5. Kane
KANE
The call comes at eight-fifteen on the sixth evening.
I'm sitting in my office with Gershon, both of us staring at the laptop screen he's set up on my desk. The transfer documents are arranged in neat stacks beside it. Ninety-one folders, each one representing a piece of the corridor I spent twenty years assembling.
My screen lights up.
It's Vetrov's number.
"Answer it," Gershon says. "Put it on speaker."
I hit accept. "Makov."
"Mr. Makov. I trust you've had time to review the paperwork."
"It's ready."
"Excellent. In thirty minutes, you'll receive a video call. You may speak with Ms. Dorsey for five minutes to confirm her condition. After that, I'll provide instructions for tomorrow's exchange."
The line goes dead.
Gershon checks his watch. "Eight forty-five."
I nod and lean back in my chair. Five minutes to see Lilah's face. Five minutes to know she's alive.
"You prepared for this?" Gershon asks.
"No."
He raises an eyebrow but doesn't push. He knows better.
We wait in silence. I check my phone every few minutes, even though I know it won't ring until Vetrov decides it's time. At eight forty-three, I stop checking and just glare at the black screen of the laptop.
At eight forty-five, the call comes through.
The screen flickers, then resolves into a grainy video feed of a concrete basement. Cinderblock walls, exposed pipes, a single bulb hanging from the ceiling.
And Lilah.
She's sitting in a metal chair, rope over her shoulder, hands zip-tied in front of her. Her hair is matted, her face pale, her clothes wrinkled and stained. There's dried blood on her knuckles and a bruise along her left jaw.
But she's alive.
Relief nearly knocks me out.
She's looking directly at the camera, and when she sees me, her mouth curves into the smallest smile.
"Hey," she says.
"Hey." My voice comes out rough. I clear my throat. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been chained to a chair for six days." She shifts position, wincing. "But I'm okay. Really. Are you?"
"I'm fine."
"Liar."
That makes me almost smile. "Are they feeding you?"
"Yeah. Bagels and water, mostly. Some soup. I'm not going to starve."
"Are you hurt?"
She holds up her hands, showing me the zip-tie marks around her wrists. "Nothing that won't heal. They brought a doctor on the second day for my chest. I'm on antibiotics."
The word antibiotics makes my ears ring. "What for?"
"Not sure. Something about my lung." She forces a shrug, but I can tell how much even that tiny movement costs her. "Probably all the smoke from the fire."
The fire that Vetrov set.
The one that took everything from her.
I ball up my fists out of sight. She's been sick. All this time, she's been sick in Vetrov's shitty basement, and I couldn't do a damn thing to help her.
If I had Vetrov in my sights right now, he'd be dead before he hit the ground.
I want to ask who hurt her face. I want to ask if they've touched her. I want to ask a hundred questions, but I know Vetrov is listening, and I know I only have five minutes.
"The bakery," I say instead. "It's damaged, but it's still standing."
Her eyes go soft. "Good. That's good." She pauses. "What about Priya and the others? Are they safe?"
"They're safe. Yuri's been checking on them daily. They know you're coming home soon."
She nods. "And you? What did you have to give up?"
Nothing that would have been worth keeping without you.
"Don't worry about that."
Her eyes turn a little sharper. "So you're back to keeping secrets from me?"
I sigh. Stubborn. Always so goddamn stubborn.
I look at the stacks of documents beside the laptop. "The corridor."
Her face falls. "All of it?"
"All of it."
"Kane, I'm so sorry. Twenty years of work—"
"Stop." I bend forward. "It's not your fault. None of this is your fault."
"But—"
"No." I hold her eyes through the screen. "I made my choice. I'd make it again."
She studies me before nodding once.
"Okay," she says. "So what happens tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow you come home."
"Where?" she asks. "My house or yours?"
The question catches me off guard. I've spent the entire week preparing to bring her back to the brownstone, to keep her close where I can protect her, where I can see for myself that she's safe.
But she's asking.
So I give her the choice.
"Where do you want to go?"
"My house," she says without hesitation. "I want to sleep in my own bed. Shower with my own soap. Sit in my own kitchen and eat something that isn't a dry-ass bagel."
I have no right to be disappointed. So I put a lid on it and keep my face neutral. "Okay."
"Really?"
"Really."
She smiles, and it's the first real smile I've seen from her in a week. "Thank you."
"What else do you need?" I ask. "What can I bring when I pick you up?"
She thinks about it. "My phone. And Priya. I want to see Priya."
"Done."
"You don't have to—"
"I said done." I check the time on my laptop. Two minutes left. "Anything else?"
"Clean clothes would be nice. These smell like a family of rats threw up in them."
"I'll handle it."
She shifts in the chair again, and I catch sight of the rope digging into her shoulder. My hands clench into fists under the desk.
"Kane," she says, and her voice is softer now. "Are you sure you're okay? You look..."
"I look what?"
"Tired. Angry. Like you haven't slept in a week."
"I haven't."
"You need to sleep."
"I'll sleep when you're home."
She opens her mouth to argue, but the video feed cuts to black.
I fix my eyes on the screen.
The phone rings immediately. Vetrov again.
"Satisfied?" he asks.
"She looks like hell."
"She's alive. That was our arrangement."
I want to reach through the phone and strangle him, but I keep my voice level. "What are your instructions?"
"Tomorrow at noon, you'll meet us at Pier Six in Brooklyn Bridge Park. You'll bring the signed transfer documents in a single briefcase. No copies, no backups. Oh, and absolutely no one else with you on site. Just you and the documents."
"How will the exchange work?"
"You'll walk to the end of the pier and wait. Ms. Dorsey will be brought to you there. Once I've verified the documents, she'll be released."
"How do I know you won't just take the documents and keep her?"
"Because I'm a businessman, Mr. Makov, not a murderer. I want your property. Your baker is a means to an end. Once the transfers are complete, our business is finished."
"If anything happens to her—"
"Nothing will happen to her. She'll be returned to you as promised." He pauses. "I hate to repeat myself, but I want this to be clear. You will come alone. If I detect any of your people within a quarter mile of that pier, the deal is off, and Ms. Dorsey disappears permanently."
The line goes dead.
I set the phone down and look at Gershon. "You heard?"
"I heard." He closes his laptop. "Pier Six, noon tomorrow. The mudak wants you alone."
"Can we get eyes on the area beforehand?"
"Not without risking the exchange. Vetrov's not stupid. He'll have people watching for our people."
I stand and walk to the window. Outside, the city stretches away in all directions, millions of lights against the darkness. Out there, Lilah is spending her last night in that basement.
"She asked for her phone and Priya," I say.
"I heard that too."
"Can you arrange it?"
"The phone's easy. Priya..." He shrugs. "I'll have Stepan pick her up tomorrow morning. She can ride with us to the pier."
"Good. And have someone go to her house. Get clothes, shoes, whatever she needs."
"Already on it."
Gershon starts gathering the transfer documents, stacking them carefully in the briefcase he brought. Each folder is labeled with an address, a shell company name, a date of acquisition.
Twenty years of work. Twenty years of patience and planning and strategic purchases, all to fulfill a promise I made at my mother's grave.
Gone.
"Any regrets?" Gershon asks.
"About what?"
"Giving it all up. For her."
I think about Lilah's face on the video call. The bruise on her jaw. The rope cutting into her shoulder. The way she smiled when she saw me.
"No," I say. "No regrets."
He nods and snaps the briefcase shut. "Then we're ready."
After Gershon leaves, I go upstairs to my bedroom and try to sleep.
I can't.