Hells Messenger

It was late when Karen showed up at Fiona’s apartment, her knock soft but urgent.

Fiona pulled the door open, blinking in surprise. "Hey. Sorry, I know it’s late," Karen said.

"No, it’s okay. I was actually finishing up the piece I’m doing on the Healy case," Fiona said, stepping aside to let her in. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just… I wanted to talk to you about Union Allied."

Fiona shut the door behind her. "What about it?"

"For starters, I had to sign something saying that I wouldn’t talk to the press about them ever again. And to me, that just proves that there’s still something left to say," Karen said.

Fiona crossed her arms, considering it. "Well, I looked into them after the article. They filed for bankruptcy. Probably refiled under a new name. It didn’t really lead to anything else."

Karen shook her head. "They killed Daniel Fisher. They tried to kill me. And Rance, the guy that attacked me—I don’t believe he just up and hung himself in jail. That guard tried to do the same thing to me."

"Do you know the guard’s name?" Fiona asked, already walking toward her laptop.

Karen nodded. "Clyde Farnum."

Fiona typed quickly, her fingers flying over the keys. "Jesus Christ," she mumbled, eyes scanning the screen.

Karen stepped closer. "What?"

"He’s dead. Shot himself," Fiona said, reading the article. Without missing a beat, she pulled up another name. "Hey, does the name McClintock ring a bell?"

"That was my boss," Karen said.

"Overdosed," Fiona told her, sighing as she ran a hand through her hair.

Karen’s expression tightened. "So they just shuffle some papers and all of this disappears?"

"Maybe not," Fiona said, flipping through some files on her desk. "The Healy case, the one Foggy and Matt took on… there’s something off about it."

Karen watched as Fiona pulled out notes, spreading them across the table. "What do you mean?"

"For starters, the hung jury. I was there. The whole thing seemed pretty cut and dry. For them not to reach a verdict seemed weird. Not to mention one of the jurors was replaced with an alternate that day. And that guy… the one from Confederated Global was there. Never gave me his name, but he said he read my blog."

Karen’s brows furrowed. "What do you think it means?"

"Prohaska. He was your typical old-school mafia guy. I remembered his name from some research I did a while back. I’m fairly certain he ran Kitchen Cab, probably as a way to move drugs through the city without raising suspicion. And this morning, I found this," Fiona said, pointing to a document. "Kitchen Cab was acquired and transferred via third party to Veles Taxi—which is Russian."

Karen stared at the paper, realization dawning. "Wait, so… John Healy killed Prohaska so the Russians could take over?"

"That’s what I thought at first, but Healy isn’t Russian. So what does he have to gain? Money. Maybe he was just a hitman. But then I started thinking about who hired him, and the only person that made sense was the creepy suit guy from Confederated Global. Which means that for some reason, they had an interest in helping the Russians distribute drugs throughout the city."

Karen exhaled sharply. "Wow. Okay, so… so we can use this. You can publish—"

"Not without more evidence," Fiona cut in. "If I post this now, it’s going to sound like nothing more than a conspiracy theory, and there goes all my credibility."

Karen pressed her lips together, then straightened. "Okay then… so we find evidence."

Fiona sighed. "Karen… if this is as big as I think it is, this is seriously dangerous. I mean, I’ve had a few close calls myself, ones I will never tell my brother about, but still."

"I know that. I get that. But I can’t let this go," Karen said. "You said it yourself—we can’t stop this from happening, but we can make sure people know the truth."

Fiona studied her, then exhaled, shaking her head. "Okay. Then we do some more digging. But we keep Matt and Foggy out of this as much as we can. They already worried too much about what I do."

Karen studied Fiona for a moment, her gaze sharp despite the casual way she leaned against the counter. "Can I ask you something?"

Fiona glanced up from the papers she was sifting through. "Sure."

Karen hesitated for a second before speaking. "Is there… something going on between you and Matt?"

Fiona felt her stomach flip but kept her expression neutral, offering a short laugh as she shook her head. "Me and Matt? No. We’re just friends."

Karen raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Really? Because the way you too—"

Fiona cut her off before she could finish. "We met when he and Foggy were in law school. I used to visit my brother all the time, and Matt was always around. We just got close, that’s all."

Karen didn’t say anything for a moment, just watching her, like she was waiting for Fiona to crack.

But Fiona kept her face carefully composed, even as she turned back to her notes.

"Okay," Karen finally said, though she didn’t sound completely convinced.

Fiona forced a smile. "Matt and I are just friends. That’s all."

Karen didn’t push any further, but as the conversation shifted back to their investigation, Fiona couldn’t shake the way her heart was beating just a little too fast—or the nagging feeling that Karen saw right through her lie.

• • • • • • •

Fiona crouched behind a parked car across the street from Veles Taxi, her camera pressed against her eye as she snapped photos of the dimly lit building. Men moved in and out of the office, their conversations too far away for her to hear.

She zoomed in, focusing on one of the men shaking hands with another near the entrance. The shutter of her camera clicked softly, capturing the exchange. She adjusted the lens, ready for another shot, when suddenly—

An arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her backward.

A hand clamped over her mouth before she could make a sound, and in a blur, she was being pulled off the sidewalk, away from the streetlights, into the shadows of a narrow alley.

She struggled, kicking out and twisting against the grip, her pulse pounding in her ears. Whoever it was, he was strong. She bit down on the hand over her mouth, hard enough to make him grunt, and he let go, stepping back.

Fiona spun around —only to freeze when she saw who it was.

The man in black.

Her eyes widened. “It’s you.”

He didn’t move, his masked face unreadable. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She straightened, her breath still unsteady. “Why? Do you know something?”

“I know that you’re going to get yourself killed if you keep doing this.”

Fiona narrowed her eyes. “Keep doing? How do you know this is something I already do?”

There was a brief pause, then his voice came quieter this time. “I know you’ve been following me.”

She felt a flicker of shock before she masked it with a smirk. “You run around beating up bad guys in a mask. That makes you fairly interesting.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he said nothing.

There was a beat of silence between them, the distant hum of the city filling the space where words should be.

Then, his head tilted slightly, as if studying her through the mask. “And how do you know I’m not the bad guy?”

Fiona held his gaze, something about the way he asked making her heart beat just a little faster. “Because bad guys don’t usually save people,” she said.

“That doesn’t mean I’m good,” he countered.

“No,” she admitted, shifting her weight, her eyes flicking over him. “But it means you’re not like them.”

His jaw clenched. She had the feeling that whatever he was about to say, he decided against it at the last second. Instead, he exhaled, stepping closer, his voice lower than before. “Go home, Fiona.”

She swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of how close he was, of the warmth radiating from him even in the cool night air. “Why do you care?”

He hesitated. Just for a second.

Then he stepped back, melting into the shadows as if he had never been there at all.

Fiona let out a slow breath, still feeling the ghost of his presence as she looked toward where he had disappeared.

She didn’t have all the answers yet.

But now, more than ever, she needed them.

• • • • • • •

The warm scent of garlic and simmering tomatoes filled Matt’s apartment as he stood over the stove, stirring a pot of pasta sauce. Across the room, Fiona sat at his dining table, her laptop open, fingers tapping away as she worked on her latest blog post.

Matt shook his head, smirking slightly. “I thought we agreed—no work over dinner.”

She didn’t look up, eyes still fixed on the screen. “Well, you’re not done cooking, so technically, dinner hasn’t started.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, tossing some chopped garlic into the pot. “Maybe it’d go a little faster if you were helping.”

Fiona rolled her eyes but closed her laptop, pushing back her chair. “Alright, I’m here. Where do you want me, chef?”

Matt chuckled, reaching for a wooden spoon before holding it out to her. “Stir this.”

She took it from him, stepping beside him at the stove, stirring the sauce as he leaned against the counter. The comfortable rhythm of their usual banter settled in, but after a moment, Fiona’s tone shifted.

“So… Karen asked me something interesting the other day.”

Matt didn’t pause in what he was doing. “Define interesting.”

“She wanted to know if we were together.”

His hands stilled for the briefest second before he went back to chopping. “What did you say?”

“That we’re just friends.”

He nodded once, silent.

Fiona glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “That’s all I get? A nod?”

Matt exhaled, setting the knife down. “Do you want to tell her the truth? Tell Foggy the truth?”

She hesitated, stirring the sauce a little slower. “I don’t know…” Her voice softened. “I guess I don’t know what the truth is.”

Matt didn’t respond right away.

Fiona focused on the sauce, pretending like her pulse hadn’t just picked up, like she wasn’t suddenly hyperaware of the fact that they were standing so close together.

After a long moment, Matt reached over, his fingers brushing lightly against hers as he took the spoon from her.

“I think it’s done,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” she mumbled, stepping back. The warmth of his touch lingered longer than it should have, so she turned away, busying herself with something else.

She moved to the sink, gathering the dirty dishes and utensils to start cleaning while Matt finished cooking. The steady sound of running water filled the quiet space between them, but her thoughts were louder.

His lack of response settled like a weight in her chest, stirring up feelings she had tried to push aside for months.

Maybe she was imagining things. Maybe all of this—the stolen moments, the way he touched her, the way she felt when he did—meant something only to her. Maybe, to Matt, she was nothing more than Foggy’s little sister.

The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth, her movements becoming quicker, more distracted.

Lost in her head, she didn’t notice the sharp edge of the knife until it sliced clean across her palm.

A sharp pain shot through her palm, and Fiona gasped, dropping the knife into the sink with a loud clang.

The sight of blood pooling in her hand made her stomach turn, her breathing going shallow.

“Oh my god—” her voice came out shaky as she stared at it, heart pounding. “Oh my god, oh my god—”

Matt was beside her in an instant.

“Fiona,” his voice was calm but firm, cutting through her rising panic. He reached for her hand, his grip steady as he grabbed a dish towel and pressed it firmly against the wound. “You’re okay. Just hold this here.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore the warmth of the blood soaking into the fabric. Her hands felt clammy, her chest too tight.

“Matt, there’s—there’s so much blood,” she whispered, her voice unsteady.

“I know,” he said gently, already moving away. “Stay here. I’m getting the first aid kit.”

She forced herself to breathe, gripping the edge of the counter as Matt disappeared into the other room. Her heart was racing, faster than it should have been for a simple cut. It wasn’t the pain—it was the sight of it.

Within seconds, Matt was back, first aid kit in hand.

“Alright, angel,” he murmured, easing the towel away from her palm. Fiona focused on that instead of the blood.

Matt ran his fingers lightly over her skin, feeling the depth of the wound. “Doesn’t need stitches,” he assured her.

She swallowed, still a little dizzy. “How do you know how to do this?”

Matt let out a small, knowing laugh. “My dad was a boxer. I used to patch him up all the time.”

Fiona let herself relax as he carefully cleaned the wound, his touch deliberate and soothing. The sting of the antiseptic made her wince, but Matt’s hands were steady, grounding her.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, watching as he unwrapped a bandage.

Matt’s head tilted slightly, his lips pressing into a faint line. “For what?”

“For being an idiot,” she said with a weak laugh. “For not paying attention. For freaking out over a little blood.”

Matt shook his head, smoothing the bandage over her palm with careful precision. “Don’t apologize for getting hurt, Fiona.”

She let out a small, uneven breath, staring down at their hands as he secured the bandage in place.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he added softly.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Matt gave her hand a gentle squeeze, lingering for just a second longer than necessary before finally letting go. “Try not to do it again, though.”

Fiona huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “No promises.”

Matt gave her hand another reassuring squeeze before letting go, his touch lingering just long enough for her to feel it even after he pulled away.

“I mean it, Fi,” he said, his voice softer now. “I’m always here to help you. No matter what.”

Something about the way he said it made her stomach flutter, warmth blooming in her chest.

Then, with an easy smirk, he added, “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I wasn’t?”

Fiona blinked, her heart skipping a beat.

“Boyfriend?” she repeated, caught completely off guard.

Matt didn’t answer—not with words, at least. Instead, he leaned in, his hand finding her waist as his lips met hers.

It wasn’t hurried or rushed. It was steady, assured, like he had already decided long before this moment that there was no point in denying it anymore.

Fiona barely had time to react before he was pulling back, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“We should probably tell Foggy soon,” he murmured.

Fiona, still reeling, let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah,” she said, shaking her head. “Probably.”

• • • • • • •

It was early, and Fiona stood inside Nelson & Murdock, watching as Karen fought with the office copy machine—one that looked like it had been around since the dawn of time.

“So, I went to this auction where they were selling off assets from a bunch of different companies, including Union Allied,” Karen said, smacking the side of the machine in frustration. “Wanted to see if I spotted anyone suspicious buying things up.”

“And? Did you?” Fiona asked, sipping her coffee.

“Nope. And I had to spend thirty-five hundred dollars on ancient office equipment so I didn’t look suspicious,” Karen muttered, shaking her head.

Fiona let out a small laugh. “Well, I have some news. I went down to Veles Taxi to poke around, see if I saw anything… and guess who I ran into?”

Karen looked up. “Who?”

“The man in the mask.”

Karen’s eyes widened. “What? What did he say?”

“Nothing much. Just that I shouldn’t be there because it was dangerous,” Fiona said, setting her cup down. “He knew my name, though. Probably because of the Union Allied piece.”

“Who knows your name?” Foggy’s voice cut in as he walked into the office.

“No one,” Fiona said quickly. “So… how’s work going?”

Foggy sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Slow. Our last client was a drunk electrician who burned his house down.”

“Wow. If that’s slow, I’d hate to see what fast is like,” Fiona teased.

Before Foggy could respond, Matt walked in, looking unusually serious. “Hey, you guys hear anything on the news about a Russian getting his head cut off?”

“In Hell’s Kitchen?” Karen asked, raising a brow.

“This city," Foggy muttered. "Bad enough you get mugged, now they chop your melon off. What’s next? Groping corpses?”

Fiona wrinkled her nose and turned to her brother. “Ew.”

Shaking her head, she grabbed her bag. “I should get going.”

Foggy gave her a look. “Hey! Don’t let the headless Russian put any ideas in your head.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fiona said, flashing him a smile.

As she passed Matt, she reached out, giving his arm a small squeeze. “Bye, Matty.”

His head tilted slightly toward her, his voice low as he murmured, “Bye.”

Once Fiona was gone, Foggy turned to Matt, arms crossed, watching the door swing shut behind her.

“Really?” he asked, voice laced with exasperation.

Matt adjusted his glasses. “What?”

“Telling her about Russians getting their heads cut off,” Foggy said, shaking his head. “You know she’s just gonna go poking her nose in it.”

Matt sighed, leaning against his desk. “There’s nothing to poke into.”

Karen glanced between them, frowning slightly. “You sure about that?”

Matt nodded, keeping his expression neutral. If Fisk was behind it, then he would’ve covered his tracks well enough that not even Fiona could find anything.

Foggy didn’t look convinced. “Yeah, well… there better not be,” he muttered. “Because if she gets herself into trouble, again, my mother’s gonna kill me before I even get a chance to kill her.”

Matt didn’t say anything, but he could still hear Fiona’s footsteps fading down the hallway, light and sure, like she already had a plan forming in her head.