Chapter 4 - THE RECEIPT|
Saturday evening arrived with a biting, clear frost that glazed the city streets in ice.
Beatrice stood in her small, two-bedroom apartment in Pilsen, looking at herself in the floor-length mirror.
The dress Arthur had sent was not a traditional ball gown. It was a structured, heavy emerald-green silk dress with a high collar, long fitted sleeves, and a sharp, tailored waist that fell in clean lines to the floor. It covered her completely from neck to ankle, yet it accentuated every curve of her body with terrifying precision.
She looked less like a date and more like a queen preparing to inspect a conquered city.
A sharp knock sounded at her front door at precisely seven o'clock.
Beatrice opened it. Arthur stood in the narrow, dimly lit hallway, wearing a tailored black tuxedo that made his broad shoulders look massive. His dark hair was brushed back, his gray eyes scanning her from head to toe in one slow, deliberate pass.
He didn't offer a polite compliment. He simply reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of cream parchment.
Beatrice took it. It was a formal debt release stamped with the red wax seal of the O’Malley organization, signed by O’Malley himself.
Debt paid in full. Account cleared.
Beatrice breathed out a slow, trembling breath, her fingers clutching the paper tightly. “Tommy?”
“He’s on a bus to Denver,” Arthur said, his voice quiet in the narrow hall. “I gave him five thousand dollars and told him if he sets foot in Chicago before spring, I’ll personally break his arm.”
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Beatrice looked up, meeting his cool gray gaze. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Arthur said, extending his arm toward the staircase. “The night hasn't started.”
