Page 242 of Sweet Ruin

“I just thought everyone should get to see, since we’re all being so honest with each other lately at family gatherings. Right? I mean, that’s the trend you started.”

The page reaches me.

It’s a map. Printed in color. Sunset Park, Thirty-Ninth up to Forty-Fifth, Third Avenue to the water.

Every parcel outlined and numbered, and almost all of them shaded in with a company name typed in a little box beside them.

Harrow Nine.

Terminal Row Realty.

Bright Anchor.

Dozens of them. Thirty, forty names, all different.

Second page: a list of those companies, and beside them, the same registered agent service in Albany over and over. The same three lawyers. The same suite number.

Halfway down that list, in bold, is a name I recognize very well.

V HAVEN HOLDINGS, LLC.

Third page is the map again, zoomed in. Forty-Fourth and Fourth. One lot left white with all the others around it grayed out.

Typed underneath:

LOT 22—4412 FOURTH AVENUE—NOT YET ACQUIRED.

And under that, a photocopy. Loan terms. A schedule of acceptable collateral, with two lines struck through—a car, a share in something—and handwritten in the margin, Rejected.

I’ve seen this map before. In Kane’s house at midnight, in his T-shirt, looking for a glass of water, I put my hand on the table and found my own lot, and Niko stepped in front of it and told me to ask Kane.

But I didn’t ask him. I let it go. I was too tired and too happy and too naked to go hunting for the rest.

“There’s a lot going on here, so let me explain,” Vivian offers helpfully. “Mr. Kane Makov here is not just some new fling of my sister’s. In fact, Connor was the one who introduced them, so to speak. Because Kane found Connor and pressured him into taking a very valuable loan. Why, you ask? Great question.”

She grins widely. Her teeth look like fangs, glinting in the afternoon light, and her tongue is red from her wine.

“Because Kane has been quietly acquiring every single property in Sunset Park. For over a decade now, he’s used shell companies and shady lawyers to build up a huge block. Connor offered lots of collateral in exchange for the loan, but Kane wasn’t interested in cars or jewels or houses, were you, Kane? No. Oh, no. Kane didn’t want anything—except for the bakery. Lot 22.”

Not one soul in the room is eating. Uncle Johnny is holding his page at arm’s length, squinting at it.

I set my page down.

“Where did you get this, Viv?” I ask.

“Does it matter?”

“It matters to me.”

“A man gave it to me.” She shrugs one shoulder. “He was very polite. I guess the only question that remains is, was he telling the truth?” She turns to look at Kane. “Well, Kane? Was he?”

Every face at the table turns to Kane.

Mine, too.

He hasn’t moved. Coat off, sleeves down, one hand around his water glass. He hasn’t looked at Connor or the map.

He’s looking at the far wall, at nothing whatsoever, and his jaw is set so hard that I can see the muscle standing out under the skin.