Felicia tucked the phone away and turned back toward the building. She didn't hesitate. She moved with the silent, purposeful grace of the Black Cat, retracing her steps through the freight entrance and back down into the belly of the lab.
When the doors opened this time, the lights were dimmed. Ethan was standing by the Genesis Cradle, his back to her, watching the iridescent fluid swirl.
"You took longer than I thought. Did Peter leave? I guess he must really trust you to know you're planning to talk to me alone and believe you'll tell him later," Ethan said, not turning around.
"I hear relationships are all about trust, so I tried it," Felicia replied, her voice filled with disdain, echoing in the quiet room. She walked up to the edge of the workstation, leaning against it with an air of casual defiance. "So. Why the secret invite, Ethan? You spent the last hour convincing Peter you were an open book. I'm guessing there's a chapter you didn't want him to read."
Ethan turned, a sharp, triumphant glint in his eyes that had been entirely absent during the tour with Peter. He didn't look like a scared kid anymore. He looked exactly like what Felicia knew he was, a manipulator.
"Thanks for making time so that we could talk alone, Felicia," Ethan said, his voice dropping an octave into the pragmatic, cold tone she recognized as the true man behind the mask. "Peter is the heart of this operation. He's the moral compass. But you and I both know that a compass doesn't help you much when you're crawling through the mud."
Felicia narrowed her eyes. "Get to the point."
"The point is that I need someone who isn't blinded by 'good' and can actually see the bigger picture," Ethan said, his voice dropping the facade of teenage warmth. He stepped into her personal space, his eyes cold and clinical. "Peter, by nature, is a hero. He'll try to save everyone— mainly the civilians. But the math of the next two months doesn't allow for distractions, let's say. Sadly, New York has many such distractions: Wilson Fish, The Maggia, Hammerhead, and many more. These parasites and tumors will be active during the crisis and will try to take advantage of the situation, so it's best to cut them out before."
Felicia didn't flinch. She leaned back against the workstation, her lips curling into a sneer that didn't reach her eyes. "Spare me the 'hard choices' monologue, kid. You're not a surgeon; you're just a brat who sees other people as toys and pawns. You've been pulling Peter's strings since the day you met him, and now you're trying to find where mine are attached."
Ethan didn't deny it, well, more like he couldn't deny it. He simply tapped the screen, bringing up a map of New York's criminal infrastructure, pulsating with the sigil of a white spider and a rising sun. "I'm too busy to be a street-level strategist, Felicia. Between the Cradle and the Exemplars, my hands are quite full. I need a proxy to handle the gutter. I've already used Detective Yuri Watanabe as my scalpel to gut the Hood's organization—she was remarkably effective once I gave her the right targets. But the Hood was a small symptom. Wilson Fisk is cancer, a bit harder to remove."
Felicia's posture stiffened at the mention of the name. "You think I don't know that? I've spent half my life dodging that mountain of meat."
"I know exactly what he did to you," Ethan countered, his voice barbed. "I know your 'bad luck' powers weren't a gift—they were a cruel joke he played on you. I know he's spent years trying to put a collar on you because you know who's under Peter's mask. He's attacked you, tried to drown you in debt, and treated you like a shiny trinket he hasn't quite broken yet."
He leaned in closer, his gaze mocking. "You hate being manipulated, Felicia? Then stop letting a man like Fisk dictate the terms of your existence. I'm offering you the resources to end him. See, I'm offering a deal, not a manipulation."
"By becoming your personal hit-cat?" she hissed. "You're just a smaller, younger version of the same ego. You think because you've got 'future knowledge' and a bank account, I'll just roll over?"
"I think you'll do it because you have no other choice," Ethan snapped. "I have two assets ready for your use: Delilah and Madame Masque. One's a killer, the other's a tactician. They're competent, but they lack the personal vendetta and rage required to burn Fisk's empire to the ground before the Exemplars arrive. I need the board cleared of Fisk and the others before the world goes to hell. It's efficient."
Felicia's eyes flashed with genuine loathing. "You really are a disgusting little monster. You're betting on my trauma to do your chores."
"I'm betting on your competence," Ethan corrected, his smile sharp and unpleasant. "I trust you and your skills. I've moved twenty million into an offshore account for you. It's a gift, but I'm sure you'll see it as a leash. If that's how you want to see it, then fine. But once Fisk is dead, you're free. Truly free. No debt, no Kingpin, and a seat at the table of the new underworld that I plan to have Delilah and Madame Masque control."
He paused, watching her jaw clench. He knew she hated him for seeing through her, for knowing her history, and for being right about her necessity.
"So, do we keep trading insults, or do you take the lead and finally kill the man who turned your life into a punchline? If I were you, I'd take this deal."
Felicia reached out, her gloved fingers tracing the edge of the screen where Fisk's face was displayed. Her touch was almost a caress, but her eyes were full of murder.
"I'll take your money, Ethan. And I'll take your little soldiers," she said, her voice like grinding glass. "But don't ever mistake my cooperation for loyalty. If I ever find out you're playing me or placing Peter in danger, like I promised before, I won't just go for your bank account. I'll go for your throat."
"I'd expect nothing less from a professional," Ethan replied, his voice dripping with false silk. "Now, let's talk about the logistics of the hit. As for whether you tell Peter some or any of the truth well, that's up to you."