It was 2am when Mick Sinatra’s private plane landed at the airstrip.  Teddy, along with Nikki, was seated in his Corvette.  They were still reeling from what happened earlier.  They were still amped up.

Nikki looked over at Teddy.  He had his tuxedo jacket tossed in the backseat.  But with his fashionable suspenders over his white shirt, he still looked elegant.  And he was gripping the steering wheel.

Nikki didn’t try to talk him down to make him feel better.  She didn’t try to tell him it wasn’t his fault and he did the right thing and everything was going to be alright.  Those words didn’t mean shit to either one of them.  Teddy did what he had to do.  They knew that.  But people died.  Innocent people who had no skin in the mob’s game.  There was no making that feel better.  There was no making that harsh reality go away.

When the doors to the plane opened, and the steps came down, Nikki looked at Teddy.  “What do you think he’s going to say?” she asked him.

Teddy smiled a joyless, bitter smile.  “‘Well, Teddy, fucked up again I see!’ Or something to that effect.”

“Sometimes you have to make split-second decisions.  Sometimes it’s the wrong decision.  He can’t fault you for that.”

Another bitter smile by Teddy.  “Wanna bet?” he asked, and then got out of the car.

Nikki’s heart went out to him as he made his way over to the waiting SUV: his father’s ride home.  She watched as Teddy nodded at his father’s bodyguard and driver, both of whom were standing outside of the SUV, but he didn’t even try to pretend everything was alright.  Everything wasn’t alright.  And because his concern for Nikki’s safety was what precipitated his action, Nikki knew it wasn’t alright either.  She felt almost as much guilt as Teddy felt.

Almost.  Because Teddy, as he waited, was loaded with guilt.

And when Mick Sinatra’s big frame filled the doorway of his plane, and he made his way down those steps and toward that SUV, Teddy could tell his father was pissed.  Even Nikki, who remained in the car per Teddy’s earlier instructions, could tell it too.

“Welcome back, Boss,” the bodyguard said.

“Welcome home, sir,” said his driver as the driver quickly opened the back-passenger door.

Mick didn’t respond to either greeting, which he rarely ever did anyway.  He, instead, moved to get inside of his vehicle and take his tired ass home.  He stopped long enough, however, to acknowledge Teddy’s presence.

Mick, at first, just stood there, not looking at Teddy, but looking straight ahead.  Then he spoke: “Bovenconti’s dead.  All of his men dead.  Fiona Mara, Shawny Lungren, other guests: dead too.”  Then he looked Teddy dead in the eyes.  His anger was contained like an impending volcanic eruption.  “Tomorrow morning.  In my office,” he said, got into his SUV, and slammed the door behind him.

Teddy watched as the driver and bodyguard quickly got in, too, and the SUV sped off.

Nikki looked at Teddy as he stood there, and then as he made his way back to his car.  Teddy looked, to Nikki, like death itself. 

That night at his house, as they sat on the floor in front of the wall-sized window that overlooked the daunting lake, Nikki laid Teddy’s head on her lap, and softly rubbed his hair.  Teddy closed his eyes, as if he could stop reliving that scene, as he enjoyed the tenderness of her hands.

And it worked.  His warring mind finally began to settle down.  Tomorrow was a new day, filled with its own problems, not least of which was facing his father, but he was going to experience Nikki’s warmth and love while he could.  Nikki and nothing else.

He didn’t think he could bear anything else.