Not a warehouse.

Not a gun.

Not blood.

His mother.

A kitchen in Bridgeport.

A chipped blue pot.

Rain against the window.

Arthur at twelve years old, sitting at a table while his mother pushed a plate of pasta toward him.

Eat, she'd said.

You can't solve the world's problems on an empty stomach.

Arthur opened his eyes.

The bowl trembled slightly in his hand.

Nora noticed.

She said nothing.

He took another bite.

Then another.

Dominic watched in disbelief.

"Arthur?"

Arthur ignored him.

He finished the bowl.

Every last strand.

When he placed the fork down, the kitchen remained silent.

Nora studied him.

"Well?"

Arthur looked at the empty bowl.

"I want another."

For the first time, Nora smiled.

"Now you're asking properly."

Arthur almost smiled back.

Almost.

Then the phone in Dominic's pocket rang.

The sound shattered the moment.

Dominic answered.

His expression changed before he said a word.

"Where?"

He listened.

"How many?"

Another pause.

"Keep them outside."

He hung up.

Arthur's face became cold again.

"What?"

"One of the outer cameras caught a car circling the property."

Arthur stood.

The weakness was still there, but something inside him had changed.

He no longer looked like a starving man.

He looked like Arthur Vale.

"Whose?"

"Unknown."

Arthur turned toward Nora.

She had gone still.

Her phone was vibrating in her pocket.

She pulled it out.

One message.

Her face drained of color.

Arthur noticed.

"What's wrong?"

Nora locked the screen.

"Nothing."

Arthur held her gaze.

"Don't lie to me."

She hesitated.

Then the phone vibrated again.

This time, she didn't check it.

Arthur's eyes narrowed.

Dominic stepped forward.

"Let me see it."

Nora backed away.

"No."

Arthur raised one hand.

Dominic stopped.

Arthur looked at Nora.

"Who are they?"

She swallowed.

"My brother owes money."

"To whom?"

"Someone in Boston."

Dominic's expression changed.

Arthur understood immediately.

"What's his name?"

Nora didn't answer.

"Nora."

Her eyes met his.

"Caleb."

Arthur's jaw tightened.

"And what did they threaten?"

She looked toward the kitchen windows.

"Nothing they haven't done to other people."

That was enough.

Arthur turned to Dominic.

"Find out everything."

"Arthur—"

"Everything."

Dominic nodded and disappeared.

Nora stared at Arthur.

"You don't have to do that."

"I know."

"Then why?"

Arthur looked at the empty bowl.

For six weeks, he'd been surrounded by people who wanted something from him.

Fear.

Money.

Protection.

Power.

Nora was different.

She had given him food without asking for anything.

She had looked at the most feared man in C-hic-a-go and told him to starve if he didn't trust her.

Something about that irritated him.

Something about it also made him want to protect the small piece of honesty she had brought into his house.

"You fed me," he said.

Nora shook her head.

"It was pasta."

Arthur looked at her.

"No."

His voice softened.

"You reminded me what food was supposed to taste like."

Before Nora could answer, the lights went out.

The mansion dropped into darkness.

Somewhere outside, an alarm screamed.

Then came the sound of running feet.

Dominic's voice echoed through the corridor.

"Lock the doors!"

Nora froze.

Arthur reached for her.

Not possessively.

Protectively.

He guided her behind the stone kitchen wall as the guards moved through the mansion.

For a few seconds, all Nora could hear was her own breathing.

Arthur stood beside her.

She could feel how tense he was.

"Are you scared?" he whispered.

"Yes."

"So am I."

Nora looked at him.

She hadn't expected honesty.

Neither had Arthur.

Then the emergency lights flickered on.

Dominic appeared in the doorway.

"The car is gone."

Arthur's eyes narrowed.

"How many?"

"Two men. Maybe three."

"And Caleb?"

Dominic hesitated.

"We found his location."

Nora stepped forward.

"Is he alive?"

Dominic looked at Arthur.

Arthur gave a small nod.

"Tell her."

"He's alive."

Nora exhaled.

Her shoulders sagged with relief.

Arthur watched her carefully.

He knew that feeling.

The unbearable relief of discovering that someone you loved had survived another night.

It was a feeling he had spent years convincing himself he didn't need.

Later, after the guards secured the estate, Arthur returned to the kitchen.

Nora was cleaning the skillet.

"You don't have to do that," he said.

She didn't turn.

"It's my job."

"No."

She looked at him.

"Then what is?"

Arthur considered the question.

For once, he didn't have an answer prepared.

Outside, C-hic-ag-o glittered beneath the windows, cold and enormous and hungry.

Arthur walked to the table and sat down.

Nora studied him.

"Another bowl?"

Arthur nodded.

"Please."

The word sounded unfamiliar coming from him.

Nora turned back toward the stove.

She crushed another clove of garlic beneath her knife.

The familiar sound filled the kitchen.

Arthur listened.

For years, he had believed power meant never needing anyone.

Never asking.

Never admitting fear.

Never allowing another person to see the wound beneath the armor.

But as garlic warmed in olive oil and tomatoes began to blister, he realized something his doctors had never understood.

He had not been starving because his body had forgotten how to eat.

He had been starving because somewhere along the way, he had forgotten what it meant to live.

Nora placed the bowl in front of him.

This time, Arthur didn't hesitate.

He picked up the fork.

And for the first time in forty-two days, the most feared man in Chi-ca-go ate without tasting blood.