Chapter Text
The wheels of a black SUV rolled to a stop at the side of the road, a wall of New York pedestrians hurrying about behind the bench she sat on. The windows of the vehicle were much too tinted on the outside, but she didn't have to see inside to know the expensive SUV belonged to her adopted father Fisk. Pulling open the passenger side door, she sat down in the seat beside her father's assistant, Wesley, and ran a hand through her hair. She looked at Fisk, who was anxiously fidgeting with the smartphone in his hand. Normally, he wouldn't allow stress to become visible through body language, but the week they were having was nothing short of hectic.
Wesley tapped a knuckle against the partition separating the driver from the backseat. The SUV rolled forward, joining the busy line of New York traffic. It wasn't odd to her that her father hired men to work and drive him. The girl was well aware of Fisk's organization and what type of criminal activity he and his hired hands engaged in, but she preferred to stay out of it. Leading a criminal lifestyle had never been desirable to her. She was cautious, though, perhaps even borderline paranoid, but she trusted her father. Fisk had always told her that the safest place she could be was by his side, and the heart necklace he'd given her was a uniform reminder of that. She lifted a hand to touch the pendant.
Tsk tsk, Wesley tapped his watch, checked his phone, and looked up at him. "I have a meeting at five, but it will have to wait until after our conference with the Russians. Who knows how much of our time those two idiots will consume." His quiet voice was the only thing she heard in the otherwise silent car.
She felt a hand on her arm and looked up to meet Wesley's gaze. "I know you're not too fond of the Russians, but we have a tight schedule and we need to get the meeting out of the way before five. I'm afraid we have no time to give you a ride to your place." He said, mindful of her contempt for Vladimir and Anatoly. He could empathize; he too disapproved of the Russians' means of income. He had morals that weren't as horrifically twisted as theirs.
"You're not serious, are you?" She asked, giving him an incredulous frown. She turned her eyes to her father, who merely looked out the window.
"This meeting is crucial and will benefit my organization, so please do not complain." Fisk answered, tugging at the same cuff links he wore every day. He was always so polite to her, never raising his voice, and it was something she appreciated but she didn't care for it right now. The girl scoffed.
"Has it ever occurred to you that you're doing business with a couple of scumbags who kidnap and sell girls my age? Do you know the looks Vladimir gives me when I'm out there with you, Wesley? It's like the dude's undressing me with his cold dead eyes or some shit."
"You can stay in the car if it bothers you this much." Wesley drawled, tone calm and collected as he paper-clipped a photograph to a file folder.
"I will stay with you." Her father added. She huffed indignantly, but agreed nonetheless. With these tinted windows Vladimir and Anatoly wouldn't know she would be there, so long as she stayed in the vehicle. Not that they would try anything. Messing with Fisk's family was a death wish and everybody knew it.
The SUV brought the three to a junkyard littered with large steel shipping containers which provided a private meeting area for Fisk's righthand and the Ranskahov brothers. Wesley was the only one to leave the vehicle.
The girl watched as he met with the Russian kingpins. From the car she heard one of the shits make a snide remark about her lack of presence and then cast a glance towards the SUV. She ducked low but gave a relieved sigh upon remembering the windows were tinted. On the seat she noticed Wesley had left that file folder with the photograph.
"So this Masked Man, he's some sort of hero?" She asked her father, picking up the photo to examine it. A low chuckle left Fisk and he glanced out the window.
"A hero in his own world. But he won't make a difference. Not in this city. Not in this reality." Fisk seemed consumed by the thought of the Masked Man for a minute before he reached into his suit jacket and retrieved a handgun. "I want you to carry this with you. For peace of mind. Things are getting loud out in the world and I want you to be safe." He passed her the gun, a look of concern crossing his features. For all of the people he hurt and would continue to hurt, she knew he was still very capable of feeling compassion, especially when it came to her.
The grip of the piece felt familiar and cool in her palm. Yes, she knew how to properly use a firearm; Wesley had given her private lessons, despite her father telling her that he wasn't the steadiest hand in his organization. She didn't mind. Wesley's presence was never overbearing. He was always courteous to her, like her father, and even in his angriest moments he could be as gentle with his words as a mother cooing to a child. Not that she would ever give him reason to be angry. It was a side of him she was yet to experience firsthand.
An angry string of Russian expletives brought her attention back to the duo of felons standing before Wesley. Vladimir was practically spitting in his face, angry over something she couldn't follow. Something about the Masked Man? Her fingers tightened around the grip of the gun in her hand. She wasn't sure how dangerous Vladimir and Anatoly could be together, but the assault rifles slung across their shoulders didn't exactly make them look like huggable marshmallows. Wesley put his hands on the livid blond brother, pushing him back with ease to allow himself some space to breathe. Her father was unfazed by the scene; he trusted that Wesley knew how to handle hostile situations appropriately.
Wesley turned to the car and motioned for the girl to join his side. She froze. Why? What possible reason would he have to call for her? Dignifying those asshole Russians with her presence was the absolute last thing she wanted. Perhaps he simply needed the folder that he left behind. She almost didn't go, but she knew she couldn't prioritize her feelings over an order.
With a hesitant hand she tucked the gun into the back of her jeans, grabbed the file folder and stepped out of the car. The female timidly fidgeted with the pendant hanging from her neck as she joined his side.
"This is as much information on the Mask that I could uncover. I try to be as thorough with my work as possible." Wesley retrieved the folder from her and handed it to Vladimir, who studied the black and white photograph clipped to the front.
"Yes, is the masked дурак that let our women go." The blond brother said, scowling at the photograph. "And what of Prohaska?"
"Here's the deal. As you already know, the Masked Man has been quite an inconvenience and thus you two are caught in a brief standstill in terms of trade and distribution. This affects my employer's operation. Furthermore, I'm assuming that it won't take this man long to target my employer's enterprise next. This is why it is in our best mutual interest to devise some sort of trap for our masked friend."
"What kind of trap?" Anatoly asked.
"I've been taking note of his activity. He tends to respond quite quickly to assaults against children, elders, and women." Wesley adjusted his glasses. "Perhaps you could do with the aid of a woman."
"We have no captives right now. Masked Idiot released our entire shipment of women, like I said." Raising a brow, Vladimir folded his arms over his chest.
"I never implied it would have to be one of your women." Wesley tilted his head to motion to the girl standing beside him. Vladimir followed his gaze and his rigid expression melted into a leer stare.
"We accept this offer." He said a little too eagerly for her liking as he looked her over. She blinked, eyes flicking between them.
"Do I even have a choice in this?" She asked, scoffing.
"Well, you are well-versed with firearms. Any woman these two could chance upon on the street likely wouldn't hold a candle to your abilities. You may need to use a gun against the Masked Man if he proves hard to catch." Wesley looked at the Ranskahovs and continued, "I want her returned unharmed. If you can do this, I will see to it that Prohaska is removed from the picture."