29. Kane
KANE
Thomas Fisk looks older than the thirty-four his file says.
The gray in his temples probably comes from keeping Vetrov's books clean while knowing what happens to people who make mistakes.
We meet him at a diner in Red Hook. Neutral ground. Public enough that he won't panic, private enough that we can talk.
Niko takes the other side, blocking Fisk's exit. Delilah sits beside me in the booth. She's calm on the surface, but I know how much this meeting matters to her. This is the man behind the operation. Behind the money trail she herself uncovered.
The man partially responsible for her bakery burning down.
I hold her hand under the table. Her fingers relax a little in my grip, her shoulders dropping.
I'm here. That's what I'm telling her, no words needed. I'm here with you. We're doing this together.
Slowly, the tension seeps out of her.
Not out of Fisk, though. He looks like a man walking to the gallows. He orders coffee, and his hand shakes when he lifts the cup, almost splashing his crumpled shirt in the process.
He's nervous.
Good. It means he knows who he's dealing with. That'll make the transaction quicker.
"You wanted to talk," I say.
"I didn't." Fisk's voice wavers as he speaks. "You're very much forcing my hand, Mr. Makov."
"Then you understand the position you're in."
"Unfortunately, I do." He sets the cup down without drinking. "You wanted to know about Vetrov."
"That would be a start."
"I can't testify," he says immediately. "If Vetrov finds out I talked, he'll kill me."
"He won't find out."
"You don't know that."
"I do. Because once you give me what I need, I'm putting you somewhere Vetrov can't reach."
Fisk laughs without humor. "Where? Witness protection? No offense, Mr. Makov, but you don't look like a fed to me."
"No. I'm better." I lean in and let myself smirk. "You'll walk out of this diner with a new passport, a plane ticket, and enough cash to disappear after your testimony. The passport's real. The name on it is clean. Vetrov will never find you."
Fisk frowns. "Why would you do that?"
"Because I want Vetrov's operation exposed more than I want you to pay for what you've done." I glance to Delilah. "And because she agreed. Otherwise, we'd be having this conversation on the docks."
He studies Delilah. Clocking, perhaps for the first time, that she isn't just arm candy. That she's the one calling the shots. "You're Ms. Dorsey. The bakery's owner."
"And you're the man who shuffled around the money to make it burn."
"I—" He swallows hard. "I am that."
"Then you'll realize you are getting out of this with an undeserved golden parachute."
"I… I do." He licks his lips, nervous, fingers tight around the mug. "That's what I don't get. You're fine with this?"
"With giving you a way out?" She nods. "Yes."
"Even after—" He stops. Weighs his words carefully. "Even after I helped set up the accounts that paid for the fire? And everything else?"
Delilah's face stays calm. "Did you know what the money was for?"
"Not at first. Later, yeah. I should've quit, but—"
"But you were afraid."
"Yeah."
She leans forward. "Did you know about the kidnapping?"
"No. I swear. Vetrov keeps that stuff separate. I only found out after."
"Okay." She sits back. "Then yes. I'm okay with you walking away."
Fisk exhales hard. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. You still need to tell us what you know."
He glances at Niko, who hasn't moved or spoken. "What do you want?"
"Marat Kolchin," I say. "Confirm he's the go-between handling Vetrov's payments."
Fisk hesitates. "If I do that—"
"You'll be on a plane within an hour of your testimony."
"To where?"
"Pick a city. That's where."
He thinks about it. I can see him crunching the numbers. Accountants are good at that, if nothing else.
Finally, he nods. "Fine. Yeah. Marat's the one. He moves money from the Halyard Group accounts into smaller shells, then pays out for jobs. The fire at the bakery, the photographer at the New Year's ball, the truck that hit the shop—all of it went through Marat."
"Can you prove it?"
"I kept copies. Invoices. Wire records. Dates and amounts. Everything."
"Where?"
"Safety deposit box. Downtown Chase."
"You'll give us access?"
"Yeah. But I want the passport first."
I pull an envelope from my jacket and push it across the table. "Your new identity won't be in the system until after you testify. So if you're thinking of skipping town before that, think again."
Fisk opens the envelope. Checks the passport. Flips through the cash.
He closes the envelope. "Okay. The box is at the Broadway branch. Number four-two-seven. Key's in my apartment. I'll make myself scarce for the day so you can…" He hesitates. "I'm sure you have ways of getting past locks."
"Why not just give it to us?"
"Plausible deniability. If Vetrov finds out sooner than expected, it'd be useful if he thought you broke into my place. So, you know. Feel free to knock some vases over."
I smirk. "Will do."
He gives the address. Niko types it into his phone and arranges the pick-up.
Fisk looks at Delilah again. "I'm sorry. For what happened to you. I should've walked away sooner."
Delilah opens her mouth.
I cut her off. "She doesn't owe you forgiveness."
Fisk blinks. "I wasn't asking for—"
"Yes, you were. And she doesn't owe it to you." I lean in. "You helped burn down her business. You helped fund the attacks that terrorized her for months. You don't get absolution just because you're scared now."
"Kane," Delilah says.
"No." I don't look at her. I keep my eyes on Fisk. "He gets a clean start. That's more than he deserves."
Fisk's face goes red. But he doesn't argue.
After a moment, Delilah speaks. "I appreciate the apology. But he's right. You helped hurt me. I'm not going to tell you it's okay."
"I understand," Fisk says.
"Good." I stand. "Niko will see you out."
Fisk nods and gets out of the booth. Niko follows him toward the door.
Delilah stays seated, watching me. "You didn't need to do that."
"Yeah, I did."
"Why?"
"Because you would've forgiven him. That's what you do. Someone apologizes, and you make it easier for them, even when they don't deserve it."
"That's not fair."
"It is fair. You're too generous. And people like Fisk take advantage of that."
She crosses her arms. "I can decide for myself whether to forgive someone."
"And I can decide to make them piss their pants. To each their own."
Her mouth curves. "You're impossible."
"You love me anyway."
"Unfortunately."
I reach for her hand. "Come on. Let's go home."
Back at the house, Niko comes back with Fisk's documents and a new vase for the living room.
"What?" He shrugs. "It was nice. I knocked over the ugly one. This will match our curtains."
I shake my head and bite back a smile.
He spreads Fisk's records across the dining table. Wire transfers. Invoices. Shell company registrations. Everything linking Marat to the attacks on Delilah's bakery.
Delilah stands at the far end of the table, arms crossed, studying the documents. "This is enough to prove Vetrov ordered it?"
"It's enough to prove Marat handled the money," Niko says. "Which ties him to Vetrov."
"Will it hold up in court?"
"If Fisk testifies, yeah. But Vetrov could put two and two together before that. So—"
"So we use it another way in the meantime," I finish.
Delilah looks at me. "How?"
"Vetrov told his backers the corridor assemblage was complete," Niko says. "He said he's got Lot 22 locked down. But he doesn't."
"He lied to his investors?"
"Yeah. And if they find out, they'll pull their money."
Delilah frowns. "How do we make them find out?"
"We challenge his claim. Publicly." I cross to her. "Fletcher's hosting a meeting next week. Showing off the project to potential buyers. We go. You tell them Lot 22 isn't for sale. Ever."
"And they'll believe me?"
"They'll have to. Because you're the owner."
She bites her lip. "If I do that, Vetrov will know I'm refusing him."
"He already knows."
"Yeah, but this makes it official. Public. He won't be able to pretend I'm still considering his offer."
"No. He won't."
She looks at the documents again. Then at me. "You think this will work?"
"I think it's the best shot we have at cutting off his financing."
"What happens after?"
"After, his backers pull out. The corridor deal collapses. He loses everything."
She nods slowly. "Okay. I'll do it."
"You're sure?"
"No. But I'll do it anyway."
I pull her close. "You don't have to."
"Yes, I do. Vetrov's been using my bakery as a bargaining chip for months. It's time I took that away from him."
I kiss her forehead. "Okay. Then it's settled."
Niko clears his throat. "I'll set it up. Fletcher's meeting is Wednesday at two. I'll make sure you're on the list."
"Both of us," Delilah says.
"Both of you," Niko confirms.
After that, I spend most of the day in meetings. Damage control with the organization. Strategy sessions with Niko. Calls with lawyers about the evidence Fisk left behind.
By the time I glance at the clock in my office, it's past ten.
I pour a drink and knock it back, scrolling through messages on my phone. Updates from Niko, reports from Anton. Nothing urgent. Unlike the pile of paperwork on my desk, which only seems to have grown bigger even though I've been chipping away at it all night.
I'm about to get back to it when phone rings.
Delilah.
I answer. "Hey."
"Hey." Her voice is soft. "Where are you?"
"Still at the office."
"Oh. I thought maybe you were back."
"Not for a while, I'm afraid. Why? Is everything okay?"
"Yeah. I just—" She pauses. "I missed you today."
The words tug at the corners of my lips. "I missed you too."
"I know you're working. And I know Wednesday's a big deal. But I kept thinking about you, and I wanted to hear your voice."
"You've got me now."
"Yeah." I hear the smile in her voice. "What are you doing?"
"Drinking. Thinking about you."
"Good thoughts?"
"Very good thoughts."
"Tell me."
I lean back on the couch. "You sure you want to know?"
"Yes."
"Where are you right now?"
"In bed."
"What are you wearing?"
She laughs softly. "One of your shirts."
"Nothing else?"
"Kane—"
"Answer the question."
"No. Nothing else."
Heat coils low in my gut. "Are you touching yourself?"
"Not yet."
"Do it."
She makes a small sound. "Now?"
"Now. I want you to touch yourself while I tell you what I've been thinking about all day."
"Okay."
I hear the rustle of fabric. Her breath catches.
"Where are you touching?" I ask.
"My stomach."
"Lower."
"Kane—"
"Lower, Lilah. I want your hand between your legs."
Another soft sound. "Okay."
"Good. Now listen." I close my eyes and let the fantasy unspool. "I've been thinking about Wednesday. About walking into that investor meeting with you."
"That's not a sexy fantasy," she complains.
"Patience, sladkaya. I promise it's about to get good."
I hear a small gasp over the line. "Okay."
"So, as I was saying. I've been thinking about the meeting. About watching you stand up in front of Fletcher and Vetrov and everyone and tell them the bakery's not for sale. You'll be so fucking fierce. So sure of yourself. And I won't be able to stop looking at you."
Her breathing picks up. "What else?"
"Well, we could end the meeting there. We probably will.
But there's another way it could go." I palm my cock through my pants, half-hard already.
"I'll sit you on the edge of that desk and spread your legs, right there in the conference room, in front of everyone.
And then I'll get on my knees and make you come on my tongue. "
She moans. "Kane—"
"You'll try to stay quiet. But you won't be able to help it. You'll grab my hair and pull, and I'll keep going until you're shaking."
"God—"
"And then I'll stand up and fuck you right there. With your dress pushed up and your legs around my waist. Hard and fast. Because I won't be able to wait another second."
"Yes—"
"You're going to come so hard you forget where you are. And I'm going to watch every second of it." I groan. "And so will everyone else who ever tried to wrong you."
Her breath hitches. "I'm close—"
"Good. Come for me, Lilah. Right now."
She cries out, and I hear her fall apart over the phone.
I sit there, hard as fuck, listening to her breathe.
After a moment, she laughs shakily. "That was—"
"Yeah."
"I can't believe I just did that."
"You're welcome to do it again."
"Maybe I will."
"I'll be home as soon as I can. And then I'll wake you up with my mouth on you."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
I'm about to hang up when a beep cuts into our call.
She makes a small sound of confusion.
"What?" I ask.
"I have another call coming in."
"From who?"
She goes quiet. Then, softly, "Vetrov."
I'm on my feet before she finishes the word. "Don't answer it."
"I won't."
"I'm coming home."
"Okay."
I grab my coat and dash to the car.