“So how come I gotta find out you're datin' that hot little number you were with all those years ago from the tabloids?”

I drop down on the couch across from Pops and laugh. “It's been a crazy few weeks.”

“Yeah, I can imagine,” he says, tipping me a wink. “Darby, wasn't it?”

“I can't believe you remember her name,” I say, genuinely shocked.

“Hey, my brain still works just fine,” he snaps. “It's just my damn body that's given up on me.”

I run a hand through my hair, smiling. “Fair enough.”

He looks at me, his expression serious. “You wanna know how I remember her after all these years?”

“Enlighten me.”

His gaze bores into me, his expression earnest. “It's because when you were with that girl, it's the only time I’ve ever seen you happy,” he says. “I mean genuinely happy.”

“C'mon, Pops,” I say. “You and I have had plenty of good times.”

He adjusts on the sofa and takes a drink of his water – at least, I think it's water. I make a mental note to check and see what he's drinking later. I wouldn't put it past Adriana to slip the old man some vodka now and then, just to make him happy – even if the doctors said no more booze.

I look around, and unbelievably, Adriana has stuck even more Christmas shit in here.

“Is she doing this to piss me off?” I ask.

Pops chuckles. “Yeah, probably.”

“Tell her to knock it off then,” I say. “I've got enough holiday spirit to choke all of Santa's damn reindeer now.”

Pops laughs and shakes his head. “Listen, having a good time is one thing. And yeah, we've had our fair share, kid,” he says. “But, being genuinely happy isn’t something guys like us get a chance at. You had it though. And then you gave it up. To this day, I don't understand why.”

I let out a long breath and lean forward, arms on my thighs, hands clasped in front of me. He's not wrong. Back when Darby and I were together, it was the happiest I'd ever been in my life. And honestly, I'm getting another taste of it now. Getting a second chance is a rare thing – and I plan on maximizing it. And I'd say that we're off to a decent start.

“How'd you two get back together?” he asks.

A rueful grin touches my lips as I recount the entire story to him – including the fact that it started off with her yelling at me at the gala. Pops laughs and claps his hands, genuinely amused. He doesn't get out much anymore, so he lives vicariously through me. And I'm always more than happy to entertain the old man. It seems like the very least I can do after he gave me so much.

“The girl has some spirit,” he says when I finish my tale. “I saw it in her back then. Good to know that time hasn't quenched that fire.”

I look down at the ground a moment and grit my teeth. The last thing I want to do is force Pops to rehash the past – especially since he's made his preference for not doing so abundantly clear over the years. Every time I tried to talk to him about it, he'd brush me off. A couple of times, he got downright pissed. So, I did my best to just let sleeping dogs lie.

But, I need to know what I'm walking into. I know Mason is going to come at me with guns blazing, and I need to make sure I protect Pops as best I can. The only way to do that is if I know everything. And I mean everything. I have to have all the information at hand, so when I hire the lawyers, they know what we're dealing with, and can formulate a strategy based on that.

“Actually, she is the reason why I came to talk to you,” I say.

“That so?”

I nod. “Yeah,” I say, steeling myself. “See, she's got a prick of a brother named Mason. Turns out, he's a U.S. Attorney.”

Pops rolls his eyes and scoffs. He's always had a healthy disdain for lawyers. Thought they were puffed-up assholes with God complexes. And he's not wrong about that.

“I hate him already,” he mutters.

“Yeah, me too,” I say. “It's about to get worse though.”

I tell Pops everything. I tell him about how Mason forced me to stop seeing Darby back then, using the threat of going after him if I didn't. Through it all Pops listens, his eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. When I finish the story, he looks at me in silence for a long moment. His gaze is penetrating. Fierce.

“That's why you stopped seeing Darby all those years ago?” he asks. “Because of me?”

“No, because of Mason,” I say. “Because of what he threatened to do to you.”

“Kid, if I'd known any of this back then, I would've kicked your ass up and down the Kitchen,” he says. “For the smartest kid I've ever known, you're pretty fuckin' stupid sometimes.”

His voice is as firm and cold as I've heard it in years, and his eyes blaze with a ferocity I've seen all too many times – though, not recent memory. In a way, it's comforting, to know that tenacity is still in there.

“I couldn't let him come after you,” I say.

“Lemme ask you somethin', kid,” he says. “You really think I offed anybody?”

I shrug. “I have no idea. I know you were the head of a mob back in the day, and –”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Damn. And here I thought you were smarter than that,” he says. “I thought I taught you to use your head better.”

“What do you mean?”

“Yeah, I ran a small organization,” he says. “We never killed nobody though. We moved some grass and fixed some games. Did a lot of bookmaking. Big fuckin' deal. Christ, you act like I was Al fuckin' Capone or something.”

I cock my head and look at him. “But, I heard the stories some of the old timers told, and –”

“That's all they were, kid – stories,” he says. “I have no idea where they came from, or why anybody believed 'em, but it was all bullshit. I didn't say nothin' because it earned me respect in the neighborhood. People thought I was this bigshot Mafia Don or some shit like that, and because it kept people off my back, I let the assholes believe it. It was one of those rare cases where rumors worked out in my favor.”

I run a hand through my hair and laugh. Smoke and mirrors. Just like the reputation I'd fostered back at St. Aggie's all those years ago. All smoke and mirrors. That's what Pops' reputation was built upon.

Damn.

“Feel stupid yet, kid?”

I nod. “Yeah, more than you know,” I say. “But, how was I supposed to know?”

“You should've known,” he says. “You should've known me better than that, kid.”

“I did. I do,” I say. “But, when Mason confronted me, and started makin' all these threats, telling me you were going to prison – I was still young. I got scared. I couldn't let it happen. Not after everything you've given me. I wouldn't be anywhere, wouldn't be anybody, if it wasn’t for you, Pops.”

He waves me off. “That's bullshit, kid,” he says. “You were always gonna do great things.”

“That's funny because you're the only one who saw it,” I say. “You're the only one who invested in me. The only one who gave me a chance. So no, I wasn't going to always do great things. Not without you.”

He gives me a crooked grin. “Fine, I may have nudged you in the right direction, but who and what you are is all your doing. You're the one who put in the work. Not me.”

“Yeah, that's true,” I say, “but without you, I wouldn't have had the work to put in.”

We sit in silence for a few moments, each of us just looking at the other. He's right. I should have known better. Pops isn't a violent man. Never has been. He’s always pushed me to use my brain rather than my muscles. Always told me I'd get farther in life using my head than my brawn. He was right. I should have known. I can't believe what an idiot I’ve been.

“It kills me a little to know you sacrificed all those years of happiness to protect me,” he says. “When there was nothin' to protect in the first place.”

“Pops, I'd sacrifice everything to keep you safe.”

He gives me a small, sad smile. “You don't get a shot at love – not real, deep love – very often in life, kid,” he says. “When you get a shot at it, you take it. You grab on and you don't let that shit go. Ever.”

“He may not have any bodies to pin on you, but Mason can still make your life hell,” I say. “And when he finds out that Darby and I are back together, he's gonna to come after you to try to get to me.”

“Fuck him,” he says. “Let him try. I got nothin' but time to fuck with him right back. And given my lack of a social calendar, I'm actually kinda lookin' forward to it. It'll sure beat the hell out of watching them Mexican soap operas with Adriana. It'll give me somethin' to do.”

I laugh. I can believe that. Pops would love nothing more than to waste Mason's time. Messing with lawyers is something he's always enjoyed doing.

“Listen to me, kid, and listen good,” he says. “You listenin’?”

I look him in the eye and nod. “I'm listening.”

“Good,” he says. “For some reason, God or the universe, or whatever, has given you a second chance with this girl. That's a rare thing, kid. She's good for you, and I can already see a difference in you now that you're with her again. You're happier. Lighter. You seem freer. Don't you dare fuck this up. You hang on to that girl at all costs and never let her go. You hear me? Not ever.”

“That's my plan, Pops,” I say. “That's my plan.”

He nods, a warm smile on his face. “Good boy,” he says. “Good boy.”

Rupert meets me at the elevators in the lobby on the ground floor of our office building. Which is curious. I walk over to him and he's just standing there, smiling. He hands me a cup of coffee. I raise it to my nose and inhale the aroma.

“What?” I ask.

“Cold day, thought you could use a cup of java.”

“Well – thanks,” I say.

He stands there looking at me for a moment, a stupid, goofy grin on his face, and a mischievous sparkle in his eye.

“What?” I ask. “Spit it out already.”

“Things with Darby must be going really great, huh?”

“Uh... yeah,” I say. “We're doing pretty good. Why?”

“I figured you were,” he says.

“Yeah?” I ask. “Why'd you figure that?”

“Because Ahab is sitting in our conference room, waiting for you,” he says and laughs.

“You're shitting me.”

He shakes his head and laughs. “Wish I were,” he says. “Actually, no I don't. This should be something to see. It's going to be better than reality TV.”

I laugh. “Well, let's not keep him waiting,” I say. “Thanks for the coffee by the way.”

“No problem,” he says. “Gave me an excuse to get the barista's number.”

I chuckle, and shake my head.

We take the elevator up to our offices and when we step through the doors, I can feel the vibe in the room. It's not a good one. All of the holiday cheer that's been infecting Bishop Financial has been sucked out and replaced with a nervous energy. In that moment, I wouldn't have minded having some of that holiday spirit in here again.

“Wow,” I say to Rupert. “You'd think the Grim Reaper himself walked through here.”

“He kinda did.”

We walk through the office and head for the conference room. I see Mason sitting at the table through the glass wall. And he's alone.

“I figured he'd have a team of his lackeys here to try and intimidate us,” I say.

“His ego's so big, he probably thinks he can do it on his own.”

“Yeah, you're probably not wrong about that.”

We step into the conference room and Mason cuts a withering glance at me.

“Wow,” I say. “Is it me or did the temperature in the office just drop down to sub-Arctic?”

“Oh, it's not just you. It's cold in here,” Rupert replies. “My nipples are definitely hard right now.”

“I see some things haven't changed,” Mason says. “Still the wiseass.”

“Which means, you're still the uptight ass, I guess,” I say. “I'd tell you it's good to see you after all these years, but truth be told, that’s a fucking lie.”

A small grin touches his lips. At least he's not completely devoid of a sense of humor.

“I would like to speak to you in private,” Mason says.

I look at Rupert. “You did frisk him, didn't you?” I ask. “Checked him for guns and weapons of mass destruction?”

“I didn't have time to do a cavity search yet,” my right-hand man replies. “On account of I had to go get your coffee.”

“You mean, the baristas number.”

“Two birds, one stone, boss.”

Mason lets out a loud, dramatic sigh. “Are you done?”

“Not sure. Hang on,” I say. “Rupert?”

He screws his face up, pretending to think. “Yeah, I think I am,” he says. “I think I'm good.”

I shrug and then look at Mason. “I guess so,” I say. “You'll have at least half my attention, and my full amount of derision.”

Rupert gives me a thumbs up and leaves the conference room. Truthfully, I would have preferred he stay. Witnesses are always a good thing to have when you're dealing with a piece of shit like Mason White. But, I know that Rupert will be watching since our conference room is wired for sound and video. At least we'll have a record of what happens. Inadmissible in court, but still handy information to have at my disposal.

I drop down into the seat across from Mason, and take a sip of coffee, my eyes never leaving his. He sits there for a long moment, saying nothing, sitting absolutely still, waiting for me to fill the void in the conversation – something I'm not going to do. It's a common lawyer trick – most people can't handle a protracted silence, so they'll say anything just to break it. More times than not, they say something stupid or incriminating, and land themselves in a world of shit.

It's a good thing I'm not stupid, so I just sip my coffee, and let it play out how it will.

He finally relents, realizing I'm not going to be the first one to break the silence. He opens his briefcase and takes out a newspaper. He unfolds it and slides it across the table to me. On the front cover is a picture of Darby and me, looking quite cozy. I suppress a grin and take another drink of my coffee.

“That suit looks terrible,” I say. “Why did no one tell me? I'm going to have to fire my tailor.”

“So, I understand that you and my sister have rekindled your – romance?”

I take another drink of my coffee and set the cup down on the table. “It would appear so,” I say. “Though, I never took you for the type to read the tabloids. Seems a little – beneath you. Doesn't it?”

“Did you forget about our last conversation when you tried to date above your station like that?”

I chuckle softly. “Above my station?” I ask. “Last I checked, I think my net worth is about five times yours. At least.”

“Having money doesn't mean anything,” he says. “You're still a piece of human garbage.”

“Human garbage with more money than you’ll ever have,” I correct him.

“But gutter trash nonetheless.”

“What happened to you, man?” I ask. “Not that you were an amazing human being back at St. Aggie's or anything, but at least you were decent. Now? You're nothing but a six-foot prick on legs.”

His face darkens, and I see his jaw clench. He's clearly snot used to being spoken to that way. It’s now my mission in life to get under Mason White's skin. If there's one thing I do before I die, I'm going to make him have a nervous breakdown.

“I'm here today to remind you that the statute of limitations on murder never expires,” he says. “And, now that I’m a U.S. Attorney, I'm in a much better position now to fuck with Pops Ramazzo as I see fit. Do you really want him to spend what's left of his golden years rotting away in prison?”

“Pops isn't going to prison,” I say simply.

“He will if I say he does,” Mason replies. “Unless you stop seeing Darby. Walk away from her like you did before, and I’ll leave Pops alone. Ignore me and Pops will be living in an eight-by-eight box for whatever time he has left on this planet. Is my sister really worth it?”

“Let me ask you something, Mason,” I say. “Why do you feel the need to control her? She's a grown woman with her own life. She's a smart woman, more than capable of making her own decisions. Why do you feel it's necessary to control her like she's some dumb kid?”

“My sister has a good and kind heart,” he says. “She's naïve and wants to believe the best in people. What she fails to understand is that some people are rotten down to their core. You know – people like you.”

I give him a slow grin. “You still haven't quite gotten over the fact that I kept you from getting your ass beat at St. Aggie's, huh? Pride and ego still wounded about that?” I say. “It's been twenty years, man. Don't you think it's time to move past that shit? I'd sing that 'Let it Go' song, but I don't know all the words, and I doubt you only want to hear the chorus.”

He slams his fist down on the table, his eyes blazing with righteous anger. “This has nothing to do with that, as much as you want to think it does,” he says. “Nothing at all. This has everything to do with you being a piece of shit, and me not wanting my sister involved with trash like you.”

I laugh and shake my head, enjoying the fact that I'm getting under his skin. I think that if I try hard enough, I may be able to incite a stroke, or an aneurysm in the guy. It's always good to set obtainable goals.

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” I say simply.

Mason talks a long breath and regains his composure, though I can see it's a Herculean effort on his part. When he looks at me, he seems slightly more under control – though, his very aura radiates hostility and hatred.

“Last chance,” he says. “Stop seeing Darby or I'm going to turn the hounds loose on poor Pops. I'm going to use everything at my disposal, and make whatever years he has left on this planet excruciatingly miserable for him.”

“You know, Pops is an old man. Doesn't get out much anymore,” I say. “I actually just came from his place. Mentioned that you might be paying me a visit and what you'd probably have in mind.”

“Is that so?”

I nod. “That's so,” I say. “The funny thing about an old man with nothing but time on his hands is that he would actually enjoy wasting your time. He'd love for you to try and charge him with anything because he'll make your life a nightmare. And at the end of the day, you'’ll have nothing but your dick in your hand to show for your efforts.

Pops hasn't killed anybody and I'm confident that justice – actual justice, not your bullshit brand of psycho, pseudo-justice – will prevail. And when it does, I'm guessing that your bosses aren't going to look too favorably about your half-assed, personal crusade. Why, it might even negatively impact your chances of running for office at some point soon.”

Mason leans back in his seat and looks at me, his expression one of complete disgust. He runs a hand through his own hair, still trying to calm himself down.

“What about you?” he asks.

“What about me?”

“Think you're so squeaky clean?”

“Actually, yeah. I do,” I say.

“What would you say if I told you that my office has been investigating you for months?”

“First, I'd say that's complete bullshit,” I say. “Secondly, I'd say you need a new fuckin' hobby, because that's got to be boring as hell. Not to mention a massive waste of taxpayer dollars. I run a clean shop here.”

“Nobody runs a perfectly clean shop,” he snaps.

“I do,” I say simply. “You're welcome to look until your heart's content. You're not going to find anything, because there's nothing to be found.”

“So, you say.”

“No, I know,” I reply.

“I guess we'll see about that.”

I nod. “Bring it on,” I reply. “You'll have my full cooperation. Mostly because I can't wait to see you fall flat on your face. What do you think that will do to your political ambitions? I'd say it'll blow them right up. Especially after I file a civil suit against the Department of Justice – and you – for harassment and anything else I can come up with.”

“Good luck with a civil suit,” he says. “I know most of the judges on the federal bench, and –”

“You should probably also know that I've got a lot of friends on Capitol Hill,” I say. “Turns out, everybody – Democrat and Republican alike – love money. And I make them lots of money, Mason. Which means I doubt they'll look to fondly on some loose-cannon U.S. Attorney wasting time and money on nothing more than a witch hunt. A bullshit personal vendetta that's targeting their favorite cash cow.”

He lets out a long breath and glares at me. “You can have any woman you want,” he says. “Why are you so insistent on Darby?”

“Because Darby is unlike any other woman I've ever known,” I answer honestly.

“And when you get tired of her?” he asks. “When you get bored? You just going to up and leave and shatter her heart again? You have no idea what she went through the last time –”

“You seem to forget,” I say loudly, cutting him off, “last time was because of you. I would have never left if not for you.”

“You made a choice. You sacrificed her for the old man,” he says. “And you need to do it again.”

“I don't need to do shit, you insufferable prick,” I hiss. “I fucked up once because of you. I refuse to make that same mistake again.”

“Walk away, Carter,” he warns.

I chuckle. “This world is not your gameboard, and I'm not one of your pieces that you can move around at will,” I say. “You want to come at me? Then have the spine to come at me, you fucking weasel. Don't use other people to play your game. Come at me straight. That is, unless you're still too much of a coward to do that. That wouldn't exactly surprise me though, given your history and all.”

He slams his briefcase shut and stands up abruptly. “You've been warned, Bishop,” he says. “I'm coming after Pops with everything I've got, and you’re next. You're going to be sorry you crossed me.”

“You've been warned as well, Mason,” I reply, my voice cold. “I'm someone you really don't want to fuck with. You'd do well just to walk out that door and never bother me again.”

“Oh? Or what? They gonna find me face down in the river with a couple of bullets in the back of my head?” he asks. “I mean, that is what you – people – do, isn't it?”

I chuckle, but my eyes hold no humor in them. “Oh no,” I say. “Killing you would be way too easy. You fuck with me, I am going to revel in tearing your whole fucking life down, brick by brick, setting it all on fire, and then pissing on the ashes. Back the fuck off. Right now.”

He gives me a cocky little smirk, and

without another word, he leaves, storming out of the office. All the employees watch him as he passes – a couple of them even making the sign of the cross as he goes. That's the reputation Mason White carries. And it's that reputation I'm going to enjoy burning to the ground.

“Well, that went well,” Rupert says as he steps into the conference room.

I shrug. “Could've been worse.”

“I especially liked the bit about burning his life down and pissing on the ashes,” he says. “Nothing like a little over the top melodrama.”

“I thought the situation called for it.”

“Good call,” he says. “Maybe they'll use that line when they make this a made-for-TV movie.”

I laugh. “He's going to be a problem.”

“No doubt about that,” he replies. “One question before we go to war with this assclown – is Darby worth it?”

“She's more than worth it,” I say without hesitation.

“Then let's gear up and go to war.”