Hong Fei's voice carried a deceptive calm, but the undercurrent of impatience vibrated through every syllable. Ivan met his gaze and immediately regretted it—those eyes held the promise of violence. The Russian might not be certain about killing Tony Stark, but he had no illusions about Hong Fei's ability to end him without breaking a sweat. He ducked his head. "Boss."
A smirk played across Hong Fei's lips. "Find Justin Hammer. His company's a joke compared to Stark Industries, but the Pentagon loves him. Show him your reactor. Tell him what you want." He leaned forward, the threat implicit. "Remember—you belong to me now. I don't collect corpses. So whether you want an exit strategy or not, keep your mouth shut. I'll reach out when necessary."
"This isn't a request."
Ivan hesitated a fraction too long before answering. "Understood."
"Good. Get out." Hong Fei waved him off like swatting a fly. "Someone will feed your bird. When you're settled, design me an energy blade. No whips."
The look Ivan gave him could have curdled milk, but he nodded and left. Not ideal, but Hong Fei knew the man wasn't stupid—revenge required breathing, and Ivan understood who held his leash now.
The door clicked shut. Hong Fei grabbed his phone. Time for his daily ritual.
Across town, Tony Stark paced his penthouse like a caged animal. The palladium poisoning had become a ticking clock strapped to his ribs. Chlorophyll cocktails did nothing to stop the creeping black veins spiderwebbing from his arc reactor. Death's approach was bad enough; watching it inch closer was psychological torture.
His mind circled back to one infuriating face.
"Jarvis?"
"No sightings, sir."
Tony exhaled through his teeth. Regret tasted bitter—not for what he'd done, but for possibly missing the chance to pay back those two knife wounds personally. The reactor flared brighter as he peeled off his shirt. Black tendrils reached toward his collarbones now, framing the raised scar tissue on both shoulders. With his torso exposed, he looked less like a billionaire and more like some battle-hardened mercenary.
Pepper's heels clicked down the hallway. By the time she entered, his shirt was buttoned, his smile flawless. Forty years of practice made the performance effortless.
The phone at Hong Fei's ear crackled with Natasha's polite dismissal. "Natalie, you're not just brilliant with spreadsheets—you're perceptive. We're the same breed, aren't we? Wolves in sheep's clothing." A pause. "Busy? Right. Tomorrow, then."
He hung up, biting back a grin. At this rate, she'd crack before his "accidental" daily calls wore her down. The Black Widow probably never had to endure persistent admirers. Besides, no matter how suspicious he acted, Tony Stark would always outrank him on her priority list.
Such a beautiful girl was obviously better suited to be by the playboy's side; keeping her tied to his current persona would be criminal.
Two nights later, Jessica collapsed mid-training. Hong Fei emptied a water bottle over her face. She came to gasping, pupils dilated with exhaustion—like she'd run a marathon through hell.
"Take tomorrow off," he said.
Jessica exhaled sharply in relief. As Hong Fei drove back into New York City proper, they pulled up outside the bookstore. Peter stood waiting at the door, practically vibrating with excitement, his eyes shining as he clutched an Iron Man helmet. Hong Fei rolled down the window of his parked car and jerked his chin. "Get in."
Peter scrambled into the passenger seat and snapped his seatbelt. "Where's Mei?"
"She's not coming." Hong Fei glanced back to see Mei already waving from the doorway. He gave her a nod before accelerating toward the Expo.
The Flushing commercial district pulsed with energy when they arrived. A wall of sound hit them first—thousands of voices cheering, the electric hum of anticipation. Endless queues snaked around the venue perimeter. Hong Fei gripped Peter's hand as they inched forward through the crush. By the time they cleared security, thirty-five minutes had evaporated, but they'd made it before curtain call. Peter hadn't stopped grinning once.
Inside, Hong Fei hoisted the boy onto his hip. The Iron Man helmet bobbed as Peter swiveled his head, taking in the sea of fans—kids, teens, even grandparents sporting repulsor gloves. Superheroes clearly outdrew pop stars these days. Overhead lights stuttered into a frenetic sequence as bass-heavy music shook the floor.
Dancers in metallic bodysuits exploded onto the stage, their movements syncing with the building crescendo. Then—BOOM. Fireworks geysered upward, painting the sky in liquid gold. The crowd's collective gasp became a roar as necks craned backward. A streak of rainbow light arrowed through the explosions, weaving between pyrotechnic blooms before suddenly plunging earthward.
CLANG.
Iron Man landed in a perfect three-point stance center stage. The audience detonated. People leapt like popcorn in a skillet, screaming until their voices cracked. Tony let them lose their minds for a full ten seconds before the rotating platform deployed robotic arms to dismantle his armor. Revealed in a tailored suit, he flashed a peace sign. Another tsunami of cheers. Peter wriggled so violently Hong Fei nearly dropped him.
Hong Fei found the spectacle mildly irritating. Tony's subsequent speech—a masterclass in faux-modest grandstanding—made his eye twitch. By the time the opening ceremony concluded, he was fantasizing about throwing a shoe at the stage.
As crowds dispersed into exhibition halls, security struggled to maintain order amidst flashing press cameras. Hong Fei tightened his grip on Peter's hand as they got swept along in the human current. "We should've come tomorrow," he muttered. The real exhibits wouldn't open until morning—tonight was just pomp and posturing.
"But Mr. Stark won't be here tomorrow!" Peter protested, still bouncing despite the jostling crowd. Such was the gravitational pull of celebrity.
Hong Fei gritted his teeth as elbows jabbed his ribs. He lifted Peter higher. "If you want to meet him that badly, I'll arrange it."
Peter's response died in his throat when he suddenly shrieked and pointed. There—Tony Stark himself, holding court near a holographic display. Hong Fei suppressed a groan but began carving through the crowd with the precision of a shark through chum.
The group arrived shortly afterward, pushing through the bustling crowd. Tony strode ahead, flanked by Happy and his security team. Hong Fei waited off to the side, his grin bright enough to rival the arc reactor in Tony's chest.
Tony's eyes locked onto him immediately. Without hesitation, he reached for the excited child in Hong Fei's arms, tugging them both forward. Happy—familiar with Hong Fei by now—simply stepped aside, letting the crowd part around them like water around a stone.
The ears of the group finally became a little quieter. Tony absently rubbed Peter's helmet, studying the boy before flicking a glance at Hong Fei. "Yours?" he asked. The launch could wait—next week, maybe the one after. Time was fluid when you had better things to do.