47. Delilah
DELILAH
On Christmas Day, I'm piping buttercream rosettes onto a three-tier wedding cake when Priya walks into the back kitchen.
"You're humming," she says.
I look up. "What?"
"You're humming. You've been humming for days, really."
I hadn't noticed.
But now that she mentions it, I realize I've been in a good mood all week.
Kane's kept his promises. He's called me every night. Sent me updates about the Vetrov case, even the parts that worry him.
And when I invited him to stay over last night, he found his toothbrush right where he'd left it.
"I'm allowed to be happy," I say.
"I didn't say you weren't."
"You're giving me a look."
"I'm not giving you a look."
"You're absolutely giving me a look."
She grins. "Okay, fine. I'm giving you a look. But only because it's nice to see you like this again."
"Like what?"
"Like you. Not the version of you who's constantly bracing for the next disaster."
I set down my piping bag. "I'm not bracing for disaster."
"No. You're not. Thank god."
She's right.
For the first time in months, I'm not waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I'm just living.
Working. Baking. Spending time with Kane without constantly analyzing whether he's withholding something.
It feels good.
It feels normal.
I go back to my rosettes and keep humming, wrapped in the scent of buttercream and sugar.
I'm wiping down the front counter when someone knocks on the glass.
We closed at two, but I keep having to reopen for stragglers, people needing a last-minute tray of pastries for family dinners or other festive occasions.
I don't mind. It's part of the Christmas rush. The greatest compliment a baker can get, really.
But when I look up this time, I don't see a client.
I see Kane.
My heart leaps before I can stop it.
I set the rag down and cross to the door, unlocking it with trembling hands.
"Hi," I say.
"Hi."
We stand there looking at each other for a moment.
Then I step aside. "Come in."
He enters, and I lock the door behind him.
He's wearing his dark coat, his hair windswept from the walk over.
"I wasn't sure you'd be here," he says.
"Where else would I be?"
"With family. Friends."
I shrug. "Priya's with Zara's family. I didn't feel like going to my mother's."
"Understandable."
I lean against the counter. "What brings you by?"
I hope he'll say he came here to see me. We've been making another go of it, taking it slow, keeping it simple. And it's been so good, it's hard to not leap right back into how it used to be. Sharing living space, days and nights and weekends.
But we'll build up to that again.
For once, I have faith.
"I have news."
Kane's tone is darker now. My good mood evaporates, settling into a knot at the base of my stomach. "About Vetrov?"
"Yeah."
"Is it bad?"
"No." He pauses. "It's good. Really good."
I exhale slowly. "Okay. Tell me."
Kane steps closer. "The investigators used Fisk's statement and the payment authorizations to arrest Vetrov and Marat Kolchin this morning. They've also identified the crew that took you."
My knees go weak. "They arrested them?"
"Yes. About six hours ago."
"And they have enough evidence?"
"More than enough. Fisk's records connect every payment to a specific attack. The truck. The photographer. The fire. All of it."
I press my hand to my mouth.
"Fletcher withdrew from the project," Kane continues. "Vetrov's backers stopped advancing money and started pursuing the mortgaged properties. Without capital, the whole thing collapsed."
"What about the hearing?"
"Canceled. The city withdrew the redevelopment proposal after receiving evidence of bribery."
"So it's over?"
"It's over."
"And my bakery?"
"Yours. Permanently. Skye has written confirmation from the city that you retain ownership. No one can take it from you."
My vision blurs.
"Lilah?"
"I'm okay." I wipe my eyes quickly. "I just—I wasn't expecting this."
"I know."
"What about Connor?"
"Investigators are pursuing him separately for the forgery and his dealings with Marat. They're also questioning Vivian about delivering Vetrov's packet."
I nod slowly, trying to absorb it all.
It's too much. Too fast.
For months, I've been bracing myself. Waiting for the next threat. The next attack.
And now Kane is standing here telling me it's over.
That I can stop fighting.
"Are you saying we won?" I ask.
"I'm saying Vetrov can't use the redevelopment proposal to take your home or your business anymore. So yeah." His lips quirk. "We won, Lilah."
I reach for his hand without thinking.
He lets me take it.
"What does that mean for us?" I ask.
Kane looks down at our joined hands. "It means you're free. And you're safe."
"What about you?"
He starts to answer, then stops.
His gaze shifts toward the windows.
I follow his eyes and see red and blue lights reflecting off the glass.
My stomach drops. "What's that?"
"Police."
"Why are they here? Do they need more information about Vetrov?"
Kane looks back at me. "No."
"Then why—"
"I told them where I'd be."
I go still. "What?"
"I gave investigators a complete account of my own conduct. Including the fact that I knowingly used the forged guaranty to threaten your ownership of the bakery."
My breath catches. "Kane—"
"I arranged to surrender here because I wanted to tell you myself. That your property was secure. Before they took me away."
The words hit me like a punch.
"How long?" I ask. "How long will you be gone?"
"I can't promise you an answer yet. I'll accept responsibility for what I did. Gershon knows everything."
"Kane—"
"I'm sorry, Lilah. I wanted more time. But this was the right thing to do."
I remember all the evenings I asked him to leave. All the times I told him to give me space.
I was always expecting him to remain close enough to return whenever I was ready.
And now he won't be.
"I want you to stay," I whisper.
His jaw works. "I can't."
"Kane—"
"I have to do this."
The knock on the door makes us both turn.
Two officers stand outside.
Kane squeezes my hand once, then lets go.
"I'll be back," he says. "For coffee and pastry. Once I'm free. If that's okay with you."
My throat closes up.
"Yes," I manage. "Of course that's okay with me. You can always come back, Kane."
He nods. Then he crosses to the door and opens it.
The officers step inside.
One of them addresses Kane directly. "Mr. Makov, we need you to come with us."
"I know."
"Do you understand your rights?"
"Yes."
"Are you willing to come voluntarily?"
"I am."
The officer produces a pair of handcuffs.
I watch them secure Kane's wrists behind his back.
He doesn't resist. Doesn't argue.
He just stands there, letting them do what they need to do.
Before they lead him out, he looks back at me.
"I love you," he says.
"I love you too."
They take him outside.
I follow without thinking, ignoring the cold against my bare arms.
The police car is parked at the curb, its lights still flashing.
They open the back door and guide Kane inside.
He settles into the seat, unreadable.
I stand on the sidewalk, tears streaming down my face, watching them close the door.
The officer in the passenger seat glances at me briefly. Then the car pulls away.
I watch it disappear down Fourth Avenue.
The street goes quiet.
The lights fade.
And I'm left standing there alone.
I don't know how long I stay outside.
Long enough that my teeth start chattering.
Long enough that my fingers go numb.
Finally, I force myself to go back inside.
The bakery feels too empty now. Too quiet.
I lock the door and lean against it, pressing my forehead to the cool glass.
Kane is gone.
Vetrov is in custody.
My bakery is safe.
I've won.
But it doesn't feel like victory.
All I feel is loss.
I move through the space mechanically, finishing the cleanup I abandoned when Kane arrived.
I wipe down the tables. Put away the chairs. Turn off the lights one by one.
Upstairs, I sit on the edge of my bed and look around.
The apartment still smells like him.
His toothbrush is still in the bathroom. His clothes are still in the drawer I cleared for him.
I pick up my phone and scroll to his name.
My thumb hovers over the call button.
But I don't press it.
Because I don't know what I'd say.
Come back.
I need you.
I'm sorry I didn't realize how much I loved you until they took you away.
I set the phone down and lie back on the bed.
The ceiling blurs above me.
And I let myself cry.
Not for the bakery. Not for the months of fear and fighting.
But for Kane.
For the man who sacrificed everything to keep me safe.
The man I love.
I curl onto my side and pull the blanket around me.
Tomorrow, I'll call Skye. I'll ask her what happens next. Whether there's anything I can do to help.
But tonight, I just lie here, holding onto the memory of Kane's hand in mine.
And the promise that someday—somehow—he'll come back for coffee and a pastry.
I close my eyes.
And I wait.