The sound of water echoed through the bathroom, mingling with the gentle hiss of steam. Elektra leaned back against the cool porcelain, letting the heat soak into her muscles, but her mind refused to relax.
Even with Wilson Fisk locked behind bars, his influence bled through every street of New York. Being imprisoned hardly made him weaker. If anything, it sharpened his claws. Through coded messages, trusted lieutenants, and an endless stream of money, he still ruled. Every move his organization made would find its way to his ears within hours.
And that was the real danger. With Fisk's every channel under scrutiny by the authorities, his network was exposed like raw nerves. One wrong signal, and the whole empire could collapse overnight.
Elektra's lips curled into a small, bitter smile.
'Collapse… that's exactly what I want.'
The key to bringing down Fisk lay in his finances. James Wesley—the man who held all of Fisk's financial threads—was the lynchpin. But Wesley wasn't a fool. He was loyal to a fault, paranoid, and protected like a king. Elite gunmen watched him around the clock, armed to the teeth: assault rifles, grenades, mortars, even prototype exoskeleton suits. And then there was Bullseye—Fisk's ruthless, unstoppable assassin.
Getting to Wesley wasn't impossible, but it was close.
'Maybe Daredevil could have helped…'
The thought slipped unbidden into her mind. She'd considered asking Matt for help, but Fisk's arrest came before she made her move.
Elektra tilted her head back, letting the hot water cascade down her bare shoulders, her mind drifting to darker memories. This wasn't just about Fisk or Bullseye.
It was about the Hand.
They were the true threat. Her real war.
Even with Fisk temporarily weakened, she knew the Hand's shadow loomed larger. Their ledger—if she could get her hands on it—would expose not only their operations but their ties to Fisk himself. That was the dagger she needed. When the Hand crumbled, Fisk would fall with them, and Bullseye would follow.
But… the Hand had gone quiet. Too quiet.
Once, they had hunted her relentlessly. Night after night, the Hand's assassins—silent, faceless—trailed her every move. She hadn't dared to return to her own apartment, fearing it would lead them straight to her. Then, just as suddenly, they vanished. No pursuit. No whispers. Even the Japanese ninjas stationed in the Roxxon Building had disappeared without a trace.
'What could scare the Hand?'
The thought unsettled her. Whoever—or whatever—could frighten that shadowy organization had to be something far beyond ordinary.
Elektra finished her bath, water streaming down her toned body as she stepped out. She grabbed a towel, wrapping it snugly around herself, but her mind remained elsewhere.
'James Wesley… he's the key.'
Fisk's right-hand man controlled everything from the shadows. If she couldn't break through Fisk directly, she'd have to start there. Not with brute force—there were better ways. Smarter ways.
She was still running through scenarios when her senses screamed at her.
"Who are you?"
The words tore from her throat as her hand shot to a hidden compartment under the bathroom cabinet. Her fingers brushed cold steel—a concealed handgun—and she had it drawn in less than a second.
Her heart pounded, her eyes locking on the intruder.
A man sat casually on her living room sofa, as if he owned the place. He wore a tailored gray-black striped suit and a white mask etched with slanted golden lines, shaped like plum blossoms. Dark golden hair peeked from beneath the mask, framing sharp, unnervingly calm blue eyes.
And he hadn't made a single sound entering her home. That alone was terrifying.
Elektra's finger tightened on the trigger. "I'll give you three seconds to answer before I—"
"Not bad," the man interrupted, his tone laced with amused admiration. "You've got a great body."
Her breath caught. Her eyes darted down—
The towel. It had slipped from her body during her rush for the gun.
Rage and embarrassment flared in her chest. But before she could react, a sharp sting ran through her wrist. Her hand spasmed, and the gun was gone.
In a blur, the masked man had disarmed her and settled back onto the sofa, twirling her weapon in his hand like a toy.
"Girls like you shouldn't play with guns," he said, his voice calm, eyes scanning her body, not with lust, but calculation, as if cataloging every hidden weapon she might have.
Elektra froze. No one had ever disarmed her so effortlessly. Not even Stick's most dangerous trainees.
The man set something on the sofa beside him. It was a black-bound ledger. Her breath hitched.
'The Hand's ledger?'
"Put on some clothes," the man continued, his tone businesslike. "We have things to discuss. And I brought you what you've been looking for."
Elektra's mind spun. If this man really had the Hand's ledger, then… who the hell was he?
She bent to retrieve her towel, wrapping it tightly before retreating into her bedroom. Her instincts screamed at her not to turn her back on him, but she needed to think. She slipped into a purple camisole and jeans, her fingers brushing the knives hidden in her waistband and boots.
When she emerged, she sat beside him, snatching up the ledger and flipping through the pages.
"These are… codes," she muttered, frowning. "None of this makes sense."
"If I could read it, I wouldn't be here," the man replied smoothly. "I retrieved it from the thirteenth floor of the Roxxon Energy Building. It was hidden deep in a secret vault."
Elektra's head snapped up. "When?"
"A few days ago. I don't keep track." He said it with casual indifference, but something about his tone made her jaw tighten.
Her eyes narrowed. "Were you following me?"
A cold silence filled the room. She pieced it together quickly—the relentless pursuit from the Hand, their sudden retreat… It all made sense now. They must have believed she had taken the ledger, when in reality, he had.
"You caused this," she muttered, her voice hard. "Their hunt for me… it was because of you."
The man's blue eyes glinted behind the mask. "I don't know what you mean. I wasn't following you. I just followed the Hand's trail. I never saw you there."
It wasn't the truth. She could feel it. But there was something about him—his presence, his precision—that made her stop pressing.
"The codes will take time to break," she admitted, closing the ledger. Her gaze hardened. "But first, you're going to tell me who you are. If we're going to cooperate, Mr. Mysterious… I need the truth."