6. Delilah
DELILAH
The morning of day seven starts with different footsteps.
Not Shithead's familiar shuffle or Vetrov's measured pace. These are heavier, multiple sets moving around upstairs with purpose. I hear voices I don't recognize, the scrape of furniture being moved, car doors slamming outside.
I've been awake since before dawn, sitting straighter in the chair than I have all week. Today I go home.
Today this ends.
When the door finally opens, it's not Shithead who comes through.
Two men I've never seen before stand in the doorway. One is tall and thick through the shoulders, wearing a black jacket that doesn't quite hide the gun under his arm. The other is smaller, wiry, with quick eyes that catalog everything in the room before settling on me.
"Time to go," the tall one says.
He crosses to the chair and pulls out a knife.
For a second my heart stops, but he just cuts the rope from my shoulder and the tape from around my ankles.
The relief is immediate. I can feel blood rushing back into places that have been numb for days.
The smaller man produces a set of handcuffs. "Hands."
I hold up my wrists. He cuts the zip ties with surgical scissors and immediately replaces them with the cuffs, metal clicking shut around my raw skin. The cuffs are looser than the ties were, but not by much.
"Can you walk?" he asks.
I test my legs. They shake, but they hold me. "Yeah."
"Good. Let's move."
They flank me as we leave the basement for the first time in a week.
The stairs are wooden and steep, and I have to go slow, gripping the handrail with both hands.
At the top, a door opens into what looks like an abandoned office building.
Dusty desks, cubicles, windows covered with newspaper. Very Backrooms-y.
Vetrov is waiting by the elevator, checking his watch. He looks up when he sees us and nods once.
"Ms. Dorsey. You look better."
I don't answer.
The elevator is small and claustrophobic. We ride up in silence, five floors, and when the doors open I can hear water lapping against something outside.
We're at the waterfront.
They walk me through a maze of hallways to a freight entrance that opens onto a loading dock. The morning light makes me recoil after a week in the basement, and I have to squint against it, blinking until my eyes adjust.
The Hudson River stretches out in front of us, gray-green under the cloudy sky. To my right I can see the Manhattan skyline, to my left the Brooklyn Bridge. We're in DUMBO, I think, or maybe Brooklyn Heights.
A black sedan idles at the bottom of the loading ramp. Two more men lean against it, talking in hushed tones.
"This way," Vetrov says.
We walk down the ramp to the car. One of the men opens the back door and gestures for me to get in. I move across the seat, handcuffs catching on the door handle. Vetrov gets in beside me. The tall guard takes shotgun, and the smaller one drives.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
"Pier Six," Vetrov says. "Brooklyn Bridge Park. Your Mr. Makov is waiting."
The drive takes fifteen minutes. I watch Brooklyn scroll past the windows, thinking about Kane sitting in that video call last night, the way his face looked when he saw the bruise on my jaw. The way his voice went rough when I mentioned antibiotics.
He gave up twenty years of work for me. Twenty years.
I still can't quite process that.
When we pull into the parking area near the pier, I can see a lone figure standing at the far end of the wooden walkway. Even at this distance, even with his back to us, I know it's Kane.
"Remember our conversation," Vetrov says as the car stops. "About why your building had to burn."
"I remember."
"Good. I hope you'll be more sensible next time an offer comes your way."
He's talking about the fucker he wants me to sell the bakery to. I stay silent, pretend I have no clue. After all, what's that thing he said about me? That women like me don't last long? That I was broken?
For now, I let him believe it.
The guards get out first, then Vetrov. The tall one opens my door and helps me out of the car.
The pier stretches ahead of us, maybe two hundred feet of weathered planking over the water. Kane is standing at the very end, a briefcase at his feet, staring out at the harbor. He hasn't turned around yet, but his shoulders are rigid with tension.
God. I've missed him.
"Walk," Vetrov says.
We move as a group down the pier, our footsteps hollow on the wooden planks. When we're about halfway, Kane finally turns.
His eyes find mine immediately, and I see his whole body go still.
I've seen Kane angry before. I've seen him dangerous, cold, calculating, even downright furious. But the look on his face now is something else entirely. Something that makes the guards shift with nerves beside me.
He's wearing a dark coat over jeans and boots, no suit today. His hair is disheveled like he's been running his hands through it. There are shadows under his eyes that suggest he wasn't lying about the not sleeping.
When we're twenty feet away, Vetrov raises his hand and everyone stops.
"Mr. Gershon," he calls out. "You may approach to verify the exchange."
I turn, confused, and see an older man in an expensive overcoat walking up the pier behind us. Gershon. Kane's lawyer. He must have been waiting in a car nearby.
He passes us without a glance and continues to where Kane is standing. They speak under their breaths for a moment, then Gershon opens the briefcase and pulls out a folder. He flips through it quickly, nods to Kane, and walks back to where we're waiting.
"The transfers are complete and notarized," he tells Vetrov. "All ninety-one properties, signed over to your designated shell companies. The briefcase contains originals and certified copies."
Vetrov smiles. "Excellent."
Gershon holds out his hand to me. "Ms. Dorsey? Are you ready to go home?"
The tall guard looks at Vetrov, who nods once.
"Remove the handcuffs," Vetrov says.
The smaller man steps forward with a key. The metal falls away from my wrists, and I rub the raw skin, feeling pins and needles shoot up my arms.
"You may go," Vetrov says.
I take a step forward, then stop. Kane is still twenty feet away, still standing perfectly still, watching me. His hands are clenched at his sides.
I realize he's waiting for me to decide whether I want him close.
After what happened before I was taken. After the secrets and the lies and the maps spread across his dining room table. After a week of sitting in a basement, thinking about everything that went wrong between us.
He's giving me the choice.
I start walking toward him.
Kane's face changes as I get closer. Some of the tension leaves his shoulders, and his hands unclench.
When I'm five feet away, I stop.
"Hey," I say.
"Hey." His voice is hoarse. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I want to go home."
"Okay. We can do that."
I look at his face, really look at it. The shadows under his eyes, the lines around his mouth that I don't remember being so deep. The way he's holding himself like he's afraid I might run.
"Kane."
"Yeah?"
I hold out my hand.
He studies it for a second, then reaches out and takes it. His fingers are warm, and the moment our skin touches I feel something in my chest unknot for the first time in a week.
"Let's go," I say.
He nods and picks up the briefcase with his free hand. We walk back down the pier together, past Vetrov and his guards, past Gershon, who falls into step behind us.
When we reach the parking area, I see Stepan waiting beside a black SUV. And standing next to him, bouncing on her toes with barely contained energy, is Priya.
The moment she sees me, she breaks into a run.
"Dee!"
I let go of Kane's hand just in time to catch her as she throws her arms around me. She's sobbing into my shoulder, holding me so tight I can barely breathe, and I'm crying too, I realize. For the first time since this started, I'm actually crying.
"I'm okay," I whisper into her hair. "I'm okay, I promise."
"You scared the shit out of me," she says, pulling back to look at my face. "Don't ever do that again."
"I'll try not to get kidnapped anymore."
She laughs and wipes her eyes. "You better not. Not to make this all about me, but if I have to go through another week with you lying in some cage, I'm going to buy, like, seven guns."
"Seven guns?"
"Yes. Then I'll learn to wield them all at the same time and I'll come get you."
An unexpected laugh bubbles out of me. "I missed you too, Pri."
I glance over at Kane, who's standing a few feet away, giving us space but staying close enough to intervene if needed. His eyes are soft as he watches us.
"Thank you," I tell him. "For bringing her."
"You asked for her."
"I know, but—"
"You don't need to thank me, Lilah."
The nickname hits me like a punch to the chest. I haven't heard it in three weeks, not since the night at my mother's house when everything fell apart.
Priya is looking back and forth between us, clearly picking up on the tension. "Should I... give you guys a minute?"
"No," I say quickly. "We can talk later. Right now I just want to get out of here."
Stepan opens the back door of the SUV. Priya climbs in first, then me, then Kane. Gershon takes the front seat.
As we pull out of the parking lot, I see Vetrov and his men walking back toward their sedan. The briefcase is in Vetrov's hands now.
Twenty years of Kane's life, contained in a single case.
I reach over and take Kane's hand again. He looks down at our joined fingers, then at my face.
"No regrets?" I ask.
"None."
But there's something in his eyes that makes me think he's not telling me the whole truth. Something careful and guarded, like he's still keeping secrets.
I squeeze his hand and turn to look out the window.
We're crossing the Manhattan Bridge when I finally speak again.
"I need to go to a hospital first," I say. "For my lung."
Priya shoots me a concerned look.
Before she can say anything, Kane straightens. "I've got it covered."
"Covered?" I ask.
"A doctor I trust. She agreed to meet us at—"
"No," I say. "No more underground doctors.
I mean it, Kane. I need to get looked at by someone who isn't paid to tell whoever's in charge what they want to hear.
" I pause to clear my throat. That simple action hurts way worse than it has any right to.
"And I want to make sure I'm okay before we deal with… anything else."
Us, I don't say. Before I deal with us.
Apparently, I don't need to say it.
"Of course," Kane says after a beat. "Stepan. Change of plans."