(Reece Cannon is undercover as Chance Rizzo)
THE NIGHT EMBRACED New York as Reece and Delilah walked its city streets, a perpetual glow rebelling against the darkness. Skyscrapers towered, their windows shimmering like a vertical sea of stars, the murmuring traffic its ceaseless blood flow.
Delilah's stride was confident, her flats slapping against the concrete with purpose. “You're stepping out of line, volunteering without a word to me,” she said, her tone a blend of irritation and concern.
Reece's eyes remained on the intersection ahead, her mind as active as the city around them. “It wasn't a move against you.”
While discussing betrayals and tactics, laughter and chatter spilled from the bars they passed, the city around them oblivious, wrapped up in its own nocturnal pursuits.
“Don't do this, Chance. Asher Lambiotte, he's Judas at the table,” Delilah warned, her gaze intense under the neon lights. “Ready to trade our trust for thirty pieces.”
They paused at a crosswalk, the stoplight overhead bathing them in a red glow.
“He's working on some Lassa Fever thing,” Delilah continued. “Maybe it's for the greater good, but it's a sorry way to do stuff. Too many innocent deaths, in my opinion, if it's not done right. I'm not down for it. Your whole healthcare speech has him thinking now, thinking how to play both sides: the devil and the angel.”
“That's perfect,” Reece shot back. “I can engineer a cure then. See? Great—more money.” She offered a half-smile, and then changed the subject. “But what about your sister's killer? I thought we were gonna pay him a visit?”
Delilah's expression tightened, a storm behind her eyes. “I'm waiting for the right time.” She let out a heavy sigh. “Chance…”
“Delilah, everything I'm doing, it's because of you… for you,” Reece said, her tone firm, cutting through the city's symphony of honks and distant sirens. “I can probably get an antiviral manufactured for the Lassa Virus, maybe elevate us within the Sons, and it's all for you—for bringing me into the fold.”
They turned a corner, the city's grandeur giving way to quieter streets, where their dialogue seemed more intimate.
Delilah's gaze lingered on Reece, searching, weighing. The skepticism in her eyes gradually gave way to reluctant acceptance. “And if you pull this off? If you get us that cure?”
Reece met her gaze squarely. “Then we rise. And together we bring down those who need to fall.”
The conversation paused as they neared Central Park. They stood for a moment, the contrast of the city's ambitions with the park's tranquility framing their next words.
Delilah's voice was a murmur, almost lost in the breeze. “You know, I've got access to more than just… guns, Chance. I've got bigger weapons.”
Reece's eyes widened slightly, but she didn't question the truth of the statement. “Bigger?”
“Yeah,” Delilah affirmed, a fierce glint in her eyes. “If you can really get a cure for Lassa Fever… I'd go kamikaze for you. I'd lay it all down—my life—for you, Chance. That's how deep we run.”
She stopped mid-stride, her gaze capturing the skyline as if drawing strength from the towering edifices around them. The city, a result of human ambition and perseverance, mirrored her voice.
“Chance,” Delilah continued, her tone imbued with a gravitas that demanded attention. “This healthcare-Lassa-cure endeavor, it could be our shot, our moment. We don't just walk this path; we blaze it together.”
Reece tilted her head, considering the words Delilah didn't say. “And Asher?” she asked.
“Asher Lambiotte is lethargy personified,” Delilah scoffed, her disdain for the man evident. “He's entangled in a squabble that's beneath us. He's drowning in a sea of his own making, and I won't let us sink with him.”
She stepped closer to Reece, her eyes alight with a fire that seemed to dance in tandem with the flickering street lamps. “If we—no, when we spearhead this, it's not just about climbing the ranks. It's about breaking the chains that bind us…”
