30. Delilah
DELILAH
After I hang up, the phone rings again.
Vetrov's name glows on the screen.
Kane said not to answer. He's probably already in the car.
But the ringing keeps going.
I think about letting it go to voicemail, but then it'll just ring again. And again. Until I pick up or until Kane gets home and demands I put my phone in plane mode and ignore Vetrov altogether.
Or worse, he decides to deal with it himself.
Maybe if I answer, I can tell Vetrov to leave me alone. Make it clear I'm not interested. End this without dragging Kane into another confrontation.
I swipe to accept the call. "What do you want?"
"Ms. Dorsey." Vetrov's voice is as oily as I remember. "I hope I'm not calling too late."
"You are."
"My apologies. But I felt it was important we speak before Wednesday's meeting."
I sit up straighter in bed. "How do you know about Wednesday?"
"I make it my business to know things." He pauses. "You're planning to attend Fletcher's investor presentation."
"That's none of your concern."
"On the contrary. It concerns me very much. Because I suspect you intend to announce that Lot 22 is not for sale."
I don't answer.
"That would be a mistake," he continues. "For both of us."
"I'm not interested in your opinion."
"Perhaps not. But you should be interested in my offer."
"I've already heard your offer. The answer is no."
"You heard an earlier version. Allow me to improve it.
" He sounds almost friendly now. Professional.
Like we're negotiating a real estate deal instead of discussing the building he tried to take by force.
"Two million dollars. Cash. Enough to relocate your bakery anywhere in the city.
A better location. More space. Everything you've dreamed of. "
"I already have everything I've dreamed of."
"Do you? A burned-out shell on a contested lot? That's your dream?"
"It's my building. My business. And it's not for sale."
"I understand your attachment. Truly, I do. But attachment is expensive, Ms. Dorsey. Especially when it requires Mr. Makov to keep sacrificing on your behalf."
My stomach tightens. "What are you talking about?"
"He gave up ninety-one properties to save you. Properties he spent twenty years acquiring. His life's work, traded away in a single afternoon." Vetrov lets that sit for a moment. "And now you're asking him to help you fight for a single bakery. How long before he resents that trade?"
"That's not your business."
"Perhaps not. But it will be his reality. Men like Kane Makov don't build empires by accident. They build them because they need to. Because the work defines them. And you're asking him to set that aside for you."
"He made his own choice."
"He did. But choices made under duress rarely hold up over time. Eventually, he'll wonder what he could have accomplished if he hadn't been so distracted." Another pause. "If he hadn't been so devoted to protecting you."
"Stop."
"I'm not trying to upset you. I'm simply pointing out what you already know. Kane is a man of ambition. And ambition doesn't sit idle for long. Eventually, he'll want his properties back. His corridor. His legacy. And when that day comes, where will that leave you?"
"That's not going to happen."
"Are you certain? Because from where I'm standing, it seems inevitable. You've already cost him his life's work. How much more will you cost him before he decides it's too much?"
My mouth goes dry. "I'm done listening to this."
"Two million dollars, Ms. Dorsey. Take it. Walk away. Let both of you move forward without this fight hanging over your heads."
"No."
He goes silent. "You're making a mistake."
"Maybe. But it's my mistake to make."
I hang up before he can say anything else.
My hands are trembling. I set the phone down and press my palms flat against the mattress.
He's wrong. Kane doesn't resent me. He chose to trade the corridor. He said he'd make the same choice again.
But he also said he wants his properties back.
And I keep thinking about that. About the look on his face when we stood outside the corridor site and he admitted how much he wants it back. How much it cost him to let it go.
I pull the blanket up around my shoulders and try not to think about Vetrov's words.
But they're already stuck in my head.
The front door opens five minutes later.
I hear Kane's footsteps on the stairs. Fast. Heavy. He's moving like something's wrong.
He appears in the bedroom doorway, still wearing his coat. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
He crosses to the bed and sits beside me, his hand on my knee. "Did he call again?"
"Yes."
"Did you pick up?"
"I did."
Kane studies my face. "Why?"
"I wanted to hear what he had to say."
Kane lets out a harsh breath. "Lilah."
"It was my choice, Kane. I can't keep hiding behind you."
"You're not—" He exhales, frustrated. "I just don't like the idea of Vetrov harassing you."
"It was one call. You didn't have to rush home because of it."
"I know. But I wanted to be here." He shrugs off his coat and tosses it over the chair. "What did he say?"
I recap Vetrov's offer and not-so-veiled threats.
Kane's face turns stormy. "That fucker."
"It's fine," I say. "He's said his piece. I told him to fuck off. Nothing has changed."
"I still hate that he called."
He presses a kiss to my temple. I want to melt into it—Kane's touch, his scent—but something holds me back.
Vetrov's words, I realize, are still nagging at me.
"What happens after Wednesday?" I ask, unable to stop myself.
Kane pulls back. "What do you mean?"
"After we challenge Fletcher and Vetrov's financing falls through. What happens next?"
"We keep building the case. We get Fisk to testify. Make sure Vetrov ends up in prison."
"And then?"
"And then we go back to our lives."
I nod slowly. "What does that look like for you?"
He frowns. "What do you mean?"
"Your life. After this is over. What do you want?"
"I want you."
"I know. But what else?"
He goes quiet. Then he says, "I expect to take daily operations back from Niko. He's been handling everything while I've been focused on Vetrov. Once that's done, I'll need to step back in."
My heart drops. "Back in how?"
"Full-time. The organization doesn't run itself."
"But what about the evenings? The weekends?"
"What about them?"
"We've been spending them together."
"Yeah. And we'll keep doing that."
"Will we?"
Kane's frown deepens. "What are you asking?"
"I'm asking what our lives look like when you're back to working around the clock. When you're running the entire organization again." I pull the blanket tighter around myself. "How much time will you have left for me?"
"Lilah—"
"I'm not trying to start a fight. I just want to know."
"I'll make time. I always do."
"But how much time? An hour before bed? Sunday mornings?"
"I don't know. As much as I can."
"That's not an answer."
He stands and paces to the window. "What do you want me to say? That I'm going to quit my job and spend every waking moment with you?"
"No. I want you to acknowledge that going back to your old life means less time together."
"So what? We'll figure it out."
"That's easy to say now. But what happens when you're working eighty-hour weeks again? When I don't see you for days at a time?"
"Then we'll adapt."
I look at him. "You're asking me to trust that it'll work out without being able to tell me how."
"Yeah. I guess I am."
"That's not fair."
"Maybe not." He turns back to face me. "But I'm not going to apologize for wanting to run my own organization."
"I'm not asking you to apologize. I'm asking you to think about what that means for us."
"I have thought about it. And I think we'll be fine."
"You think. But you don't know."
"No. I don't. Because I can't predict the future." His voice is harder now. Frustrated. "But I'm not going to sit here and justify my work to you."
"I'm not asking you to justify it," I argue. "Just to make room for us. Is that so unreasonable?"
"I am making room."
"Are you? Because it sounds like you're expecting me to accept whatever time you have left after everything else."
"That's not what I'm doing."
"Then what are you doing?"
He doesn't answer.
I sit there, waiting.
Finally, he says, "You're right."
I blink. "What?"
"You're right. I haven't thought about what going back to work full-time means for us." He crosses back to the bed and sits beside me. "But Lilah, I promise you, I won't make you second to my work."
"You say that now. But what about six months from now? A year?"
"I don't know. But we'll figure it out when we get there."
I look at him. "You keep saying that."
"Because it's true. I can't plan out every detail of our future right now. But I can promise I'll try."
I don't know what to say to that.
He reaches for my hand. "I love you. And I want this to work. But I can't give you a guarantee that everything will be perfect. All I can do is promise to show up and work with you to fix whatever issues arise along the way."
I want to argue. To push him to give me something more concrete. But I know he's right. We can't plan for every possible outcome.
And maybe that's the point. Maybe trust means accepting that we won't always have the answers.
I squeeze his hand. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yeah. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."
He pulls me close. "I don't want you to worry about this."
"I can't help it."
"I know. But I'm not going anywhere."
I rest my head on his shoulder. "I'm scared."
"Of what?"
"That this won't be enough. That we'll build something good, and then it'll fall apart because we want different things."
"We don't want different things."
"Don't we? You want your organization back. I want us to have time together. Those things don't always fit."
"Then we'll make them fit."
"How?"
"I don't know yet. But we'll figure it out." He kisses the top of my head. "Together."
I close my eyes and try to believe him.
But Vetrov's words keep echoing in my head.
How long before he resents that trade?