Chapter 9 - The Second Knock
They did not immediately become a couple.
Norah insisted.
Arthur hated it.
Good.
They had coffee.
Then dinner.
Then another dinner.
Arthur rented an apartment.
His own.
No guards inside.
A security team downstairs because realism still existed.
Norah visited once.
The place looked professionally decorated and emotionally vacant.
“You need a plant.”
Arthur stared.
“I just got out of federal prison.”
“Yes.”
“You think my problem is botany?”
“Yes.”
She brought him a pothos.
He nearly killed it.
She saved it.
Relationship metaphor rejected.
Six months later, Arthur joined Norah at a hospital fundraiser.
Not as a Mafia boss.
As chairman of Costello Logistics Group, now under an independent board.
People still whispered.
Names have long shadows.
Arthur did not pretend otherwise.
A reporter asked:
“Do you consider yourself rehabilitated?”
Arthur answered:
“No.”
Norah looked at him.
The reporter seemed startled.
Arthur continued.
“I consider rehabilitation something you practice.”
“That is less marketable.”
The reporter laughed.
Norah did too.
Good answer.
One year after his release, Arthur took Norah to the harbor.
Port 17.
Locker 317 had been removed.
The building was being converted into a union training facility.
Gabriel’s idea.
Arthur stood where the locker once had.
“I almost destroyed him here.”
“Yes.”
“I almost destroyed myself.”
“Yes.”
“You’re very soothing.”
“Thank you.”
Arthur looked at her.
“I want to ask something.”
“No ring.”
He blinked.
“I wasn’t—”
“You have ring face.”
“What is ring face?”
“Panic disguised as planning.”
Arthur laughed.
“No ring.”
“Good.”
He became serious.
“Move in with me.”
Norah stared.
“No.”
His expression fell.
Then stabilized.
“Okay.”
That answer mattered.
Norah smiled slightly.
“Ask me again someday.”
Hope returned.
“Someday?”
“Yes.”
They walked outside.
Three months later, Norah asked him.
“Do you still want me to move in?”
Arthur stared over breakfast.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“I have conditions.”
He almost laughed.
“Of course.”
“Separate accounts.”
“Yes.”
“My work stays mine.”
“Yes.”
“No security tracking my phone.”
“Yes.”
“No buying my problems before asking.”
“Yes.”
“And if you start drinking and showing up at three in the morning covered in blood—”
“I call my therapist.”
“Before me.”
“Yes.”
“Excellent.”
They moved into a renovated townhouse.
Not a fortress.
A home.
One Friday night, Norah was brushing her teeth when she heard a knock on the bedroom door.
Three knocks.
Her heart remembered before her mind did.
Arthur’s voice came through.
“Can I come in?”
Norah opened it.
He stood outside holding a tiny velvet box.
She stared.
“I knew it.”
Arthur looked offended.
“Ring face.”
“Told you.”
This time he did kneel.
Not because he was broken.
Not because he needed rescue.
Because he chose to.
“Norah Hollis.”
She crossed her arms.
“Yes?”
“You met me at the worst point of my life.”
“Extremely inconvenient.”
“You refused my money.”
“It was suspicious.”
“You refused my orders.”
“Still do.”
“You refused to tell me my crimes were someone else’s fault.”
His voice tightened.
“And somehow, after seeing exactly what I was…”
He looked up.
“…you still gave me room to become someone else.”
Norah’s eyes filled.
“You did that part.”
“I know.”
Good.
Arthur opened the box.
A simple diamond.
No family heirloom.
No blood-soaked Costello history.
New.
“Will you marry me?”
Norah waited long enough to make him suffer.
Then smiled.
“Yes.”
Arthur closed his eyes.
“Thank God.”
“But—”
His eyes reopened.
“Obviously.”
“No enormous Mafia wedding.”
“The Mafia is gone.”
“No enormous former-Mafia wedding.”
“Fine.”
“No politicians.”
“Excellent.”
“No gold chairs.”
“I don’t own gold chairs.”
“You probably know someone.”
“Unfortunately.”
She held out her hand.
Arthur slipped on the ring.
Then looked at her.
“Can I stand up now?”
“No.”
May you like
He stared.
Norah laughed and pulled him toward her.
