8. Delilah
DELILAH
Priya's apartment is practically sparkling.
She's scrubbed the place within an inch of its life in the extra thirty minutes it took Kane and me to get here, and now she's forcing me onto her couch with a mug and a blanket while she hovers.
"Sit," she orders. "Drink. Don't move until I say so."
I sit. I drink. The coffee is strong enough to strip paint, just how I like it.
Priya clocks my pure-bliss face. "Better?" she teases.
"Getting there."
She settles next to me, close enough that our knees touch. "So. What do you need? Food? Sleep? A good cry? All of the above?"
I want all those things.
But first—
"I need to call my lawyer."
Priya blinks. "Right now?"
"Right now."
Because sitting in Kane's car listening to him text Niko about Marat Kolchin and Thirty-Ninth Street files made something click into place.
The furnace pipe conversations weren't just useful intelligence for Kane to act on. They were evidence. Evidence of conspiracy, fraud, maybe even racketeering if Skye wanted to get creative.
Evidence that could protect my building.
I pull out my cracked phone and scroll to Skye's number.
She picks up on the second ring.
"Delilah." Her voice is sharp with relief. "Jesus Christ, are you okay?"
"I'm fine. I'm at Priya's. Can you come over?"
"Now?"
"Now."
"Give me forty minutes."
She hangs up.
Priya is staring at me. "You want to talk legal strategy? Jesus, Delilah. You've been back for, like, three hours."
"I know."
"You should be sleeping. Or eating. Or processing trauma while crying yourself hoarse over a Bridget Jones marathon."
"I'll process when I'm dead." I set down my coffee mug. "Right now I need to make sure Vetrov can't take my building."
"Okay," Priya says. "But we're watching Bridget Jones tonight."
I almost smile. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."
While we wait for Skye, I take the first shower in a week. The water comes out a grimy gray that I swear will haunt my nightmares.
I scrub until my skin turns bright pink.
When I finally get out, clean and dressed in my pajamas that Stepan brought over, I am starving.
Skye arrives just as my stomach gives its first growl. She's carrying a leather messenger bag and two take-out containers from the Thai place on Seventh Avenue.
I could kiss her on the mouth.
"Eat," she says, pushing the container my way. "I'll do the talking while you chew."
I have a sneaking suspicion Priya is behind this, but I have no proof and a whole lot of hunger.
I practically tear open the container. Pad see ew with extra vegetables, my usual order. The fact that she remembered almost makes me cry.
"Thanks."
Skye pulls out a legal pad and a voice recorder. "Do you mind if I record this? For my notes."
"Go ahead."
She hits record and sets the device on the coffee table between us. Priya sets down two steaming cups of chai and gives us the room, but not before pilfering three egg rolls and a serving of noodles.
"Okay," Skye says. "Start from the beginning."
So I tell her. All of it.
The chemical smoke behind the bakery. The front door barred shut with a scaffold pipe. The three men in the alley and the fight and the chloroform. Waking up chained to a chair in a cinderblock basement with tape around my wrists and ankles.
Skye's face stays neutral, but I can see her knuckles whiten around her pen.
I tell her about Shithead and the plain bagels and the doctor who diagnosed me with a wet lung. About the walks twice a day and the furnace pipe where I could hear conversations from upstairs.
"What kind of conversations?" Skye asks.
"Business conversations. About money, mostly. And my building." I close my eyes and pull up the mental list I've been rehearsing since Tuesday. "Marat Kolchin was one name I heard multiple times. He works for Vetrov, I think. They were talking about Halyard Group and zoning meetings."
Skye writes it down. "What else?"
"A woman named Lyudmila. She was talking about coding payments as consulting fees and mentioned someone called Berger."
"Jerome Berger?"
"I don't know. She just said Berger."
Skye makes another note. "Continue."
"Vetrov keeps files at Thirty-Ninth Street. Off-site storage. And he's already promised someone named Monroe Fletcher the complete corridor, including my bakery."
Skye's pen stops moving. "Monroe Fletcher? The developer?"
"That's what Kane said."
"When did Vetrov promise him this?"
"I heard the conversation on the sixth morning. Vetrov said Fletcher could have the whole stretch, Thirty-Ninth to the water, every parcel. He told Fletcher not to worry about my building because it burned down and I'd sell to the first person who made an offer."
Skye sets down her pen. "He said that? Those exact words?"
"He did."
After a minute of thoughtful silence, Skye picks up her pen again. "What else did you hear?"
I go through the rest of it. The timelines, the delivery schedules, the meetings scheduled for next week. Everything I could piece together from conversations filtered through a furnace pipe.
When I'm done, Skye clicks off the recorder.
"This is good," she says. "This is very good. If we can corroborate even half of what you heard, we've got grounds for a civil RICO claim."
"RICO?"
"Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act.
Federal statute designed to combat organized crime.
" She flips to a new page on her legal pad.
"If Vetrov conspired to defraud you of your property through arson, kidnapping, and extortion, that's a pattern of racketeering activity.
Which means we can sue for treble damages. "
"Treble damages?"
"Three times the actual loss. Plus attorney's fees."
I blink. "So if the bakery damage is—"
"Conservatively? Two hundred thousand to repair and reopen.
Treble that and you're looking at six hundred thousand, plus whatever we can prove in lost business income.
" Skye taps her pen against the legal pad.
"But it's not an easy road. A RICO case takes years.
We're talking depositions, discovery, motions, appeals.
Meanwhile, Vetrov's got all ninety-one of Kane's properties and a developer on standby who's already promised a complete corridor. "
My stomach sinks. "So even if we win eventually—"
"By the time we win, Fletcher's already broken ground on luxury condos."
"Then what do we do?"
Skye thinks for a moment. "We focus on what we can control right now. Which is making sure Vetrov can't force you out before the case even gets to court." She pulls out her phone. "I'm calling in reinforcements."
"Reinforcements?"
"Property counsel. Someone who specializes in zoning and eminent domain.
" She scrolls through her contacts. "If Vetrov's promising Fletcher a complete corridor, he's going to need your lot.
Which means he's either banking on you selling voluntarily, or he's planning something that would force your hand. "
"Like what?"
"Condemnation proceedings. Compulsory acquisition for redevelopment. There are legal mechanisms that let the city seize property for public benefit, and developers abuse them all the time to assemble parcels." She hits dial. "Let me see what I can find out."
She walks into Priya's kitchen to make the call. I can hear her voice through the doorway, crisp and professional.
Priya refills my chai. "You okay?"
"I don't know yet."
"Do you want to be alone? I can go to my room—"
"No." I lunge for her hand like a child. It's pathetic, but I can't help myself. Priya has always been my rock one way or another. This time, it's no different. "Stay."
So she stays.
Thirty minutes later, Skye comes back with her phone pressed to her ear, her mouth grim.
"Uh-huh. Yeah. When?" Silence. "Shit. Okay. Send me everything you've got." She hangs up. "We've got a situation."
"What kind of situation?"
"Vetrov filed a petition with the city last week to include Lot Twenty-Two in a compulsory redevelopment acquisition. He's arguing that your building is structurally unsound after the fire and constitutes a public safety hazard."
The words hit me like a punch to the chest. "But I haven't even had it assessed yet."
"That's his point. He's saying you've abandoned the property and have no intention of repairing it, which makes it blighted. If the city agrees, they can seize it under eminent domain and sell it to a developer willing to incorporate it into a broader revitalization plan."
"That's ridiculous."
"That's real estate law in New York." Skye sits back down. "But here's the good news. The petition was just filed. Which means we've got time to challenge it before it goes to a hearing."
"How do we challenge it?"
"We prove your building isn't abandoned or blighted.
We get an independent structural assessment showing it's repairable.
We document your intent to rebuild. And we show up at the hearing with evidence that Vetrov's petition is fraudulent because he's the one who caused the fire in the first place. "
I can't even begin to process all that. But I understand enough to know Skye needs me at the top of my game for this.
"What do you need from me?" I ask.
"Authorization to retain a structural engineer. Preferably someone who specializes in fire damage assessment and can get us a report within two weeks."
"Okay."
"And I need to know if you're serious about rebuilding. Because if you're not, if there's any part of you that's thinking about taking a settlement and walking away, now's the time to tell me."
I look at Priya. She's watching me with gentle eyes, waiting.
I think about my bakery. The deck oven I spent three years saving for.
The kitchen where I've baked every birthday cake and wedding cake and graduation cake for half of Sunset Park.
The front counter where I flirted with customers and fought with my sister and learned to stop apologizing for taking up space.
I think about Vetrov sitting in that basement telling me I was broken.
"I'm serious," I say. "I'm rebuilding."
Skye nods. "Good. Then we fight."
She pulls out a contract from her messenger bag and hands it to me.
"This authorizes my firm to represent you in all proceedings related to the compulsory acquisition petition," she says. "I'll need your signature."
I sign.
"I'll get the engineer lined up today," Skye says, tucking the contract back into her bag.
"In the meantime, don't go near the building.
Don't post about it on social media. Don't talk to reporters or anyone claiming to represent the city.
And if Vetrov or Fletcher or anyone associated with them tries to contact you, refer them to me immediately. "
"Okay."
"I mean it, Delilah. No exceptions."
"I understand."
She stands to leave, then pauses at the door.
"One more thing. Kane gave up ninety-one properties to get you back.
Which means Vetrov now controls almost the entire corridor.
If we're going to challenge his redevelopment petition, it would help to have someone who understands what he's planning and why he needs your lot to make it work. "
I know what she's asking before she finishes the sentence.
"You want me to talk to Kane."
"I want you to consider it. He spent twenty years assembling that corridor. He knows the zoning, the property lines, the development restrictions. That knowledge could be the difference between winning and losing this fight."
"I'll think about it."
Skye looks like she wants to push, but she doesn't. "Call me if you need anything."
After she leaves, Priya and I sit in silence for a while.
"Are you gonna do it?" she asks eventually. "Call Kane?"
"I don't know," I admit. "But Skye's right. If anyone can help me understand Vetrov's plan, it's him."
"And if talking to him opens up a wound you're not ready to deal with?"
It's a fair question, but it still hurts. "Then I'll deal with it anyway."
Priya doesn't look convinced, but she doesn't argue. Just squeezes my hand and disappears into her bedroom.
I pick up my phone and scroll to Kane's number.
My thumb hovers over the call button.
I think about him standing on that pier at Brooklyn Bridge Park, waiting for me. The way his face looked when I walked toward him. The briefcase full of signed transfers at his feet.
I'd do it again tomorrow if it meant getting you back.
I think about the map spread across his dining table, ninety-one lots colored green. The one white square in the middle labeled Lot 22.
I think about his voice in my mother's living room when Vivian handed out those documents. The way he stayed silent when I asked him to deny targeting Connor.
I fucked up, Lilah. I know I did.
I want to forgive him. Part of me already has, the part that knows he burned the note and voided the guaranty and gave up twenty years of work to bring me home.
But wanting to forgive and actually trusting him again are two different things.
And I don't know if I can get back to that place. The place where I'd let him blindfold me and cuff me to his bed and tell me I was beautiful when I couldn't see my own reflection to argue.
I don't know if I want to.
But I need his help.
So I hit call.
He answers right away.
"Lilah."
Just my name, but the way he says it almost undoes me.
"Hey. Do you have a minute to talk?"
"I have as many minutes as you need."
I close my eyes and try to organize my thoughts. "Skye was just here. She told me Vetrov filed a petition to include my building in a compulsory redevelopment acquisition."
Silence on the other end. Then, "When?"
"Last week. He's arguing it's structurally unsound and I've abandoned it."
"That's bullshit."
"I know. Skye's getting an independent assessment and we're going to challenge it at the hearing. But she said it would help to have someone who understands the corridor and why Vetrov needs my lot to complete it."
Another pause. "She wants me to help."
"Yeah."
"What do you want?"
The question startles me. Because it's not about what Skye wants or what makes strategic sense. It's about what I want.
And the truth is, I don't know.
I want my building back. I want Vetrov to pay for what he did. I want to stop being afraid every time I close my eyes that I'll wake up chained to a chair in a basement.
I want Kane.
I want to not want him.
"I want to win," I say finally. "And I think I need your help to do it."