Night had fallen over Starling City, and the villa glowed warmly under bright lights.
The bodies from earlier had long been cleared away. Frank Bertinelli's wounds, now professionally dressed, no longer seemed life-threatening. Bandaged and brooding, he sat motionless on the leather sofa, eyes fixed on the briefcase resting on the coffee table.
Just an hour earlier, he had quietly set aside five million dollars in cash—no bank transfers, no paper trail—and strictly ordered the newly appointed bodyguards to stay away from the villa.
As the Godfather of the Bertinelli crime family, Frank had a reputation to maintain. He couldn't allow rumors to spread that while his daughter was upstairs with a man he couldn't control, he himself sat downstairs preparing a payoff. But this villa was old, and the walls thin. Even outside the house, one could likely hear what was going on upstairs.
Still, pretending not to notice was easier.
Eventually, the sounds stopped. A while later, Jack Kadere came downstairs, freshly showered, a bag in one hand.
Frank's deadpan expression immediately shifted into a strained but eager smile, the kind worn by a man who knew exactly which side of the gun he stood on. He almost said aloud, "How was my daughter?" but caught himself.
"Thank you for saving my life today," Frank said instead, pushing the briefcase toward him. "This is just a token of my appreciation."
zJack paused at the bottom of the stairs, then smiled. "Are you sure you're giving it to me, and not the other way around?"
"Of course," Frank replied with a nod.
Jack chuckled. "No wonder you managed to rise to the top of Starling's underworld. That mindset? Perfect crime boss material."
He clapped his hands once in admiration before getting serious again. "Since you're being so upfront, let me return the favor and speak plainly."
He set the bag down and looked Frank dead in the eye.
"I'm not taking Helena with me. If and when I need her, I'll come for her. I have no interest in playing bodyguard or babysitter. You don't have the status or the leverage for that."
Jack leaned over the coffee table. "So think carefully before reaching out to me again."
"You can ride my coattails for a little while. Use me to protect yourself. Use me to eliminate a few enemies, expand your territory. But the clock's ticking, Frank. Opportunities like this don't last forever."
Frank nodded, understanding more than Jack even needed to say. That had been his intention all along—use this mysterious powerhouse to wipe out rival families and consolidate power. Now that Jack had laid the terms bare, he was fully on board.
Who Jack truly was no longer mattered.
The cost—his daughter, his pride—was a small price to pay if it meant survival, and more importantly, dominance.
Jack, meanwhile, cared very little about what Frank chose to do. Helping him had only been a means to torment Helena emotionally. The moment Jack lost interest, everything Frank had gained from him would vanish like smoke.
Even death row inmates get one last good meal before the chair, after all.
Jack left the villa with the bag and the briefcase, stepping into the luxury car Frank had arranged for him.
When he arrived back at his apartment, he slid the key into the door. Felicity, fresh from the shower and wrapped in nothing but a towel, came to greet him.
Jack paused, took one look at her, and grinned.
"Wow," he said, eyes twinkling. "Did I just walk into a scene from Friends, or are you pulling a full Rachel Green on me?"
"You came back just as I finished showering!" Felicity blushed, rolling her eyes. "And besides, who would you even bring home? Laurel? Helena?"
"Fair," Jack said with a chuckle, holding up both hands. "Anyway—here."
He handed her the briefcase while keeping the bag in the other hand.
"What's in these?" she asked curiously.
Jack handed them over casually and strolled toward the bedroom. "The bag has a tactical suit I had made for Laurel. The case... that one's for you."
"For me?" Felicity lit up with excitement. She set the bag down and eagerly flipped open the case—only to shriek and slam it shut like she'd seen a ghost. Then she stormed into the bedroom, her face flushed.
"You!" she cried. "Where did you get that much money? Did you do something illegal? Dangerous?!"
Jack chuckled. "Relax. It's clean. Someone gave it to me."
"Gave it to you?" she asked suspiciously, crossing her arms. "Who gives someone that kind of money without a reason? And how much is it?"
"Call it a... freelance gig," Jack said nonchalantly. "Temporary work. That's the payment. I don't really need cash, and since you're my girlfriend, feel free to spend it however you like. I didn't count it, but if you want to, be my guest."
Still skeptical, Felicity returned to the case, her fingers shaking slightly as she began to count. One stack, two... five million dollars.
"Five... million?" she whispered in awe. "What kind of job was this?"
She didn't push further, though. Her boyfriend wasn't exactly a nine-to-five guy, and in her heart, she trusted him. Maybe it was hush money from some shady CEO... or a reward from saving someone important. Either way, it was his to give—and hers to manage.
Felicity wasn't greedy. But being handed five million dollars out of nowhere? That would make anyone's heart race.
Jack half-expected her to spend the next day shopping for designer bags, shoes, or a closet full of tech gadgets. But when he asked what she planned to do, her answer surprised him.
"I was thinking," Felicity said thoughtfully, "we should get a bigger place—something without all these stairs. And I've already picked out a few advanced systems and forensic tools that could really help you and Laurel in the field. We could get a second car too. Then save the rest for emergencies."
Jack grinned. "You sure you're not secretly on the Justice League payroll?"
Once Felicity left for work, Jack grabbed the new suit meant for Laurel and prepared to head over to her place. But just as he reached for the doorknob, a knock echoed from the other side.
Felicity? Did she forget something?
Jack opened the door without hesitation—only to find a tall, striking woman in a black cocktail dress and stockings, leaning casually against the doorframe with a sly smile.
"Took me long enough to find you," she said smoothly.
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Selina Kyle?"
Catwoman smiled wider. "Miss me?"