muttered finally without looking at her.
"I think I'm observant," Nora replied, keeping her eyes on the road. "There's a difference."
"You don't know anything about us. About mom."
"I know she died twelve months ago. I know your father stopped running his operations efficiently because he was too busy trying to keep you four from destroying yourselves. And I know you've taken on the mantle of the angry man of the house because you think it protects your siblings." Nora glanced sideways at him. "It doesn't. It just makes you a target."
Leo whipped his head around, his eyes blazing. "Shut up! You have no right—"
"I have every right. I live under the same roof. And if you draw a weapon or pick a fight that brings your father’s enemies to our doorstep, I am the one who has to help clean up the mess." Nora pulled the car up to the ornate iron gates of St. Jude’s Academy, putting the transmission into park. "Get out, Leo."
The boy grabbed the door handle, hesitated, and looked back. "Why didn't you marry someone else? Anyone else?"
"Because the other options were worse," Nora said honestly. "Now go to class."
When she returned to the Costa estate, the house was eerily quiet. She parked the car in the underground garage and walked through the back service entrance. The kitchen was clean—Arthur must have loaded the dishwasher, a surreal thought.
She walked down the long, shadowed hallway toward the west wing, pausing when she heard a faint, scratching sound coming from the formal library.
The heavy double doors were cracked open an inch.
Nora pushed one door open gently.
Sitting on the Persian rug beneath the massive stone fireplace was Lily. The four-year-old had a box of colored pencils scattered around her skirts. In her small hand, she clutched a blue crayon, furiously scribbling across a piece of printer paper.
Next to her, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a posture entirely unsuited for a mafia kingpin, was Arthur Costa. He was holding a green crayon, dutifully coloring in the leaves of a poorly drawn tree at Lily’s direction.
Nora leaned against the doorframe, watching them. Arthur looked up, catching her reflection in the dark mahogany bookcase. He didn't stand. He didn't try to look imposing.
"She hasn't spoken," Arthur whispered, his voice barely audible over the crackling of the wood fire he had built. "But she handed me this."
He held up a small sheet of paper. On it were five stick figures: a tall one with broad shoulders, a smaller one with a severe hair knot, and three smaller figures clustered between them. Above them, drawn in shaky, childish lines, was a crude house with a bright yellow sun.
Nora felt a sudden, sharp constriction in her chest—a sensation she hadn't anticipated, one that had nothing to do with her barren medical chart or her father’s debts.
"She's still drawing fences," Nora noted quietly, stepping into the room.
Arthur looked down at the drawing. "What do you mean?"
"Look at the borders." Nora pointed to the heavy dark lines framing the edges of the paper. "She’s drawing a cage. She doesn't feel safe yet."
Arthur slowly set the crayon down. "How do we take the fences down, Nora?"
"You stop treating this marriage like a contract that expires in thirty days," Nora said, her voice steady and clear. "And I stop treating your children like my inmates."
Arthur stood up, towering over her in the dim light of the library. The space between them felt charged, heavy with unsaid things, with the terrifying realization that what started as a business transaction was rapidly spiraling out of their control.
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"Thirty days is a long time," Arthur murmured, taking a step closer.
"Then we better make them count," Nora replied, not backing an inch.
