My knuckles hover an inch from the engraved wood, sweating despite the mountain chill. Four years of planning crystallize into this moment - tell Talia I'm going to gut the Bat, walk out, never look back. Then the voice rasps behind me in guttural Polish. I spin to see a twitchy man clutching a bundle like it's made of nitro. 'Jesteś tu żeby oglądać dziecko?' he demands. When I snap at him, he pales and shoves the bundle into my arms. The weight shifts. Tiny fingers emerge from the cloth, grasping at my leather jacket with surprising strength. I peel back the fabric and nearly drop the kid when those eyes lock onto mine - Talia's eyes in a chubby face. He studies me like a tactician assessing a battlefield. The door creaks open. 'I see you've met Damian,' Talia purrs, plucking the baby from my arms. The way he reaches for her confirms everything. My vengeance speech dies as she adds, 'Don't worry, you'll see each other soon.' The unspoken threat hangs between us - she knows why I came. And now she's holding collateral.