Killing Leland had been a mistake.

Not the actual killing. The man had to die for what he had done. But it should have been handled better. He could have let him go long enough to find Hoffman and remove the threat. Or maybe arranged for someone to kidnap Lee before the meeting to induce a little bit of leverage for a trade. Wilson had let his emotions overpower his reason, and now he was vulnerable. If Hoffman went to the feds before they could find him then everything he had worked for would be ruined.

Maybe Leland and Gao were right, Vanessa had made him careless.

Then again, if she hadn't come into his life he wouldn't even be so close to realizing everything. Hell's Kitchen could never be what he wanted as long as the Russians were allowed to continue their operations. He couldn't have gotten this far from the shadows. The press conference made these things finally come together.

That was all Vanessa.

When he had been living out on the farm he had entertained himself with books. There hadn't been much selection. The closest library was the next county over, and his Aunt only read cookbooks. He'd been at a loss until he'd uncovered a trunk in the attic that had belonged to his grandfather filled with his collection of favorite novels. The man had died before Wilson was ever born, but through those books he shaped Wilson's life. The Call of the Wild taught him that civilization only temporarily hid the animal inside everyone. The Grapes of Wrath showed how hard times created great men. In The Great Gatsby he found the image of a self-made man of wealth and taste. Of Mice and Men was a lesson in how violence was sometimes the kindest thing one person could do for another.

He'd read through the books over and over until the pages were falling out and the hardback spines were cracked and bent. These were his friends and role models. And none of them were closer to him than All the King's Men.

He was 25 before he even connect that the character at the center of his favorite book shared his nickname. Then again, he's never seen himself as Willie Stark. Wilson's size had always made physical power something he understood, lessons imparted by his father, and intellectual power was respected by his mother. But the power that he could never quite understand was the gravitational pull of charisma and charm. That was the power that Willie Stark.

It was Jack Landing, the poetic narrator searching for meaning in a world, who he always connected with. At least until he read the book at 25, alone and in Japan as the bodyguard for a man he hated, that he began to see Stark as a man who he could be if he tried.

It took effort and planning for Wilson to actually connect with people. It didn't ever come off naturally, at least not until the day he met Vanessa. Oh, he was still nervous and awkward. But there were also moments when something would come over him in her presence. When she teased him about buying out the gallery his first instinct has been to slink away. Instead he realized he was practically touching her and saying a line that sounded like something Cary Grant would have said in a movie.

Vanessa inspired this part of him that had been cocooned away until the day she walked up to him in the gallery. It was a man who was debonair and dangerous. The type of man who was meant to rule the city and have a Queen by his side.

That was what Gao and Leland didn't understand. Killing Vanessa wouldn't make him go back to who he used to be. That man was gone. If they didn't like the new Wilson Fisk they could get rid of him, or at least take their shot.

A line from All the King's Men echoed in his head – "For when you get in love you are made all over again." That was what had happened. Vanessa had made him into a new man.

"Vanessa," he said, calling her on the cell, "I'm on my way home, what should I pick up for dinner."

"Nothing," she said, and he could picture her smiling. "I actually made dinner for you."

"You made dinner?"

"Don't sound so shocked. I'm not some helpless spoiled princess. I can manage a meal."

"You tried to use the toaster one morning and started a fire."

"Don't worry, I didn't make toast."

Worst case senarios kept running through his head. Explosions. Gas leaks. Using soap on one of the cast iron skillets. When he walked into the penthouse he thought he had prepared himself for any sight, but he was wrong. This, he wasn't ready for.

The lights were dim, and candles were on the table, and the love duet from Der fliegende Holländer was playing softly through the speaker system. Vanessa walked in from the kitchen, a plate of fetuchini alfredo in each hand.

"Welcome home, Wilson," she said, before coming to his side to remove his overcoat. He was flummoxed, too confused to do more than stand still while she pulled the heavy jacket off and went to hang it in the closet.

"What's the occasion," he finally asked.

Vanessa led him to the table, seating him at the head and then pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I got some good news today. I had my final check with Doctor Rosenberg, and he said that I'm fit to resume normal activities."

Wilson Fisk had never been seduced before, or else he would have recognized the setting for what it was. He would have noticed the way Vanessa's eyebrows raised when she said "resume normal activities" and the fact that she'd chosen to wear red lingerie underneath her thin white cotton dress.

But Wilson Fisk didn't notice any of this, and instead asked about permanent nerve damage.

"There might be problems down the road," she admitted, sitting down next to him, "but without knowing what the toxin is they can't be sure."

"And the other issues. They mentioned liver damage in the hospital."

"I forgot the wine." A few minutes later she was back with two glasses or red. She stared at him as he sipped it. Her focus was making him flustered, and he was self-conscious as he took a bite of the pasta. Finally, he asked her what she was doing.

"I'm just waiting to see if you notice anything about this dinner. The meal. The wine. Anything familiar?"

"Jesus, Vanessa, if you want something just tell me because I can't spend my time guessing at what I'm supposed to do." He'd never snapped at her before, and immediately he apologized, taking her hand in his own. "It's been a long day. I am taking it out on you, and I shouldn't. Please, forgive me."

She brought their intertwined hands to her lips. "I was being selfish. I was so excited to finally be better that I didn't even think that you might not be in the mood to celebrate."

Wilson looked at Vanessa and then at the candles. "Ah," he said as the pieces fell into place. "By celebrate you mean…"

"Yes. So, I ordered dinner from the restaurant we had that first date. Same wine too. I was thinking that maybe we could re-create it with a better ending this time. But, you clearly have your mind on other things."

He was going to disagree with that statement when his phone rang. He was going to ignore it, but it was one of the team searching for Hoffman. He apologized and answered the phone. Francis had a lead, but the man wanted more money. It was the type of issue Wesley would have known how to handle, but Wesley wasn't here. Francis might one day become a good substitute, but in the meantime he needed too much handholding. Wilson approved the expense, making it clear that time was of the essence. "We don't know the last time he called in, but the best case is 20 hours. After that it is all over."

When he hung up Vanessa was looking at him pointedly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," he said automatically. He needed to talk about it though. His best thinking came from talking out loud, usually to Wesley, but sometimes Leland. He was running out of sounding boards, and Vanessa was so good at these things.

"Actually," he said, "There was a bit of a problem today. I had to kill Leland."

"That doesn't sound like a problem. I never liked that man. He was smarmy."

Wilson nodded, taking a sip of wine. "Well, he wasn't your biggest fan either. Turns out he was the one who tried to kill you at the benefit."

If Vanessa was shocked at the admission she didn't show it, and he was watching very closely for any reaction. If this conversation started to upset her at any point he would stop. His need to vent was not more important than her comfort.

"Leland hardly seems smart enough to pull that off on his own, who else was involved?"

"One of my business associates, Gao. And tracking her down is going to be a problem since she…well, let's just say she isn't from around here. But there is a bigger problem in the meantime. Leland had an insurance policy. A witness who I thought had been handled."

"So, you're in danger?"

Yes.

That would have been the truth. A ticking time clock. A group of Japanese ninjas who blamed him for the death of their leader. An inter-dimensional being who had tried to kill the woman next to him. Wesley's killer still unknown. And on top of it all some masked vigilante trying to take him out. Yes, he was in danger. And even if the pendulum missed him this time, it seemed inevitable that it would get him eventually.

"No," he lied. "This is just a little hiccup. But it isn't anything we need to worry about. Not when we have so much to celebrate."

When it all came crashing down she could be furious at him for minimizing the true danger. But if doom came tomorrow then they would celebrate tonight.