11. Kane
KANE
I'm waiting on the front steps when she gets out of the car. She looks tired but determined, which is pretty much her default setting these days.
"Welcome—" home, I almost say, then catch myself. "To the house."
She gives me a look. "Thanks."
Anton opens the door and takes her bag without a word. He's been briefed on the situation. Professional distance, separate quarters, equal treatment as a partner in our operation against Vetrov.
I can tell he disagrees.
"You want the tour?" I ask.
"Sure."
I lead her inside, past the formal living room and the dining room where six lawyers prepared the transfer of twenty years of my work a week ago. Up the main staircase to the second floor.
"My study," I say, indicating the door. "Niko's office when he's here. Conference room."
We climb to the third floor.
"This is yours." I push open the door to the corner suite.
The room's bigger than her entire apartment used to be. King bed, sitting area by the windows, private bathroom with a soaking tub. Anton's made sure there are fresh flowers on the dresser and the refrigerator is stocked with everything she likes.
Lilah walks to the windows and looks out over the street. "Wow. Just… wow."
"There's a kitchenette through that door if you want to cook. Or eat upstairs with me. Or order whatever you want. Your choice."
She nods without turning around.
I pull out two sets of keys and set them on the dresser. "House keys. And these are for the suite so you can lock it if you want privacy."
"Like you couldn't kick the door in if you wanted to."
I don't quite roll my eyes, but it's close. She gives me a teasing smile.
Blyat'. This woman is going to test my resistance every second she's here.
"Security briefing's at seven," I press forward. "Yuri will walk you through protection protocols."
That gets her attention. She turns to face me. "Protection protocols?"
"Where the guards are posted. Check-in procedures. Safe rooms in case something goes wrong."
"Kane, I don't want to live like I'm in prison."
"You won't be. But you need to know how this works."
She nods. "Okay. Seven o'clock. Where?"
"Conference room on two."
"Alright. If I don't get lost roaming the halls for the next fifty years, I'll be there."
I shake my head and make for the door. "I'll leave you to get settled."
The truth is, I don't want to leave. The whole concept of leaving a room Lilah is in feels like madness.
But it's what she asked of me.
So I'll suck it up and do it.
I spend the next hour flipping through paperwork without really reading a single line. All my brain can think about is Lilah unpacking her suitcase in my house like she belongs here. Like she's here to stay.
Except she's not.
And the third floor is the last place I would keep her if she were.
Far too many stairs between her bedroom and mine.
Then again, I suppose that was the design. To keep her where I can't be tempted to touch her.
Turns out, three floors are nowhere near enough.
Should have built an attic.
At seven, I walk into the conference room to find Yuri already seated at the table with a stack of files. Lilah's across from him, notepad in hand.
"Yuri." I take the chair at the head of the table. "What've we got?"
He opens the first file. "Perimeter security. We've got men on the corners of Eighty-Sixth and Eighty-Seventh, twenty-four-seven rotation. Additional coverage during shift changes."
Lilah makes notes. "How many men?"
"Six during the day, four overnight."
"And they're watching for?"
"Unusual activity. Vehicles that don't belong. Anyone asking questions about the house or its occupants."
She looks to me. "Is this normal for you?"
"It's heavier protection than usual," I admit. "But not unprecedented."
Yuri continues. "Interior security. All entry points are alarmed. Panic buttons in every room, including Ms. Dorsey's suite. Armed response team can be here in under three minutes."
"Response team?"
"Four men stationed six blocks away," I explain. "They monitor the alarm system and maintain radio contact with perimeter security."
"Jesus." Lilah sets down her pen. "How do you live like this?"
"You get used to it."
"I don't want to get used to it."
"Then we end this fast," I say. "The faster we take down Vetrov, the faster you can go back to a normal life."
I don't mean for it to come out sharp. But I guess my loathing the idea of Lilah leaving seeps through anyway, because it makes me sound like an asshole.
Way to keep her here, you fucking idiot.
"Right." Lilah clears her throat and picks up her pen again. "Anything else I should know?"
Yuri flips to the next page. "Transportation. You can ask Stepan or Yuri to take you for any trips outside the neighborhood. Advance notice preferred but not required. No solo travel after dark without armed escort."
"What if I just want to go to the bodega?"
"Take Yuri. The cats like him."
"I'm glad, but that's absurd." She turns to me. "I can't even go to the bodega alone?"
I lean in. "Lilah, these people burned down your business and held you prisoner for a week. They're not going to hesitate to grab you again if they think it'll pressure me."
She doesn't like it. In fact, I can tell she fucking hates it. But it's this way or the highway, and I'm not the one dictating the rules on this for once. It's the dumpster fire Vetrov turned our lives into.
And her bakery.
"Fine." Lilah scoffs. "But I'm not asking permission to leave the house."
"You won't need to. Just keep my men informed and we'll be fine."
Yuri looks between us, sensing the tension. "Should I continue?"
"Yes," Lilah says.
"Emergency protocols. Safe room is in the basement, accessible through the kitchen. Food and water for seventy-two hours. Independent communication system. If something happens and you can't reach the safe room, lock yourself in your suite and hit the panic button."
"Got it."
"Questions?"
Lilah taps her pen against her notepad. "I want daily briefings. Not just when something happens. I want to know who's watching the bakery, what you're hearing about Vetrov's operation, any developments in the legal case. Everything."
Yuri glances at me. I nod.
"Daily briefings at seven AM," he says. "Conference room."
"Good." She closes her notepad. "Anything else?"
"One more thing," I say. "Yuri reports to both of us now. Equal access to information, equal authority on security decisions. You want something changed, you talk to him directly. You don't need to go through me."
Yuri's eyebrows lift, but he doesn't object. "Understood."
Lilah looks surprised. "Are you sure?"
"We're partners," I say. "Of course I'm sure."
Lilah opens her mouth to say something else, then closes it again.
After Yuri leaves, Lilah and I sit in the conference room in silence. The dynamic feels strange. Formal. Like we're negotiating a business deal instead of figuring out how to coexist in the same house.
Which, I guess, is what we're doing.
"This is weird," she says finally.
"Yeah."
"I mean, the last time I was here, you had me cuffed to your bed."
My jaw tightens. "Lilah."
"I'm just saying. The professional distance thing is going to take some adjustment."
She's not wrong. Every instinct I have is telling me to cross the room, pull her into my lap, and remind her who she belongs to.
But she doesn't belong to me anymore.
Not until she decides she wants to.
Unless, an ugly corner of my mind whispers. Unless she decides she wants to.
"We'll figure it out," I say, more to silence that voice than for any other reason.
She nods and stands to leave. "I'm going to order dinner. You want anything?"
The question catches me by surprise. It's surprisingly domestic and normal. The sort of thing couples ask each other.
"What are you getting?"
"Thai, probably. That place on Columbus Circle delivers."
I know the place. We've ordered from there before, back when she lived here and ate at my table and fell asleep in my arms every night.
"Yeah," I say. "Pad thai. Extra spicy."
"I remember."
Of course she does.
Ten minutes later, there's a knock on my study door. Lilah pushes it open without waiting for an answer, carrying two paper bags and a bottle of wine.
"Dinner," she says.
I clear the documents off my desk and she unpacks the containers. Pad thai for me, green curry for her. Spring rolls to share. A bottle of sauvignon blanc that costs more than most people spend on groceries in a week.
"You didn't have to get wine," I say.
"I figured if we're going to be housemates, we should at least eat like civilized people."
She pours two glasses and hands me one. Our fingers brush when I take it, just for a second, but it's enough to distract me.
"To taking down Vetrov," she says, raising her glass.
"To getting your life back."
We drink.
The food is good. The conversation is careful, neutral. She tells me about the temporary kitchen space and her plans for rebuilding the bakery. I tell her about the developments in Niko's investigation, the progress Gershon's making on the legal filings.
It's pleasant. Easy, even.
It's also torture.
Because she's sitting three feet away from me, close enough to touch, and I can't. Because she's wearing a sweater that's too big for her and it keeps slipping off one shoulder, exposing the curve of her neck, and whenever she laughs at something I say the sound goes straight through me.
Because I want her so goddamn much it's hard to fucking breathe.
"Kane?"
I realize she's been talking and I haven't heard a word. "Sorry. What?"
"I asked if you think Vetrov will make a move before the hearing."
"Probably. He's not going to wait around for us to build a case against him."
"What kind of move, then?"
"Could be anything. Another fire. More legal harassment. Maybe he tries to buy off the judge."
She twirls her fork in the noodles, thinking. "What would you do? If you were him."
I pretend to think about it. Lilah doesn't need to know how much alike Vetrov and I actually are. How far our worlds overlap.
"Target you directly," I say. "Take you out of the equation."
Her fork stops moving. "Take me out how?"
"The arson accusation is too public now, so he won't risk killing you outright.
" I force myself to get the words out without letting on how many pieces I'd make of him if he tried.
"But kidnapping worked once. Or he could try to discredit you.
Trumped-up charges, manufactured scandal.
Make you look unstable or unreliable so your testimony doesn't carry weight. "
"That's a cheerful thought."
"You asked."
She pushes her container away, appetite gone. "I hate this. Being hunted. Looking over my shoulder all the time."
"I know."
"Do you? Because you've been living like this for twenty years. It's normal for you. But I just want to bake bread and pay my bills and not worry about whether someone's going to burn down my building or throw me in the back of a van."
The frustration in her voice cuts deep. Because she's right. This is my world, my rules, my consequences. And I dragged her into it.
"I'm sorry," I say.
"I know you are. But sorry doesn't fix it."
"No," I agree. "But destroying Vetrov will fix the worst of it."
She looks at me across the desk. "And after that? When he's gone and the legal case is over and my bakery's rebuilt? Then what?"
It's the question I've been avoiding. Because I don't know the answer.
"Then you get to decide what you want," I say.
"And if what I want doesn't include you?"
I refuse to let her see how much the words hurt.
"Then I'll accept that."
"Will you?"
"Yes."
"Even though you gave up the corridor for me? Even though you're housing me and protecting me and helping me fight Vetrov?"
"Those aren't conditions, Lilah. I'm not keeping a running tab."
"Aren't you though? Because it feels like you're investing an awful lot in someone who might walk away."
I lean back in my chair. "You want the truth?"
"Always."
"I can't make you trust me again. I can't undo what I did or change the fact that I lied to you for months.
All I can do is prove that I meant what I said.
That you matter more than the corridor, more than the business, more than anything else.
" I meet her eyes. "So yeah, I'm investing in you. Because you're worth the risk."
She goes quiet.
"I still want you," she says finally.
My breath catches. "Lilah."
"I need you to know that. This whole professional distance thing? It's not because I don't want you. It's because I want you too much and I don't trust myself to think clearly when you're touching me."
Every muscle in my body tenses. "Then maybe I should go."
"No." She reaches across the desk and catches my hand. "Stay. Just... stay for dinner. Like this. And then go back to your room and let me figure out how to be in the same house with you without losing my mind."
Her fingers are warm against mine. Soft. I want to turn my hand over and thread our fingers together, want to pull her around the desk and into my lap.
Instead, I nod.
"Okay."
We finish dinner talking about safe things. The weather. The wine. Her plans for the new kitchen layout.
When the containers are empty and the wine is gone, she stands to leave.
"Thank you," she says. "For dinner. And for treating me like an equal partner instead of someone you need to manage."
"You don't need to thank me for basic respect."
"In my experience, basic respect isn't always basic."
She gathers up the containers and heads for the door.
"Lilah?"
She turns back.
"Sleep well."
"You too."
After she leaves, I sit in my study staring at the two wine glasses on my desk.
I still want you.
The words echo in my head, equal parts gift and torture.
She wants me. But she doesn't trust me.
And until she does, wanting isn't enough.
Unless, that dark corner reminds me. Unless.