OOC Information: Picks up immediately after "Blowback."

The first rays of the morning sun began cresting over the horizon, casting long shadows over the Halliwell farm. Dogs played in the dusty field, running circles around cows that were not at all amused.

Devon Goral sat in a rocking chair on the old porch, a glass of scotch in one hand and a stack of correspondence in the other. A nearby lamp provided just enough illumination for him to read, although his attention was not entirely focused on the papers in his lap.

Presently he was reading a letter from Maria Napoli, away at boarding school. She asked him to come visit her. Behind her cordial words, a sense of urgency that called out to him. One orphan to another.

At first, Devon dismissed the idea. But for some reason it appealed to him. A chance to get away from the chaos and the death and despair. A chance to be among real people.

He sealed the note back up in its envelope and set it aside for later review. He'd think about it after taking care of today's business.

He then turned to the next missive. A letter from London, from home. Nothing good could come of that. As he read the doom and gloom, however, he noticed the approach of Beans Cooper through the pasture.

"You're a tough man to find," Beans said as he reached the house.

"That's funny, coming from you," Devon answered grimly, taking a sip from his scotch.

"Well, you don't take my calls and I understand from your landlady that your hours have been quite erratic lately."

Devon shrugged. "I like coming out here. It's peaceful."

The investigator appeared uncomfortable at the rural surroundings, brushing off the shoulder of his ill-fitting sport coat before leaning against the railing.

"So what brings you all the way out here?"

"Dev, I wanted to give you the heads-up," Beans began. "A bounty hunter named Roopit Singh has been asking questions about Zephyer. He's been hired to find her."

Devon set his glass down on the dusty wooden deck and cast his eyes back down on the letter from home.

"He's bad news, Dev. Mostly works for the mob. I'm concerned."

"He won't find her," Devon muttered.

"Maybe, but what if she slips up? No one's perfect. She's been on her own all winter and now into the spring. Eventually she's going to make a mistake or get tired or something."

"She can take care of herself," Devon answered, still looking at the papers.

"Uh, okay," Beans said. "I thought you'd want to know. I thought you'd be outraged."

Devon merely shook his head.

"Well, I'll let you know if I hear anything. I assume you want to be kept in the loop."

"What do you want me to say?" Devon asked, looking up and snapping at his friend.

"I want you to be concerned that a bounty hunter who works for the mob is searching for your wife."

Devon narrowed his eyes.

"She's in danger."

"Beans, you need to stay out of my personal business."

"You sent me after her?"

"?and you're the one who gave up on it," Devon countered. "So what do I do now? I've come to accept that she doesn't want to come back. So how am I supposed to feel? I can't fly into a rage or collapse into tears every time I hear her name. Not anymore."

Beans took a step backwards, appearing uncomfortable at the exchange.

"If she wants my help, she knows how to find me."

"I respect that," Beans said slowly, "but what if she's in over her head?"

"She's an adult. She's responsible for her own decisions. This guy Singh isn't going to find her. And if he does, she'll take him apart."

"And if she doesn't?"

"That's not on me," Devon snapped. "I can't keep riding this roller coaster."

Beans crouched down, letting Chance sniff his hand.

Devon held up the letter he was reading. "This is from my grandmother. Her husband, my grandfather, will be gone within a matter of weeks. Possibly days. When that happens, I'm leaving RhyDin to settle family affairs. I don't expect to ever return."

"Oh!" Beans exclaimed. "I didn't realize. You're just going to leave?"

Devon shrugged. "What do I have to stay for?"

"I see."

"So don't lecture me, Beans," Devon chastised. "I've been through it all and I'm done. I just need to finish a few last things. Then she can have this city and all the baggage that comes with it. She certainly doesn't need me."

"Alright, Dev, I won't bring it up again. I'm sorry."

Devon looked back up at the investigator and sighed. "I appreciate your concern, Beans. A few weeks ago I'd have jumped at yet another person in between me and her. But it's pointless. An endless line of thugs and wise guys that all look and sound the same. And I get no closer to her. Only farther away."

Beans gave a respectful smile and a nod before turning and walking back towards the road. No further words were spoken.

With a sigh, Devon closed up the letter and glanced at his wristwatch. It was just past six thirty in the morning and he had to get moving. He had an appointment to keep, for which he didn't intend to be late.

* * *

Gloria Sanch?z stood just in front of a window that overlooked downtown RhyDin as she smiled pleasantly at the arrival of her guest. She chose to have this meeting at the RhyDin Vista Suites Hotel, just outside of the city center ? neutral ground.

Giovanni Donatello entered the room and glanced around briefly before walking around the table and shaking Gloria's hand. As per the rules of the meeting he brought one aide ? Vito DeMeo, well-known as Donatello's trusted bodyguard and assassin. Muscles McVickar served as Gloria's second, standing near the corner of the room in a suit that was just a bit too small for him. Both mob bosses had additional men outside in the next room, but they were not privy to the contents of the actual meeting.

Gloria and Donatello exchanged hugs and kisses before taking seats on either side of the small rectangular table. DeMeo sat next to Donatello and McVickar took a seat next to Gloria.

"So good of you to join me on such short notice, Gio," Gloria greeted. "How is Lia?"

"Lia's great," Donatello answered. "She started a painting class last week and she's turned our sun room into a studio."

"That's wonderful," Gloria responded. "Eduardo used to sculpt but the arthritis in his hands has made that difficult. The new medication is helping so I think maybe he'll get back to it."

"That's good to hear. How are the kids?"

"Doing really great, thank you."

DeMeo let out a sigh that was, perhaps, a bit too loud. Clearly he wasn't interested in small talk.

"I won't keep you long," Gloria began, "I know you have a busy schedule."

"What's all this about?" Gio asked.

"Several weeks ago you came to me about a robbery. A fairly substantial robbery of one of your caches."

Donatello and DeMeo briefly exchanged surprised glances.

"Of course I didn't know anything at the time, but I put the word out among my people to keep an eye out for anything suspicious."

"Well that was kind of you, Gloria, but I have the investigation under control."

Gloria leaned back in her chair, smiling broadly. "I found the culprits, Gio. All of them. I took a confession yesterday afternoon."

Donatello's eyes went just a bit wide. DeMeo practically snarled.

"I see," Donatello after a pause. "I don't know what to say."

"I know how important this is to you, Gio. To recover the money and send a message. But I'm afraid my price for the information will be high."

Donatello narrowed his eyes. "Go on."

"I've studied your organization for some time. You have twelve bosses under you, splitting up the docks and the spaceport. I believe that's too many. You have too many chiefs."

"You'll forgive me if I don't appreciate your input, Gloria. You and I don't operate at the same level. I'm covering a tremendous amount of territory. It's never been done before, nor is it something I'm willing to casually discuss over breakfast."

"That's fair, Gio. But I think you know just how much of a hassle it is to keep track of twelve families. Each one jockeying and competing with the others."

"What do you want, Glor?" Donatello snapped. He clearly wasn't interested in being evaluated.

Gloria continued to smile. "Sack half of them. I don't care which. Give me their territory. I have complete control over personnel and I also want to make some changes at the union level."

Donatello literally coughed and sputtered at the suggestion.

"Give me all that, and I'll hand over the identity of the thieves."

"That's why you called me here?" Donatello asked abruptly.

Gloria nodded. "I'm sure you have six underbosses that aren't pulling their weight. Six that you don't trust or that cause you problems. Bring me in and I'll plug all the holes in your operation." She leaned forward. "You know I can do it, Gio."

Donatello's face began to flush red and he rapidly stood up. "Don't ever call me again, Glor," he admonished, shaking a finger in her direction. "I don't want or need your help."

DeMeo also stood, following the lead of his superior. Gloria and Muscles followed suit.

"How I run my family is none of your business," Donatello added. "How dare you."

Gloria smiled sweetly. "Are you sure you don't want to discuss this with the big boss? He might feel differently."

Donatello glowered at the woman.

Gloria shrugged. "Sorry to hear we won't be able to work together Gio. I really had high hopes."

Donatello bared his teeth but said nothing further. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the conference room, with DeMeo following closely behind. His various guards all jumped up from chairs and couches in the outer room and followed him to the elevator.

Gloria sat back down at the table and reached for her phone, paging through the contacts.

Muscles leaned forward on the table, his brow furrowed. "You didn't really think he was going to say 'yes,' did you? Give up half of his operation?"

Gloria smiled at her bodyguard as she pressed the DIAL button on her phone. "I'm about to break a promise I made 15 years ago, Mickey. I had to give it a shot."

Muscles shrugged, not really understanding what was going on.

"Plus now I know exactly where he is," she added. As the call connected, Gloria put the phone to her ear. "It's a go," she commanded. "Take 'em out. All of them."

"I am hiring you to protect me, Devon Goral. Here is your down payment. Will you take the job?"

The Protector's eyes darted between McRae and Rooney. Taking this job meant putting himself in Nik's crosshairs. On the other hand, his hand was played out. Rooney was agitated and Devon?s chances of getting to the disruptor were fading fast.

Besides, there was something about this O.G. that Devon found appealing.

"This isn't how I normally do business," Devon hedged.

"I assume you require a pre-interview," McRae surmised. "And you'd have a contract drawn up laying out the ground rules."

Devon nodded.

"I assume ground rule number one," McRae continued, "is that I do whatever you say without question."

"That's very important," Devon answered.

"I respect your professionalism," McRae said. "I'll follow your instructions."

"This is madness!" Rooney practically shrieked. "Are you even capable of this?" he asked Devon derisively. "How old are you?"

Devon glanced at The Wraith. Pictured him in his kitchen, looming over Zephyer. He reminded himself not to lose sight of his goals.

"We are losing precious time," McRae warned.

The Protector reached out and took the coin. He glanced at it a moment in the sunlight and then slipped it into his pocket. He then shook old man's hand. "I'll see you to safety, sir," Devon said.

Rooney hissed and turned away from the two men, approaching the window.

"I assume you have a car and driver?" Devon asked, reaching into his coat to draw his Ares Predator.

McRae nodded. "You've been in it before."

"On-site garage?"

"Yes."

"We should get to it as quickly as possible."

"I can lead you there."

Devon glanced over at Rooney. "We could use a diversion?"

The Wraith turned back around. His empty eyes were narrowed and his expression homicidal.

"Albert, I need you to join up with Mister Dale and coordinate a suppression," McRae commanded. "Buy us time to get out."

Devon found a magazine in his pocket and slapped it into the grip of the Predator. Pulling back on the barrel, he cocked and loaded the heavy gun.

Despite obvious distrust and hatred of Devon, The Wraith nodded respectfully. His loyalty to McRae, Devon noted, was absolute.

"Good," McRae announced. "Let's get moving."

Rooney approached the door to the office. "I will kill them all and then I will come to you," he said.

"No, Albert. You know the emergency procedure. Midnight tonight at the restaurant."

Rooney paused ? yet another command he didn't like.

"Albert, we've discussed this before. That they're coming for me means they're looking to take us down. The survivors will be there tonight. I'm counting on you to take charge and prepare a response."

Rooney took a step towards his master. To Devon he appeared genuinely concerned. "But sir?"

"Remember that you are my successor, Albert," McRae said, his tone kind. "You're the only person I trust. Not Giovanni, not even my own son. You need to be there tonight and you need to put the pieces back together."

Devon took a quick glance out the window. "We need to get moving if we're going to make it out of here."

McRae nodded. "Albert, go. Find Mister Dale. I'll reach out to you once I'm safe."

The Wraith gave Devon one last cold glance before nodding towards McRae. Without another word, he let himself out of the office.

"Let's go," Devon said.

McRae led Devon to a nearby stairwell and the two made their way down several flights to the ground level. Gunshots began to ring out, and they could hear men shouting to each other. Devon had no trouble pivoting from assassin to protector. It was natural to him, like his own skin.

Darting down a couple of hallways brought them to the garage. It was a relatively small structure featuring two cars ? a black sedan that Devon recognized, and a sports car. McRae's driver jumped up as they entered, eyeing Devon and his Predator suspiciously.

"Devon Goral, I believe you've met Miss Bates."

The two exchanged nods. The driver was clearly alarmed.

"The building is under attack and we're leaving," McRae said to his driver.

"Yes, sir," she responded, all business.

Devon glanced out the window. A long driveway leading past a guard shack and into the woods of the estate.

"I assume you have combat driving experience?" Devon asked, turning towards the driver.

Bates nodded. "Two tours driving armored jeeps."

"They'll have someone in that guard shack out there. I want you to drive past it at maximum speed while I go on foot. I'll secure the shack and then get in the car."

McRae opened the back door to the sedan and looked up at Devon. "How do you know there's someone there?"

"It's what I would do," Devon responded simply.

"No problem," Bates said. She closed the rear door and got into the driver's seat.

Devon stepped back out of sight as the garage door began to open and the car roared to life. Bates didn't waste any time before gunning the engine and launching the car out of the garage and sending it racing down the driveway.

Devon gave her a few seconds before running along behind. As anticipated, the moment the car passed the guard shack a man in body armour jumped out into view and began firing with a submachine gun. He only got off two shots before Devon nailed him once in the back of the head with the Predator, launching him forward into the dirt.

The car screeched to a halt as Devon raced towards it, and the rear door swing open. As he ran, huffing deep breaths into his lungs, he heard a strange sound behind. A thundering, cacophonous sound. Devon didn't dare stop and look, he saw all he needed reflected in the black car. Rising up behind the building was some kind of helicopter.

Devon leapt into the car and pulled the door closed. "Go go!" he commanded.

The chopper closed in rapidly on the car as its tired screeched on the pavement. Devon finally turned to look up at it and recognized it as a Sikorsky UH-60. Mounted on the left side was a 50 caliber machine gun, on the right side a missile launcher.

"Dear God," McRae gasped, "if we had stayed in the house that thing would have leveled the building."

"These guys aren't messing around," Devon added.

Devon and McRae exchanged glances. McRae knew that he was alive only because Devon took him out of the house. It was a look of gratitude with which Devon had become familiar over the years.

The chopper turned to the side and began firing at the car with the heavy machine gun. The road around them was torn apart and Bates began to drive erratically to avoid being hit.

"Keep zigzagging," Devon said. "They don't have a front-mounted weapon so they have to turn to shoot at us."

"We'll be at the tree line shortly," Bates advised.

"Then what?"

"We turn right and it takes us to the city. Left out into the countryside."

Devon glanced out the window of the car. Tree cover to the left was definitely more dense, but they'd also be utterly alone. The right was too open ? one lucky hit would cut the car in two.

"Go left," Devon said. "We have to stay under the trees."

Devon kept McRae down, shielding him with his body in case any gunfire hit the car. The Predator, unfortunately, was useless at this range so he didn't bother returning fire.

As the car approached the side gate to the estate, Bates pressed a button that started the gate opening. The tree coverage was fairly dense, and the machine gunner fired indiscriminately ? utterly destroying trees on all side.

The car got a bit of air as it hit the street, tires screeching as it turned left into the countryside.

"Go straight. You have a lead on them."

Bates floored the accelerator and launched forward, speeding down the road. Devon glanced up as the chopper briefly lost sight of them, before finally turning left to follow. This time, however, it did not continue to turn and fire ? instead racing overhead at maximum speed.

"They're going to try to get in front of us," Devon observed. He glanced ahead and noticed a clearing. They were vulnerable.

The helicopter disappeared for a time before coming into view far ahead, landing on the road roughly a kilometer down ahead of them.

"Stop here," Devon instructed. "They'll have to come in on foot."

The sedan pulled off the road in front of a short stretch of shops. The car parked directly in front of a two-story bar and grill next door to a laundromat and beyond that a bowling alley. A large beer truck was parked in front of the bowling alley and several kegs had been offloaded. It was relatively quiet ? there was no sign of any people at this early hour.

"I need to take them out," Devon said to McRae, nodding down the road. "You should stay here and wait."

"Alright," McRae responded.

"You can look after him?" Devon asked Bates.

The driver nodded and retrieved a small pistol from the glove compartment.

"Take him inside this bar. Put him in a bathroom and keep him there. If they get past me, I'm already dead."

"Got it," Bates responded.

"I knew I was right to hire you," McRae said. "I knew you could be trusted."

Devon slipped his sunglasses onto his face. "Tell me that if I get you out of this," he said wryly.

Without further words, Bates ushered McRae into the bar. Devon began to walk down the road, hugging the sight line of the beer truck so as to stay generally out of view.

This was not a situation that Devon would have planned. He was outnumbered and outgunned, and he couldn't even be sure that McRae's driver wasn't in on the plot and was murdering him right now. Normally Devon liked to control all the variables. But that couldn't be helped now.

As Devon approached the cab of the beer truck, a delivery man came out of the bowling alley to load up another cart. He didn't even spot The Protector's stealthy approach. Nor did Devon pay him much attention, as he was just catching sight of the approaching enemy.

Along the road patrolled four individuals wearing paramilitary uniforms and full body armour. Two were armed with submachine guns, a third carried a heavy machine gun and a fourth wielded a katana. They marched along the road with precision and fortitude. They were the approaching death.

Devon slipped out of his longcoat, checked his Predator, and began to alongside the truck ? using its large wheels to hide behind. The delivery man wheeled his cart back inside, out of view and out of danger. The Protector kept his eyes on the assassins, planning his response.

Despite the imminent danger, Devon felt nothing. Not the trepidation mania when he planned and executed a brazen robbery of the RhyDin mafia that resulted in the deaths of two mob soldiers. Not the cold, calculating disdain when he executed Ricky Wyatt or Jimbo Keller. Not the seething hatred of his various encounters with The Wraith.

The Protector experienced only the professionalism of the task at hand. He was in his element. A job to be done. A client to be protected. He slipped into the role naturally.

Reaching the rear wheels of the truck, Devon waited patiently. The four were now dangerously close, scanning the area through experienced, steely eyes.

They never spotted Devon, passing his hiding place without incident. As they did so, The Protector sprung into action.

Relying on his own human reflexes, Devon spun 'round the rear of the truck and wrapped his arm around the neck of the heavy machine gunner. Burying his Predator below the man's right arm ? a spot unprotected by his armoured vest ? Devon fired three shots, liquefying his internal organs and causing him to slump back into Devon's chest.

The two leaders turned quickly, only to find their comrade's machine gun being used against them. Dropping his Predator, Devon reached around the dead soldier to grip his weapon, cutting the assassins down before they managed to get off more than a couple of shots. What was once a four-to-one disadvantage turned easily to an even fight.

The sword-wielding attacker was impossibly quick, however, dodging a spray of machine gun fire and charging to attack. With a swing of her katana she sliced through the barrel of the weapon like a knife through hot butter, forcing The Protector to disengage backwards.

The sword attack was ferocious. Devon kept hold of the neutered heavy machine gun, calling upon his nominal Duel of Swords knowledge to parry savage sword strikes with just inches to spare. The M240 was quickly cut to ribbons and The Protector was finally forced to abandon the weapon, dodging the last two slashes with all of his mastery. Spotting an approaching thrust, Devon leapt behind a stack of beer cases, his sunglasses flying off of his face. As bottles exploded, sending sprays of warm beer in every direction, Devon reached behind him and took hold of a large industrial dolly.

The assassin let out a cry and continued her assault, slicing a gash into the side of the truck and then spinning to press the attack. Devon parried the blows with the heavy metal cart, frustrating his attacker into a rage.

Rearing back with a howl, the woman leapt into the air with her sword pointed aloft. Devon caught the sword in the bars of the dolly and twisted with all his strength ? breaking the katana in two. As the tip of the sword fell harmlessly to the ground, the assassin pressed her attack with the hilt catching Devon in the side with the jagged edge of the broken weapon. Devon responded instinctively by punching the woman hard in the face, sending her flying backwards.

Clutching his bleeding side with one hand, Devon reached for the tip of her sword and charged forward, jumping on top of her. As she went for his throat with her half of the sword, he beat her to it by thrusting the tip of the blade under her body armour and deep into her gut. The strength quickly drained out of her body with her blood, and the attack on The Protector's throat left only a minor scratch. The attacker slumped down against the ground, dead.

Devon rolled away and climbed back to his feet, surveying the scene. All four attackers dead, himself only mildly injured.

He'd done it.

The Protector limped back over to where the attack began, collected his Predator, longcoat, and sunglasses (thankfully not bent), and checked all four attackers to make sure they were neutralized. He glanced down the road at the helicopter, which remained motionless. There might still be a pilot that he'd have to go deal with, but there was plenty of time for that. For now, his client was safe.

Devon retrieved McRae who, thankfully, had not been betrayed by his driver and was very much still alive. He glanced over the scene of destruction with experienced detachment as Bates treated Devon's injury with an emergency medkit from the sedan.

"I still need to clear the road. We can't stay here long, these guys have friends back at the house."

"Mister Rooney will have taken care of them by now. I suspect we are in little danger at this point," McRae said, approaching one of the attackers.

"Even still, we can't take any chances," Devon warned.

McRae peered down at dead assassin, decked out in full body armour. "Who do you think they are?"

"Mercenaries," Devon answered. "Hired to capture or kill you."

"They must have been expensive."

Devon nodded. "Very."

"I thank you, Mister Goral," McRae said, turning. "Your expertise was just as advertised."

"Where will you go?"

"I have a private estate out in the countryside. Its existence is secret except at the highest levels of my business. I will be safe there, at least for a time."

"I'll make sure you get there," Devon said, slipping his sunglasses back onto his face.

"Good. Then I will have some additional tasks for you. I am concerned for the safety of my daughter, she may be a target in all of this."

Devon merely nodded. He didn't know where this would all take him, but for now he was along for the ride.

"Shall we?" McRae asked, reaching out and shaking The Protector's hand.

Devon nodded, his grip firm. "Let's go."

Lynne Lancaster sat uncomfortably in the study of her father's country estate, watching impatiently as he shuffled through some papers on his desk. It had only been a couple of hours since her father's chief of security, Desmond Dale, showed up unexpectedly at her apartment and demanded she drop everything and accompany him. She'd only just gotten home from a four-day job judging a semi-professional track and field competition (good work for a woman in her condition) and she refused to cooperate until she received telephoned assurances from her father than this was legit and that she needed to go along with it. Even still, she got into the black sedan under protest, her demands for an explanation going entirely unheeded by the man whose air of detachment was rivaled only by her own father.

And now here she was, ushered past a handful of armed and thoroughly anxious-looking guards in black suits, into a private study for an audience with her father, getting the silent treatment.

"Is this a game to see who speaks first?" she finally asked, her tone dripping with annoyance. "Ooops, guess I lost."

McRae glanced up from the papers. His expression was a combination of aggravation ??and fear.

Fear.

She wasn't used to seeing that on him. Even at his most vulnerable, her father never showed a loss of control. He always had the unknown under control.

Until now.

"Annalynne?" he began slowly, "it's time I come clean with you."

"On what?" she asked pointedly.

"A couple of years ago ??when you had your injury ? your knee ? I begged you to come back home and give me a chance. To give us a chance."

"I remember," Lynne said, measuring her tone.

"You said you'd do so if I promised I was out of the business. And I told you I was."

Lynne narrowed her eyes.

"I was not completely honest with you when I told you that." He lowered his eyes, averting her piercing gaze.

"It was my only condition. I never asked you for anything else ? not money, not gifts or trappings or the other crap with which you've tried to bribe me all my life."

"I know."

"Look at me, father."

McRae raised his head. The fear was still there, but a touch of anger simmered beneath the surface.

"The day I left home I told you what it would take to get me back. So when you say you were 'not completely honest,' what exactly does that mean? How big was the lie?"

"As big as it gets, Annalynne," he responded simply. "My empire is bigger than it has ever been. My reach into the underground is expansive."

Lynne pursed her lips and nodded.

"You don't look surprised."

"I've never been as stupid as you take me for, father. The moment I let you back in, I started to see the signs."

"I don't think you're stupid, Annalynne," McRae grunted, a bit of hurt passing across his forehead.

"Is there any other explanation? You told me a lie and thought I'd go years without noticing? Without the fantasy collapsing around you?"

McRae clasped his hands together and nodded. "I suppose you're right. It was inevitable."

"So what prompted this?" she asked, leaning back in the chair and crossing one leg over the other. "Why the sudden cloak and dagger?"

"I'm afraid my choices have led to something of a war, Annalynne. And I have to believe that you ? and anyone else close to me ? is a target."

Lynne shook her head. "I knew I should never have come back."

"Be that as it may, I've made arrangements to get you out of RhyDin. Immediately. Tonight."

Lynne shook her head. "I'm not going anywhere and I don't need you to protect me."

"Your life is in danger, Annalynne. My enemies will use you to get to me. It's not right, but it is fact."

"I have engagements. My own physical therapy. And ? and I won't leave Kris."

This time it was her father's turn to narrow his eyes. "Kris is tied up in this. You cannot be with him."

"Are you really going to tell me that he's not laying in a hospital bed right now because of you? Because of your so-called 'something-of-a-war'? I don't believe in coincidences, father."

"You know full well who his father is. You knew that being with him would put you at odds with me."

"Why should I have known that, father?" she asked, her tone aggressively sarcastic. "You told me you were out of 'the business.' Why should I expect that my father, the head of an import-export company, would have a problem with a union dockworker?"

McRae sighed.

"I just heard today that Kris is getting out of the I.C.U. He's going to need his own physical therapy and I intend to be there with him. Every day. Helping him walk again. Because that's what it means to love someone unconditionally. To be true to someone."

McRae let out another breath, rage flashing in his eyes.

"Watch your tone, father," Lynne warned, sensing the pending eruption.

"You're leaving RhyDin, Annalynne. Tonight. Forever. I will arrange to have your things shipped to you. I've already made all of the arrangements."

"You can't do this to me, father."

"I can and I will. It's all done."

"Then I'll just come back," she countered.

McRae paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "Annalynne, your life is in imminent danger. Surely you don't intend to die just to spite me."

Lynne gaped, but did not immediately respond.

"I am truly, genuinely sorry for putting you in this position. But I will not bargain with your safety. Family always comes first."

"Except when it doesn't," Lynne responded gravely.

McRae's eyes went wide, but he did not respond. Instead he pressed a button on his desk phone, which prompted the door to open and a very tall man to enter. The man was quite a contrast to the others she'd seen in her father's employ ? a fashionable tan suit and longcoat, his face masked by sunglasses (despite being indoors) and a beard.

"This is Mister Goral," McRae introduced. "He will take you to the Stars End Spaceport and put you on a transport. Information on your destination is in this file," he added, holding up a thin folder.

Lynne's eyes darted between her father and his hired thug. There didn't seem to be any room for argument at this point, so she merely stood up and walked towards the doorway.

"I need to know that you'll be safe, Annalynne," McRae added, concern in his voice.

Lynne stood in the doorway, not turning. "You don't need to know anything about me ever again," she pronounced. She then exited, a tall shadow looming closely behind.

* * *

Nikolas Papadous flashed his most charming smile as the photojournalist for the RhyDin Reporter took several shots. His outfit was designed to project a carefully-planned image, a button-up blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tucked into jeans. He looked ready to get to work, yet also officious and professional.

Nik heard a door and glanced up to notice the arrival of Daveon Mason. Mason hung near the entrance, watching the interview with amused curiosity.

"Do you need me to repeat my question," the reporter asked, appearing mildly annoyed at the various distractions.

"Oh, sorry," Nik answered, remembering the inquiry. "Matthew's death was tragic," he said, launching into the script. "I've promised the union that one of my first actions as President will be to rename our largest loading crane in his honor. As a memorial."

The reporter smiled pleasantly, although his eyes betrayed more of a smirk. "So you're confident you'll win the special election?"

Nik leaned forward, catching the reporter's gaze and projecting confidence. "Matt was a wise leader and we were fortunate to have him for his short tenure. I have no hard feelings towards his supporters, but he won the last election by a razor-thin margin. Since his unfortunate passing, no one else has come forward. So yes, Jerry, I'm confident that the membership will look past their differences and put me back into the job."

The reporter switched off his tape recorder and stood up, shaking Nik's hand. "Thank you for taking the time to speak with me."

"Any time, Jerry. Let me know if you want to do a followup during the special election."

"I will," the reporter answered. He and the photographer then packed up their equipment and were escorted out by Nik's security.

"Nicely done," Daveon said with a grin.

"Fourth interview this morning," Nik answered, shaking Daveon's hand. "I'm getting much more comfortable with the talking points."

"You're doing great," Daveon answered. "I've seen the coverage and so far it's been overwhelmingly positive."

Nik gestured towards a couch and the two men sat down across from each other. "I learned a lot from how Talbot played the P.R. machine. Everyone's either towing the company line or they're keeping their mouth shut."

"Fear is a powerful motivator," Daveon offered.

"As is greed," Nik answered. "So what brings you by?"

Daveon glanced around to make sure they were alone before producing a small envelope from his shirt pocket and handing it over. "Those are the gun photos from the chopper you requested."

Nik opened the envelope and produced a handful of blurry shots of a car on a road next to a building. "These aren't very good quality."

"That's all that was transmitted before we lost contact with the team. Obviously we weren't expecting to lose the lot of them," he added with a mutter.

"Seems to me that we should be due a refund," Nik grumbled. "The most important job and they were a complete failure."

"I've made my displeasure known with my contacts, you can be sure," Daveon said.

Nik shook his head. "I can't tell what's going on here."

"The third photo is the best. Take a close look at the figure between the house and the car."

Nik leaned forward, the photo practically up to his face. He then glanced up at Daveon, concern on his face.

"Do you see it?"

"A guy in a trenchcoat?"

Daveon nodded.

"And you think it might be Dev?"

"Who else do you know that wears a coat like that?"

Nik sputtered. "Lots of guys. Just wait for the fall and everyone around here looks like that."

Daveon gave Nik a look.

"Devon Goral saved my life more times than I can count. He's been a friend to me and to the union. Now you want to tell me that he single-handedly saved Julius McRae's life and wiped out our mercenary squad?"

"Look, I like Dev too. But after your last couple conversations with him, I have to wonder who's side he's really on."

Nik frowned, looking back down at the photo. It was horribly blurry, but it did look an awful lot like The Protector.

"We can just forget about it if you want."

Nik signed, handing back the photos. "If Dev really did betray me, I need to know. This isn't going to work unless we can trust everyone. We can't make the same mistakes that destroyed our enemies."

"How do you want to play it, then?"

"I say we let Gloria handle it. She'll be dispassionate and professional."

"We wouldn't be where we are without Gloria," Daveon hedged, "but let's not forget just how bloodthirsty she can be."

"I'll impress upon her how important Dev is to me. Insist that she not take any action unless we're all sure."

Daveon nodded, slipping the envelope back into his pocket.

"He's been a bit odd lately. Maybe he's not the man I used to know."

"I agree. Let Gloria handle it."

"I just hope for his sake," Nik concluded, "that he's not the man in those photos."

* * *

Giovanni Donatello hovered next to a tree in Lilac Park, discreetly watching the chaos around him. A carnival had set up in the park with a variety of rides, booths, and activities, and the park was packed with children and their families. A man like Donatello could almost get lost in such a crowd, despite his completely inappropriate attire of a pin stripe suit and fedora.

Donatello hadn't dressed for the park because he didn't realize he'd be visiting a park today. He started the morning by following Gloria Sanch?z from her home in hopes that he could get her attention and speak to her without anyone seeing ? and without her having the opportunity to react. She was picked up from her spacious condominium by her bodyguard, Muscles McVickar, who drove her to breakfast at a local cafe. Donatello slipped into the cafe and considered sitting down at her table, but she took a meeting with a local government official that lasted nearly an hour. Then she and McVickar got back in her car and drove to the park, where she met up with her husband Eduardo, and their two young children.

The grizzled mob boss watched as the Sanch?z parents briefly chatted with their children before giving them each some money and sending them into the carnival. Eduardo then kissed his wife and departed, leaving her alone with the children ? and her professional bodyguard.

This was his chance. No one knew he was here. No one would get in the way. If he could just have a couple of minutes to talk to her, he could work everything out.

With an approving nod from Sanch?z, McVickar moved away from her to take a phone call on his mobile phone while she sat peacefully on a park bench and watched her children ride a tall Ferris Wheel. Seizing his chance, Donatello swopped in and sat down next to her.

"There's no need to call for help," Donatello reassured. "I'm not here to hurt you."

Sanch?z raised a bemused brow at the mobster. "That's reassuring," she answered almost sarcastically.

"In fact I'm here to pay my respects. You beat me fair and square and I'm in awe of your ability to pull together such a sweeping operation. Clearly I underestimated you, Glor. We all did."

Sanch?z leaned back on the bench, still watching the Ferris Wheel. "High praise coming from you, Gio."

"I've come here to make peace, Glor. Name your terms."

"My terms?" she asked, surprise in her voice.

Donatello frowned. "I've seen the error in my ways, Glor. The question is: will you just kill me? Or are you willing to use me?"

"Use you how, Gio?"

"I still have substantial contacts in this town. I can make things happen."

"So can I, Gio, as I believe I've demonstrated," she answered gravely.

Donatello nodded. "That's true, Glor. But I have to point out ? no disrespect ? that while your grand plan was impressive, you missed the leaders. You're not perfect and you could still use some veteran help."

"Does Julius know you're here, Gio?" Sanch?z asked pointedly.

"No. I'm here on my own."

"To offer me your expertise?"

Donatello nodded. "I can be a big asset to you, Glor. I'm prepared to throw all my support behind you."

"Well what a coup that would be," she answered, her tone again sarcastic.

Donatello turned towards the woman, his face flushed red as he began to stammer. "I was wrong. I was ??I was a fool to turn you away. I did? didn't take you seriously. But I'm here on my knees, begging you to show some fucking mercy. Do you want t-that? For me to actually get down on my knees?"

"Watch your language, Gio," Sanch?z scolded sharply. "We're surrounded by children."

Donatello turned away from Sanch?z, shrinking down into his collar. He glanced around for McVickar but couldn't see the thug. Time was running out.

"You humiliated me in front of my people," Sanch?z explained in a measured tone. "You laughed me out of that conference room like I wasn't fit to sit at the same table."

"And I was wrong. We were all wrong. If I could do it over again?"

"?but you can't," she interrupted. "Now I dictate terms, not you."

Donatello nodded. "That's fair."

"I'll consider your offer, Gio. That's all I'm going to give you right now. Of course I'll expect full cooperation if I decide to bring you on."

"You'll have my full cooperation. I'll give you everything I have."

"Trouble in paradise?"

Donatello frowned. "Let's just say there are some disagreements about where to go next."

"Watch your back, Gio," Sanch?z warned, turning for the first time to look at the man sitting next to her. "Julius won't look kindly to you coming to me."

Donatello nodded simply, then stood and left the park bench.

* * *

Devon Goral gunned the engine of his sports car, sending it speeding down the highway towards the Stars End Spaceport. The woman seated next to him had very little to say, keeping her focus on the road ahead.

"I've never seen you before," she finally said, breaking the silence after nearly thirty minutes. "How long have you been employed by my father?"

"Not very long," Devon answered. "And I'm more of a contractor than an employee."

"I see," she answered.

"Are you comfortable?" Devon asked as she squirmed in her seat.

"My pain meds are wearing off. I was recently injured in an accident and I'm in treatment."

"I'm sorry," Devon said. "I wasn't aware that you were on a prescription."

"I'll be fine. Mostly it itches."

Devon tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He felt a similar amount of discomfort, although it was not quite physical.

"This whole thing is asinine, you know," she blurted out. "Not to boast, but I am something of a minor celebrity. It won't be hard to find me."

The Protector narrowed her eyes. "Your father and I discussed that and he is aware of the risks. He is of the opinion that the people potentially coming after you have limited resources and won't be able to find you right away. He hopes that he can eliminate the problem before they find you."

"And do you agree?"

"I don't have enough information to formulate an opinion at this point."

Annalynne scoffed. "Isn't that part of your job? Risk assessment?"

"Yes," Devon answered simply and without explanation.

"This isn't the first time I've been put at risk in just the last year," Annalynne explained. "Last fall someone sent him photos of me with targets printed on them. He hired a bodyguard for me but it ended up all being overblown. They caught the guy pretty quickly. But even then I should have known that he was lying to me. That he was neck-deep in this underworld."

"I wouldn't know anything about that," Devon answered officiously.

"Of course not," she answered with a smirk. Then she changed her tone, asking: "Say, how much is my father paying you?"

Devon gave her a quick glance. "I'm not at liberty to discuss that."

"How much more would I have to pay you to take me somewhere else?"

Devon shook his head. "That's not going to happen."

She leaned towards him. "Right now my boyfriend Kris ??the love of my life, is laying in a hospital bed all alone. I'm not at risk ? but he is. They're keeping me away from him."

"That's not my concern, ma'am," Devon responded.

"At least take me to him so that I can say goodbye. If I'm to leave RhyDin forever, I owe him that much."

"I'm sorry, I can't do that. My orders are to take you to the spaceport, put you on the transport, and stay there until the ship takes off."

Annalynne rolled her eyes. "Don't you have to take my orders?"

"No, ma'am. Your father is the client, you are the protectee. I take orders from your father, not from you."

Annalynne groaned. "Just like everyone else."

"Ma'am?"

"Nothing."

For a few moments they sat in silence. Devon turned off the exit towards the spaceport, which shone bright ahead of them with the lights of dozens of ships landing or taking off.

"You know you can't stop me from getting off that ship if I put my mind to it. You think I'm not resourceful enough to sneak off when you're not looking?"

"I'm always looking," Devon warned.

"You know you can't stop me."

"I know I can't stop you," Devon responded simply.

Annalynne raised her brow, obviously surprised at the response. "Do you know what it's like to be in love? True, real love?"

Devon kept his eyes on the road, refusing to answer.

"I see the wedding ring on your finger, but lots of guys in my father's business are married. Doesn't mean they love anyone. Mostly they just love themselves."

"Maybe it's best you don't say anything else," Devon said. "I'm putting you on that ship no matter what you say."

"As you wish, Mister Goral," she said.

"Thank you, Miss McRae," he responded.

* * *

Giovanni Donatello weaved through the crowd at the park back to his Mercedes, slipping into the driver's seat and locking the door. The parking lot was quite crowded and it was going to take him a few minutes to navigate his way out.

Donatello's mind was racing with possibilities. Would Gloria bring him into her organization? What would he have to divulge to buy his way in? Would she just use him for information and then spit him out? Or was he really going to start a new life with a new crew? It was exciting and dangerous and foreboding all at once. But he'd come this far, he had to see this story out to the end.

Accelerating out of the parking space he turned right and idled towards the next car, but he stopped suddenly when a group of people walked in front of him. He grumbled and swore beneath his breath, looking up angrily at the people blocking his path.

As the people looked back at him, however, Donatello's heart skipped a beat. Something about them looked familiar. And as a group of eight men and woman formed a semi-circle in front of his car and drew weapons, Donatello realized he'd seen some of them before ? just a few days earlier outside the RhyDin Vista Suites Hotel.

In that briefest of moments, Donatello felt his life flash before his eyes. He'd taken so much care to make sure that no one saw him stalking Sanch?z. There was no way she could have been setting a trap for him, nor enough time to call in an army.

Unless they knew he was coming. Unless he'd been set up by his own side.

In that parking lot in broad daylight, surrounded by hundreds of families with children of all ages, the eight assassins brazenly opened fire with machine guns, annihilating Giovanni Donatello's car and him with it. The crowd erupted in cries and screams as panicked people fled in every direction.

The mobster's foot came off the brake pedal, sending the car careening helplessly into the one in front of it as the shooters scattered and disappeared harmlessly back into the fleeing crowd. The wail of the crowd settled and subsided, leaving only the blaring horn of the Mercedes to punctuate the afternoon air.

Devon Goral glanced at his wrist to check the time as he waited patiently on a suburban sidewalk just outside of RhyDin city. With only a few hours' lead time, he'd booked a relatively private location for the meeting between Julius Cameron McRae and Gloria Sanch?z.

Situated in between one of RhyDin's many upscale shopping malls and the local rodeo, Thad Baxter's Banquets was a relatively nondescript modern building lacking any signage or nomenclature. Formerly a restaurant and nightclub, the business failed spectacularly about six months ago in a perfect storm of mismanagement and corruption. One of the owners managed to distance himself from the lawsuits and reprisals and repurpose the building as an invitation-only venue for parties and banquets. The venture was generally unprofitable, but it was still an improvement over the disaster of the previous incarnation.

Devon picked the place for the meeting because it had no current mob influence and was relatively easy to secure. There was only one road that let up to the building and there were no nearby structures where snipers could find haven. There were only a few large rooms that were generally empty, plus a spacious kitchen and a few offices.

Devon arrived before sunrise in order to sweep the entire building (again) to make sure that there were no weapons or explosives hidden by his master's opponents. He also planned out escape routes and crash rooms. He didn't like having to do this all on short notice and he disagreed with some of the negotiated provisions, but a small part of him jumped at the opportunity to otherwise do this his way. To finally be a Protector ? even if he was working for the mob.

An armoured limousine pulled up to the entrance at precisely ten minutes to eleven ? just as planned. Angela Bates slipped out of the driver's seat and exchanged nods with Devon before opening the rear door to admit Julius Cameron McRae and Albert Rooney. McRae glanced around at the bleak surroundings with an expression of distaste on in his face ? less-so at the building itself and likely more to do with the fact that he was effectively brought to his knees before an opponent he considered to be lesser than him.

The Wraith, as usual, was expressionless. He looked over Devon appraisingly before turning his full attention to his master.

"Are we the only ones here?" McRae asked.

Bates got back into the limo as Devon shook his employer's hand. "A manager opened the place up and then left. He'll be back after the meeting is over. I've confirmed that we have the entire building to ourselves."

"And our reinforcements?"

"DeFazio is half a mile away," Rooney interjected. "We give the word and he'll storm this place with a dozen guys."

"And I'm sure Gloria has similar plans in place."

"We'll have ample warning of any approach," Devon answered. "There's no good way to get here without catching the attention of one of our spotters."

McRae nodded and took in a breath. It was a warm day, but also overcast and a bit humid.

All three men turned and looked down the road at the sound of an approaching car.

"I believe our agreement was that I go in first," McRae mused.

Devon nodded. "I escort them in."

"Alright, Albert, let's do this."

Devon held open the front door and admitted McRae and Rooney. He then approached the driveway and waited for the second car.

Sanch?z traveled in a large black sports utility vehicle with a roaring engine. The car came to a halt and the rear door opened without the assistance of the driver.

First out of the car was massive man that threatened to blot out what little of the sun eked past the clouds. Wearing dress pants and a much-too-tight black t-shirt, the man looked Devon over before stepping aside. Devon had been given a dossier on Sanch?z's known associates and immediately recognized this individual as Mickey "Muscles" McVickar, a former professional wrestler of some minor fame. After retiring from the RhyDin Wrestling Federation he went into private practice and was now considered Sanch?z's personal bodyguard and confidant. Muscles was at least three inches taller than Devon and was easily twice as wide, and could probably bench press their combined weight after a heavy meal.

Gloria Sanch?z, by contrast, was a relatively short woman with a common build. She wore a dark red blazer over a white chemise and was adorned in tasteful-yet-expensive jewelry. She exuded the kind of confidence of which most mobsters could only dream. This combined with her reputation for ruthlessness gave her an impressive air that was almost intimidating to Devon. Almost.

The last out of the car was a slight woman ? barely out of her teens and with a thin and pale countenance. Devon didn't recognize her but quickly surmised due to her lack of physical stature that she was likely a practitioner of some form of magic. It made sense ? Sanch?z knew they'd bring The Wraith, whose talents were legendary ? so they countered with a mage of their own. If things were go to bad, Devon knew that he needed to worry more about this young woman than the former wrestler.

Without exchanging words, Devon respectfully held the door and admitted the three to the building. He then led them up a short flight of stairs to a second floor private dining room that had been reserved for the meeting.

A medium-sized conference room table sat in the middle of the room and featured two pitchers of ice cold water, plus some paper cups. A table on the side of the room contained a platter of cookies and fruit, as well as a few stacks of menus and advertising flyers. The window looked out on an empty field beyond and the grey skies that stretched out towards the horizon.

At their entry, McRae smiled and nodded cordially. He extended a hand towards Sanch?z, which she took and shook.

"Thank you for coming, Julius," Sanch?z greeted. "I wasn't sure you'd agree to this."

"I almost didn't, Gloria," McRae answered sternly. "What you did to Giovanni was underhanded."

Sanch?z narrowed her eyes. "I could tell you some things that might change your mind, Julius. Do you really want to know?"

Devon caught McRae's line of sight, causing him to hold up a hand. "Mister Goral is attempting to remind me that one of the conditions of this meeting is a pat-down. I assume you'll consent?"

Sanch?z shrugged. "If you insist."

McRae gave Devon an approving nod, and Devon approached Muscles first.

Muscles sought his own permission from Sanch?z before consenting and extending his arms out to the side. Devon gave the large man a thorough search and found no weapons, although he was even more convinced that this man was a perfect physical specimen.

Devon then moved on to the young woman, whose vacant expression managed to top Rooney's for indifference. She was also unarmed, not surprisingly.

Finally, Devon carefully and respectfully searched Sanch?z. Upon finding her to be unarmed, he turned and nodded to McRae.

This prompted Muscles to conduct his own search. The Wrestler was a bit rough with Devon, but The Protector endured without complaint. He then watched as Muscles searched Rooney and McRae. As expected, they were all clean.

As the six individuals sat down at the table, it occurred to Devon how a room full of unarmed people almost worked to Sanch?z's benefit. Rooney's power worked best when he could control a weapon in someone else's hand. It was the same ploy Devon himself had expected to use the day of the attack on the mansion. Her magic user likely had an ability that would function even with the lack of weapons. Such an oversight could cost them.

McRae poured himself a cup of water as he spoke. "Giovanni Donatello was a good friend and confidant. I understand that at one time your families were close. Your actual families."

Sanch?z shrugged indifferently. "He tried to sell you out, Julius. He came to me and offered me information on you. He was a rat."

This got Rooney's attention, who glanced confidently at his master.

McRae hid any reaction behind the cup as he took a sip of water, before setting it down. "All part of my master plan, of course," he suggested a bit flippantly.

Sanch?z grinned. "No doubt."

"Then let's get straight to business, shall we?" McRae offered.

"Of course," Sanch?z responded. "Shall I begin?"

McRae merely nodded.

"I have nothing but respect for you as a captain of our industry," Sanch?z began. "We all owe you a debt."

"When does that begin paying off?" McRae asked coldly.

Sanch?z paused, grouping her thoughts. "I've reviewed the portfolios of your various businesses ? your legitimate businesses ? and I want them."

"You want what?" McRae asked, furrowing his brow.

"I want you to retire from each of them and name me your successor. The import-export business, the finance company, the procurement agency ? and all of their subsidiaries. I want them all."

For a long moment there was silence as the two mobsters studied each others' faces. Despite the absurdity of the demand, McRae did not laugh or react in any way.

"I'm sure we can discuss keeping you on as a 'consultant,' for a reasonable stipend, especially during the transition," Sanch?z continued. "But after that, I'll also need you to leave RhyDin forever."

"Anything else?" McRae asked curtly.

"You'll dismantle any remaining operations at the docks and ports and transition those systems to my people. I'll expect the same of your gambling and weapons industries."

Now McRae smiled. "So rather than work to build up a business of your own, you'll just take mine. Is that the idea?"

Sanch?z narrowed her eyes. "Would you like to discuss how much I've worked, Julius? How much I've sweat and bled and struggled against people like you for almost thirty years?"

"I've no doubt you deserve everything you've managed to accumulate, Gloria. But I'm not going to lay down and just hand over my life's work."

"This is not a negotiation, Julius," Sanch?z pressed. "This is a surrender. Make sure you're clear on the difference."

"I have no intention of 'surrendering' to you, Gloria," McRae pushed back. "I'm just getting started here."

"Are you?" Gloria asked with a laugh. "With what army, if I may borrow a phrase."

McRae pressed his palms flat on the table and leaned forward, almost menacing. "Whitlock, Baines, and Kolento," he said, naming a prominent RhyDin law firm. "Negovan and Furlan," he added, naming another. "Price, Hauselmann, Boers, and Bopnip," he continued. "And those are just the firms I already have on retainer, there are plenty of others I've used over the years."

Sanch?z didn't seem rattled. "You're going to bury me in paperwork?"

"That reminds me I had my friends over at Brant, Kent, and Levant look at the annual reports from your agriculture business," McRae continued, naming a large accounting firm. "They said there are a number of irregularities that could suggest fraudulent activity. I wonder how your shareholders would feel if they found out that you were inflating the books just to increase your own holdings?"

Sanch?z folded her hands together, her expression icy.

"You took out one of my businesses," McRae scolded, practically shooting the words at his adversary. "At best, you will reduce my income by fifteen percent this year. A sizable dent, sure, but hardly fatal. And once my accountants figure out how to claim this as a loss on my property taxes, I might even figure out a way to profit from your little 'hostile takeover'," he added almost gleefully. "So how about we start over and have a reasonable conversation about how to move our respective businesses forward without resorting to petty demands and empty threats?"

There was a long pause as the two adversaries glared at each other, before finally Sanch?z broke the silence.

"Do you think I can't get to you if I want?"

"I'm a busy man, Gloria," McRae responded flippantly. "You'll have to get in line."

McRae rose to his feet, and Devon and Rooney quickly followed suit.

"Revel in your victory, Gloria," McRae offered sternly. "But don't think you've won the war. In deference to our friendship, I offer the following."

Sanch?z looked up at the man through steely eyes.

"You can keep the docks ? I'm done. You may find it more of an albatross than you realize. But keep your nose out of my other businesses and I'll stay out of yours. There will be no reprisals for what you did, but you'll gain no further ground."

"You expect me to trust that you won't come attempt a counter-offensive?" she asked.

McRae shrugged. "I don't really care. Just stay out of my way."

"You're delusional."

McRae again leaned forward on the table, causing Muscles to flinch at the closeness.

"You're inconsequential to me, Gloria. You don't scare me, you aren't a threat to me. If you want to play with the big boys, you should expect to get bruised."

With that, McRae turned and walked towards the door. Rooney followed quickly behind, after which Devon also retreated ? after making sure they weren't going to get shot in the back.

The three man made their way down the stairs and out of the building, leaving Sanch?z and her people behind.

"I'm going to spend the afternoon at my office in the city," McRae announced. "I need to meet with my lawyers and accountants."

"Do you think she'll back down?" Devon asked.

"Not a chance," McRae responded. "And we need to be ready for the next front."

"You should have let me kill her," Rooney hissed almost inaudibly.

Bates got out of the sedan and opened the rear door, but McRae spun around and faced Rooney. "She's emboldened by the union. By Nikolas Papadous. Why is that man still alive, Albert? Why does he function with impunity?"

Rooney's eyes went wide ? he was clearly not accustomed to being chastised by his master.

"We wouldn't be in this situation if you had dealt with Papadous a year ago. Now she has an army at her disposal."

Rooney looked away ? at Devon. They both knew the answer.

"Now I have to grovel and manipulate just to keep my head above water," McRae continued, almost ranting. "It's indignant."

"I'll see to Papadous immediately," Rooney muttered, casting down his eyes.

"It's too late for that. Now we're stuck on the current path. Now we get to spend the next to years slogging through paperwork."

McRae slipped into the back seat of the sedan, with Rooney choosing instead to ride shotgun.

"Make sure I can reach you in a hurry," McRae said to Devon. "Things may happen very quickly."

Devon nodded. "Understood."

Bates closed the rear door and soon the car sped away from the banquet hall.

Devon stepped backwards and drew a deep breath into his lungs. McRae's choice to corner Rooney put him in position where he might lash out ? at Devon. This could be a problem.

Turning back towards the building, Devon was surprised to see Muscles approaching alone. The hairs on the back of his neck sprang up, and he gave a glance over to his parked car where his Predator was safely stowed ? far out of reach.

"Mrs. Sanch?z requests you come back into the building," Muscles said with a gruff tone.

"Mister McRae is gone, I don't think I can get him back here," Devon answered.

"Not him," Muscles grunted. "You."

Devon raised a brow. "I beg your pardon?"

Muscles seemed to loom tall over Devon. "Mrs. Sanch?z wants to speak to you. Come back inside."

"I have nothing to say to her," Devon answered.

"She'll do most of the talking, I'm sure."

Devon glanced down the road ? McRae's car was now long gone. He was fairly confident that he could take Muscles in a fight, but it would be painful.

"It's time for the real meeting," Muscles added with a toothy grin.

Devon narrowed his eyes, but acquiesced. "Alright, lead the way."

The sun lingered low on the horizon, shining a fiery orange light down the long streets of RhyDin. It hesitated to set almost interminably, as if dreading what would come of this evening once the last few rays had vanished.

That oblique sunlight was the only illumination in Devon Goral's apartment as The Protector sat motionless on the floor of his living room. His legs were crossed and his shoulders hunched over, his upper body propped up on his elbows. Before him sat two empty bottles of scotch, a full glass, and a piece of paper and pen.

On the paper, just two words:

Dear Zephyer?

Devon had been staring at those words for what seemed like hours ? perhaps all of the afternoon. Caught between two titans, he desperately needed advice. He needed wisdom. He needed to be told what to do.

But the words didn't come. He couldn't find any way to describe to her just what he'd done. The predicament in which he'd put himself. As he ran the whole story over in his mind it seemed unbelievable. Who would accept such a contrivance of events? Who would believe that one man could put himself at the center of a perfect cyclone?

And all without an exit strategy.

Devon reached for the glass and raised it to his lips. He no longer tasted the malt, but it comforted him and kept away the shakes. It had been a long time since Devon Goral feared death. But failure? That, he couldn't abide. There had to be a way out.

"Is this yer plan?" she asked almost cruelly. "Drink yerself into oblivion so the rest doesna matter?"

Devon couldn't bring himself to look up at the spectre of his wife. "I think better without distractions," he answered simply.

Zephyer sat down in front of him, crossing her legs mirror to his. "Is that what ye've been doin' for the past four hours? Thinkin'?"

"I just need to work out the kinks in my plan."

"So ye do have a plan?" she asked, perhaps sarcastically.

Devon took a sip of the scotch and set down the glass, before looking up at his wife.

"Tha's wha' I thought," she answered confidently.

"Must you visit me only to torment me?" Devon asked. "I never see you except when you're taunting."

"Ye make it easy," she answered. "Mopin' around this place for 'ow many months now?"

"Just leave me be."

"Is tha' really what ye want? 'Cuz yer letter says otherwise."

Devon looked down at the two words scratched into the paper.

"Well?"

"I need?" he muttered.

"Ye need wha'?"

"I need ? advice."

"Advice?" she practically spit the word. "Wha' am I, a daytime talk show?"

Devon grumbled with frustration at his wife.

"Fine, I'll go," she said, pushing up from the floor.

Devon reached out and grabbed her arm ? hard. A shiver went through him as they made contact and he had to remind himself that she wasn't really there.?

Yet she felt so real.

"Alrigh'," she said, coming back down to the floor, "try again."

Devon's eyes met hers. "I need help."

Was that the slightest hint of a smile?

"Go on," she said.

"I've made a terrible mess of things, Zephyer. I'm faced with failure ? coupled with my own death, and having to betray a client."

"That's bullshit," she answered simply. "Yer mistake is assumin' ye only have two options."

"What?"

She slapped away his hand, still on her arm. "The Devon Goral I know doesna le' people make the rules for him. 'E makes 'is own rules."

"But how?"

"Good God, Devon, man up," she snapped. "Ye've been wallowin' around this apartment and this city for almos' a year. Used to be, you too' charge o' thin's. Now yer swimmin' in a bottle writin' letters to people who ain't gonna read 'em. This whole mess is the same thin'. Ye can either decide to let one or the other push ye aroun', or you can actually make a plan and take charge."

Devon looked down at his drink. The alcohol caught up to him in that moment of clarity and he felt himself swooning just a bit.

"Wha' you lack is confidence," Zephyer concluded. "Ye know ? the one thing ye've always had. And the reason I fell in love with you."

Devon's head snapped up again, but she was gone. At that moment, the sun finally gave up its futile war with night, plunging him into darkness.

* * *

Nikolas Papadous sat in the driver's seat of his car, clutching a bottle of bourbon in his lap as if it were the steering wheel. His face was soaked with tears and red with anger.?

"You dare to say that I wasn't a father to you," he said to the empty passenger seat beside him. "You dare to say that I didn't love you," he continued. "But you're wrong. It was my love that drove me to succeed. To be a man. Work at the docks was hard. Waking up before sunrise and working a machine loader until after sunset. My back ached, my hands calloused. But I did it all for you and for your mother.

"Oh, Claire. Was it you who taught our son to hate me? Every day I came home from work to find you half in the bottle, complaining about all the things we didn't have. No fancy car, no vacations, no big house. You knew what kind of man I was when you married me, but then you changed. What changed you? God I wish I knew.

"No, my Claire, it's not fair to blame you. I didn't recognize your depression until it was too late. I didn't get you the help you needed. That's on me."

Nikolas sighed, taking a swig from the bottle. The sun had now set, but the street was alive with activity. Young people walking in couples or packs, patronizing the various shops and cafes up and down the busy upscale street. For the most part, no one noticed him sitting there alone in his car. No one noticed the bottle in his hand ? or the loaded handgun sitting on the passenger seat.

"My son, you blamed me for letting her leave, and maybe you were right. But that should have brought us closer together. I needed you and I'm certain that you needed me. But instead, you ran straight away from me. You did everything you could to anger me, personally and professionally. At a time when I should have been bursting with pride at your success and accomplishments, instead you made sure I'd be consumed by anger. I've no doubt you made every decision knowing how it would affect me. Knowing how it would tear me apart inside.

"But this ? this is the final insult, my son." He paused, looking up at the balcony. "How many hundreds of thousands of young women in RhyDin, and you pick her? You go to her for comfort instead of me? No, Kristos, it's just too much. I tolerated as you shunned our family and your birthright. But I will not stand by and watch you love this woman. I will not let you make one more colossal mistake.

"So enjoy these last moments with her, Kristos. Because after tonight is over, you and I will have an understanding about such things. And I will never bear another one of your betrayals."

* * *

Devon raised his glass up in the air ? one last sip before he'd set out. He had a plan. Zephyer might not entirely approve of the details, but he knew it was the right thing to do. The only thing to save his life and his conscience.?

But, most importantly, it was his plan. No more complications. No opportunities for it to spiral out of control.?

But also no room for error.

A chirping sound caught Devon's attention. Turing to look behind him, he saw a light on the console on his desk. An incoming message. From London.

From home.

Devon closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled a deep breath. He then tilted his hand, pouring the last of the scotch out onto the carpeted floor.

He was out of time.

Rising to his feet, Devon reached for his longcoat and his weapon. He'd have to go tonight.?

Nikolas Papadous made his way through the throngs of people walking along the sidewalk in one of RhyDin's most upscale neighborhoods. Young urban professionals pushed past Nik, often in couples or groups, making their way to and from the local restaurants and cafes, barely aware of his presence and intentions.

Almost absently, Nik drew a deep breath into his lungs as he swam upstream against the crowd. The expansion of his chest pressed against the pistol tucked tightly into the front of his jeans. It gave him some comfort to know that he had power above and beyond all those around him. It made him feel invulnerable.

As he approached the doorway to the corner apartment complex, his eyes fell upon a man standing in his path. Nik smirked, but stopped.

"Stand aside, Daveon."

"Don't go in there, Nik," his friend and business partner warned.

"Who's going to stop me, Daveon? You? Or is your little henchman about to pounce?"

"Brian isn't here, Nik. It's just me."

"Get out of my way, Daveon, this doesn't concern you."

"You're my friend, Nik. I can't let you do this. I can't let you throw away your life."

Nik scowled dismissively and charged forward, pushing past Daveon and into the vestibule of the building. He caught the interior door just as someone was passing through, and made his way into the lobby.

Daveon followed quickly behind, staying close. "What are you going to do when you get up there? Are you going to hurt someone, Nik? Is that even in you?"

Nik pressed the button to call the lobby elevator. Looking up, he noticed that the elevator car was on the sixth floor and didn't appear to be moving very quickly. With a huff, he dodged left and entered the stairwell.

Daveon followed behind, still talking. "He's your son, Nik. Think about what you're doing here. Think about the kind of man you are. The kind of man you raised him to be."

"I'll show him what it means to be a man," Nik grunted, turning a corner and starting up another flight of stairs.

"To what end, Nik? What do you hope to accomplish?"

Nik paused half-way up the staircase and turned towards his friend. "I thought that when we re-took the docks ? when I re-took the Presidency ? that it would make everything better," he said, panting lightly at the exertion. "That it would fill this hole ?inside of me."

"But it didn't," he continued. "I feel even emptier than when this all began."

"You need your family," Daveon suggested kindly. "You need your son."

"Tell him that. I've done everything in my power to be respectful to him."

"Charging into his girlfriend's apartment unannounced might not be considered so respectful, Nik."

Nik stood there a moment, his breathing slowing. He then turned away and continued up the stairs.

Daveon again gave chase, reaching Nik just as he was opening the door to the second floor landing. He reached out for Nik's arm, but Nik pulled away and pressed forward ? taking several steps down the hall until he reached the corner apartment where his son was staying.

"I'm pleading with you, Nik," Daveon said, exasperated. "Don't go in there!"

Nik half-turned, drawing the pistol from his waistband. Daveon took a step back at the sight of the gun, holding his arms out defensively.

"This is a private matter, Daveon. Get out of here!"

"I can't let you do this, Nik!"

Nik narrowed his eyes. "You can't stop me."

Daveon paused, his eyes tracking from Nik's face to his weapon and back again. "I suppose not."

Nik pounded on the door.

"But I will call for help," Daveon continued.

Nik smirked. "No one's gonna help you today. No one cares."

The door swung open, revealing a pretty young woman with a confused expression.

"Close the door!" Daveon shouted helplessly.

Nik pushed his way into the apartment, shoving the woman and knocking her roughly to the floor.

Daveon lurched forward, but before he could reach the threshold, Nik closed the door and turned the lock.

"No one cares," Nik repeated under his breath.

* * *

Kristos Papadous wheeled his chair into the dining room, eyeing the selection on the wine rack. Lynne was by no means an expert, but she had excellent taste in wine and they frequently enjoyed tastings at local vineyards. He missed times like that, simpler times.

"I say we crack open a bottle to celebrate," he suggested, choosing one bottle at random and reading over the label.

"Celebrate what?" Lynne asked, emerging from the kitchen. "You sacking out on my couch for the next few months?"

"Me being out of that God-forsaken hospital," Kris answered with a grin. "I can't tell you how happy I am to be anywhere but there."

Lynne feigned insult. "I'll try not to take that personally."

Kris shook his head dismissively.

"And no wine for you," Lynne said, confiscating the bottle from his hands and sliding it back onto the rack. "With all the meds you're on, you'd keel over dead after one sip."

"You have so little faith in me," Kris muttered playfully.

Lynne took hold of her boyfriend's wheelchair and pushed him back into the living room, where he'd find fewer distractions.

"I think I have some apple juice in the fridge," Lynne teased. "I'll pour you a glass if you really want to have a toast."

"You take all the fun out of this. I was so looking forward to spending some real time with you."

Lynne sat on the arm of one of her leather couches. "Did they say how long until you could go back to work?"

"At least four months," Kris responded. "Longer if P-T doesn't go well."

Lynne nodded, doing the math in her head. Her face then lit up in a smile.

"What?"

"Actually there is something to celebrate," she said, jumping up from the couch. "In all the fuss of getting you moved in, I completely forgot to tell you."

"Oh? Tell! Tell!"

"ISPN asked me to go on the next tour as a color commentator. It starts next month and the entire tour lasts eight weeks."

Kris cheered, reaching out to embrace Lynne in a hug.

"That's incredible! You did it!"

Lynne squeezed Kris tightly. "I checked with my doctor and he said I'm fit to travel, as long as I stay up on my own therapy regimen."

"God, Lynne, I'm so happy for you."

"Are you sure?" Lynne asked, concerned. "I don't think you'll be able to come along."

Kris leaned away from the hug, his face all smiles. "This is the opportunity of a lifetime, Lynne. Maybe you can't compete, but this is the next best thing ? and it puts you on a new career track after you retire."

Lynne nodded, kneeling down in front of Kris' wheelchair. "It's just a temporary gig, but if I really blow them away ? it could lead to big things. Maybe a full time job on television."

"You have to do this, Lynne. I'll be fine here ? plus I'll have lots of free time to watch your broadcasts."

Lynne smirked. "You? Watching track and field on television? That'll be the day."

Kris reached out and took her hand, squeezing it in his lap. "I'll watch if I get to see your beautiful face."

Lynne blushed. "Mostly it'll just be voice-over, you know. They usually like to focus on the competitors."

Kris chuckled. "And yet, I think I'll only notice you."

Lynne smiled, her eyes sparkling. She leaned in for a quick kiss.

"Alright, babe," Lynne said, changing the subject, "It's late and we haven't eaten yet. I say we get some dinner started. You up for cutting veggies?"

"Of course," Kris said, rolling up his sleeves. He was briefly distracted by a noise outside the door to the apartment, before turning back to Lynne. "What did you have in mind?"

"Chicken pot pie?"

Kris felt the drool on the edges of his mouth. "That sounds like an excellent idea." He turned his attention back to the door, where an argument of some sort was getting even louder. "What's going on out there?"

Lynne rose to her feet, turning towards the door. "Not sure. The neighbors across the hall sometimes fight, but it's not usually this loud."

"Didn't realize I was moving into a tenement," Kris joked.

Lynne smirked. Between the two of their apartments, hers was smaller ? but much nicer. The discussion of where he'd stay during his rehabilitation was short and uncontroversial.

A heavy knocking came at the door that caused Lynne to jump a bit.

"Want me to get it?" Kris asked.

"No hon, I've got it," she said, moving towards the door. Opening it, she came face-to-face with a man she didn't immediately recognize. He was flushed red and appeared quite angry. Something about him looked familiar, but she couldn't place him.

Another man stood a few feet behind the first and seemed highly agitated. "Close the door!" he shouted.

But it was too late. As Lynne started to push against the door, the man shoved his way in ? knocking her hard to the floor. As she scrambled back to her feet, she heard the door swing shut and the lock click. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Sorry to interrupt, Miss McRae," the man sneered. Her confusion over the use of her birth name quickly turned into terror when saw his gun ? pointed straight at her.

"Dad?" Kris asked. "What in God's name are you going here?"

Lynne reflexively backed towards Kris, standing between him and the gunman.

"You wouldn't come to see me, Kristos, so I came to see you."

"This is your father?" Lynne asked, not taking her eyes off of the man.

Kris sighed. "Lynne, I suppose it's time you met my father, Nikolas. Dad, this is Lynne Lancaster."

"Annalynne McRae," Nik corrected.

"No one calls me that," Lynne retorted.

"Why do you have a gun?" Kris demanded. "And where do you get off barging in here like a madman?"

"Oh, I'm not mad, Kris," Nik said, his tone anything but calm. "In fact, I think I finally see and understand."

"Understand what?"

"The depths of your betrayal," Nik explained, walking towards them ? the gun still aimed at both youths.

"Betrayal?" Kris tried to push Lynne aside so that he could face his father directly. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Are you?. Sleeping with Julius McRae's daughter? Cameron McRae's sister? I knew you hated me, but I never thought you'd sink to such depths just to spite me."

Kris sputtered. "Good God, father. Believe it or not, it's not always about you." He leaned forward in the chair, glaring at his father's glassy eyes. "My love for her is greater than my hate for you."

Nik scowled, visibly tightening his grip on the pistol. "How can you talk like that? To your own father?"

"I don't see my father here," Kris declared. "I only see a crazy man pointing a gun at me."

"I raised you better than this. Do you know the body trail her father's left behind? My friends ? your friends. Brothers and sisters on the docks."

"How dare you come down here and chastise me for the actions of my father," Lynne interjected. "How dare you break into my home and threaten me and my boyfriend?"

"Get off your high horse, Miss McRae. I know your type. I know your family."

"You don't know shit," Kris snapped. "Get out of here before you do something you actually regret."

"I'm not leaving here without satisfaction," Nik responded. "If you want to be my son, it's time you become a man."

"Become a man?" Kris howled. "Like you? Holding your own family hostage at gunpoint? Or should I look back further for an example ? like to the fifteen years you barely ever came home? The wife you drove away or the son you neglected? Point out which part was you being 'a man.'"

"I was working on the docks. Putting food on the table. Putting you through college."

"I didn't need an ATM, I needed a father. And mom needed a husband. Instead, all we had was each other. My only regret is that I didn't go with her when she left."

"Don't bring your mother into this," Nik snapped, a look of hurt on his face. "She had her own issues. You can't blame her depression or alcoholism on me. I didn't make her an addict."

"No, but you sure exacerbated the problem," Kris pressed. "When she needed you ? when she needed treatment, you found ways to be even more absent. Coming home at ten o'clock was too painful so you pushed past midnight. Then you wouldn't even go to her bed, sleeping instead in the guest room. And you'd leave at the crack of dawn before either of us woke up. Tell me, dad, what was the point of you even being there?"

"I wasn't a perfect father, no," Nik admitted. "But I never abandoned you. I didn't leave. I stayed and I worked and I supported you both."

"Piggy Bank Papadous. Just what we needed."

Nik stomped on the floor and waived the gun around erratically. Lynne shrieked in response.

"Christ, dad, you're scaring us both to death. I refuse to have another word with you if you won't put down that gun."

"You need to show some damned respect," Nik demanded, pointing the gun directly at Lynne's head.

Kris threw up his hands defensively. "Please, dad. Stop. I'm begging you."

Nik took a breath, swallowing hard. His eyes darted between Kris and Lynne.

"We can work this out, dad. Let's all sit down and have a conversation and figure out a game plan."

"There's nothing to discuss, son," Nik responded. "I already have everything planned out."

"Oh?"

"Her father has caused me quite a bit of trouble. So I'm going to take her with me and keep her somewhere safe and secure. And I'm going to bring her father to his knees. And when I finally break him, I'll set her free."

"You're not going anywhere with her," Kris warned. "I'll die to protect her."

Lynne put herself directly between father and son, squaring her jaw. "I'll go with you. Just leave Kris be."

"No, Lynne," Kris protested, trying to push her out of the way. "This is between him and me."

"Apparently not," Lynne responded dryly.

Nik nodded. "Girl's got some sense. Come with me, Miss McRae, and we'll put a call into your father. No one has to get hurt."

"Lynne, don't do it," Kris pleaded.

Lynne half-turned, pressing a hand to Kris' jaw. Their eyes met, both full of fear and sadness.

"I'll be okay," Lynne said softly. "He's your father."

Kris looked past Lynne to his father, trembling with rage and fear and alcohol, his grip on the pistol tenuous at best.

"I'm not so sure," Kris responded, approaching despair.

Just then, all three jumped at the sound of a mighty crash. Turning towards the balcony window, Kris watched as a large man burst through the glass, rolled on the floor, and jumped up to his feet. He was very tall, wearing a suit and a seasonally-inappropriate trench coat. He produced a very large handgun and pointed it at Nik, leveling it directly at the man's head.

As dangerous shards of glass shattered on the floor beneath him, the strange man curled his lips into a sneer and narrowed his eyes. "Hello, Nik."

* * *

Devon Goral revved the engine of his Pontiac GTO as he raced through the streets of RhyDin's business district, narrowly avoiding pedestrians and traffic. Although he did not consider himself an expert driver, he was trained in high speed maneuvering as part of his duties as a bodyguard.

"What is my daughter even doing in RhyDin, Mister Goral?" McRae asked from the passenger seat. "Didn't you drop her off at Stars End Spaceport over a week ago?"

"I did, and I saw her get onto her ship," Devon said. "But I can't be certain she didn't find some way to disembark. It's also possible she just came back."

McRae grumbled. "I don't remember if I've ever asked you if you have any children."

"I do not, sir."

"The greatest joy in my life were the days my son and daughter were born. It's all been downhill since then."

Devon took a particularly tight curve, tires screeching on the pavement.

"If anything happens to her?" McRae continued.

"Nikolas Papadous is many things, but he wouldn't murder in cold blood. I think I can talk him down."

"Men are irrational creatures, Mister Goral. Look no further than your recent behavior. Or mine."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll do anything to protect her, Devon. I'd give my own life without a second thought."

"It won't come to that."

"Just promise me one thing, Devon. Are you listening?"

"Yes, sir."

"I know I'm your client and you're sworn to protect me. But if it's a choice between me or her, you save her. Is that clear?"

Devon paused. Technically that was a violation of his ethics and code of conduct.

"Is that clear?" McRae repeated.

Devon nodded. Ethics be damned, there was no question. "Clear, sir. I won't let anything happen to her."

He couldn't promise that. He shouldn't promise that. But it was the right thing to do for a concerned father.

"Thank you, Devon."

Devon pulled the car over to the side of the road just down the street from Annalynne McRae's apartment building. The sidewalk and street were crowded with young people ?out for the evening.

Devon and McRae both got out of the car, and Devon put his thermographic binoculars up to his eyes. Zeroing in on the corner apartment, he immediately saw the situation. There were three people inside the apartment: one seated, two standing. One was clearly armed and appeared to be gesticulating wildly in front of the other two. That must be Nik.

"What do you see?"

"Everyone's alive. But we need to get in there."

"Tell me what to do."

Devon tossed the binoculars into his car and closed the door. "Go in the front door and go up the stairs. Wait for me outside the door to the apartment. And please keep quiet, no matter what you hear."

"Where are you going to go?"

Devon glanced up at the building as he started walking towards it. "I'm taking the back door," he answered.

"Back door?"

Devon began to jog, jumping onto the hood of one car ? then the roof of another ? before leaping upwards and just barely catching a metal railing in his hands. He hoisted himself over the railing and onto the balcony of McRae's apartment.

He paused briefly ? there was no indication that his little display of acrobatics caused enough noise to get anyone's attention, and the voices inside suggested a heated argument. So he reached into his coat, drew the Ares Predator, and pulled back on the barrel.

With a powerful leap, The Protector then launched himself through the glass doors, rolled along the floor, and came up just next to Nikolas Papadous.

Nik turned, aiming his weapon at Devon just as he rose to his feet, a shower of broken glass cascading harmlessly off of him.

"Hello, Nik," Devon greeted wryly.

Nik took several steps back and began to tremble, but he held his gun high. "Christ, Dev, are you trying to get us all killed?"

"No one is dying here today, Nik. Now drop the gun and let's have a conversation."

Nik tightened the grip on his pistol. "This isn't your fight, Dev."

"It is now, Nik. Drop the gun."

Devon didn't dare take his eyes off of Nik, but he was aware of the two other people in the room. He'd met Annalynne McRae once before ? when he drove her to the spaceport. The young man, seated in a wheelchair, was likely Kristos Papadous ? Nikolas' estranged son.

It was Kris who spoke next. "What the hell is this? Who the hell are you?"

"He works for my father," Annalynne explained.

Nik narrowed his eyes. "He does, does he?"

"It's not like that," Devon said.

"Yet another betrayal to add to the chorus," Nik said, "I must say I'm surprised. Then again, the day you quit working for me should have told me all I needed to know about your character, Dev. You'd rather work for a mobster than for a blue collar guy like me."

"This isn't about me, Nik. But if you want to compare notes, drop the gun first."

"This is the only thing keeping me alive, Dev. I'm not playing games here."

Devon sighed. "Miss McRae, I need you to do something for me."

"I go by Lancaster," Annalynne Annalynne iterated wearily ? perhaps not for the first time. "What do you need?"

"Please open the door to your apartment."

Nik spun towards Annalynne, now leveling the gun at her. "Don't you fucking move," he yelled.

"Nik!" Devon shouted firmly. "Don't you point that gun at her," he chastised. "Point it at me if it makes you feel safe."

Annalynne looked between the two men, unsure of who to obey.

"Nik, if you want to point your gun, point it at me. I'm not kidding around here."

"Don't you dare move," Nik warned.

"Nik, I'm not playing games either. This gun will blow a head-sized hole in your head. Now turn back towards me."

Slowly, Nik turned back towards Devon, again pointing his pistol at The Protector.

Devon nodded. "Good. Now Miss Lancaster, please open the door."

"Who's out there?" Nik asked.

"We're going to put all of this to rest," Devon explained.

"No more guns!" Nik exclaimed.

"No more guns," Devon reassured. "Nik, if I wanted you dead, you know you would be, right? I could have taken you out from the balcony."

For a moment, neither man spoke, until Devon nodded briefly at Annalynne. "Go open the door."

"Slowly," Nik insisted. "Any sudden moves and this gets bloody."

Reluctantly, Annalynne moved away from Kris and approached the door. Nik backed up slightly so that he could keep her in his sights while still training his gun on Devon.

Annalynne unlocked the door and pulled it open. In walked McRae, followed unexpectedly by Daveon Miller.

"Father!" Annalynne exclaimed ? more surprised than delighted.

"Okay, back to the middle of the room where I can see you," Nik instructed.

"It's okay," Devon said.

Annalynne returned to Kris' side. Daveon closed the door, and both he and McRae remained near the door ? Nik now positioned between them and Devon.

"What in hell is going on here?" Nik demanded.

"Mister Papadous, my name is Julius Cameron McRae. This is my daughter's apartment, and that's my daughter you are menacing."

Nik's eyes went wide. "You!"

McRae nodded. "I'm sorry that you and I haven't had the opportunity to meet before now. Perhaps we should have."

"Now can we all lower our guns?" Devon asked.

"Not a chance, Dev," Nik snapped. "Is this some kind of setup?"

"I called him," Daveon confessed. "I didn't know what else to do."

"Ah, the treachery is complete! All of my friends and colleagues colluding with the enemy to take me down."

"You were pointing a gun at my only daughter," McRae scolded. "I'd have moved heaven and earth to be here."

Nik began to shake noticeably.

"You have every reason to hate and despise me, Mister Papadous," McRae continued. "But how dare you bring this to my family? To my daughter?"

"Really, McRae? Now you want to argue that family is off limits?"

"Always," McRae answered. "We leave our families out of this."

"But it was okay when you sent your henchmen to beat up my son. It was okay to put him in that wheelchair and possibly cripple him for life."

McRae glanced briefly at Kris before looking back up at Nik. "What happened to your son was tragic. It was also not ordered by me. The men responsible for the attack were punished severely."

"I'm sure that will be a comfort to my son if he never walks again."

"Mister Papadous, my daughter was also injured in that attack? Her wounds were not as severe as your son's, but they could have a lasting impact on her life and career."

Kris looked over at Annalynne before turning his attention back to McRae. "She may have been with him, but Kris was the target. They beat him up to get at me."

"Also untrue," McRae insisted.

"He's telling the truth, father," Kris said. "I know the guy who attacked me. We've been butting heads on the dock for months now. He accused me of stealing from him and started wailing on me. Your name never came up."

"But you created a culture on the docks where your people could just take whatever they want ? and use force to get their way. Isn't that true?"

"Never on a man's family," McRae insisted. "I won't allow it."

Nik scowled. "Shall we talk about families, Mister McRae? Marc Horner. Tommy King. Lisa Tagliano. Three of my closest friends and officers in the Dockworkers' Union. All with spouses and children ? all killed by your thugs."

"That's different," McRae said. "They accepted the risks by the nature of their positions."

"You live in a world where violence is a negotiating tactic," Nik continued. "Don't like what someone says? Kick their ass."

"A lesson you picked up quickly, Mister Papadous. My own wounds are still quite fresh. And on the subject of families left behind ? need I point out all the widows and widowers you created? Giovanni Donatello, for example, left behind a wife ? Lia ? and two young children, Paolo and Marie. Shall we bring them into your holy war?"

"You forced me to go to Gloria. You left me with no choice but to fight back. To escalate."

"That's fair, Mister Papadous, but let's not pretend you're innocent in such matters. The Union has long held an iron grip on the docks to the exclusion of all others. Or do you want to claim that bribes and kickbacks are only okay when you are benefitting?"

"I represent working-class men and women just trying to make a living. You couldn't stand people like us exerting influence so you decided to take us down."

McRae chuckled uncharacteristically. "Let me tell you a story, Mister Papadous. Twenty years ago, when I was doing my best to get out of this business and go legit, I was focusing primarily on my import-export business. I brought in a shipload of high-end bicycles ? the kind they use on the big tours. The Dockworkers Union held up the cargo and tried to extort me for a fifteen percent payoff. When I refused to pay, they broke the ship captain's legs and dumped the entire cargo overboard into RhyDin Bay. My losses were over a million. I swore that day that I would find a way to break the Union."

"And I did," McRae added with a smile.

"There's no equivalence between you and me," Nik hissed.

"You and I are both criminals, Mister Papadous," McRae insisted. "We just go about our business in different ways."

Nik sighed, casting his eyes downward.

"Everyone in this room has some shame, Mister Papadous," McRae continued. "Except for my daughter. She's the only one here that's truly innocent."

"And my son," Nik said. "He's never taken a payoff, never busted a skull."

McRae nodded. "Sounds like you're proud of him."

Nik looked over at Kris, sitting in anguish in his wheelchair, clutching Annalynne's hand in his.

"He's a better man than I. Always have been. Things that I struggled for ? courage, honor, respect ? all come naturally to him."

"It's time to stop visiting our sins on our children, Mister Papadous," McRae suggested calmly. "Let them have their own lives, independent of our conflict. We owe them that."

"I love you, Kristos," Nik said to his son, his face contorted.

"I never stopped loving you, father," Kris responded. "Even when mom left. Even when I couldn't bear to be in the same room with you."

For a long time there was silence, as Nik and Kris exchanged understanding looks. Finally, Nik raised his arms defensively and dropped to his knees, placing his pistol on the floor next to him.

Devon moved in quickly, placing a firm hand on Nik's shoulder as he pushed away the gun with his foot. Once Nik was secure, he holstered the Predator under his coat.

As Nik began to sob quietly, Kris and Annalynne embraced. A great weight was lifted from the room.

"Mister Miller," McRae asked quietly, "could I impress upon you to give Mister Papadous a ride home?"

Daveon nodded. "I'd be happy to."

Devon stepped back to give Daveon room to help Nik to his feet. Nik's face was now flushed red and soaked with tears.

"You sure you're okay with this?" Devon asked.

Daveon nodded. "Won't be a problem. I'll make sure he gets home."

McRae stepped towards Nik, extending a hand. After a brief pause, Nik took the hand and they shook firmly. Without another word, Nik then left the apartment, followed by Daveon.

McRae fidgeted a bit, glancing around the apartment. "I'm sorry about the balcony window. I'll pay to have it fixed."

Annalynne shook her head. "You saved our lives. You both did."

McRae looked down. "I need a moment to collect myself. May I use your restroom?"

"Of course, father. Stay as long as you need."

* * *

After washing his face, McRae stepped out of the master bathroom and into his daughter's bedroom. He walked over to a bookshelf displaying a series of pictures of her life ? from childhood to adulthood. Happy pictures of her in his arms, even happier pictures of her winning the gold. He reached out and picked one off the shelf ? a day in the park from over twenty years ago. He and his late wife sat on a park bench with their two smiling children. Back when they were a family.

Looking over the pictures, McRae realized just how much of her life he'd missed. How much she'd accomplished without him.

Goral stepped into the room and cleared his throat. McRae brushed some of the excess moisture from his eyes and nodded to the bodyguard.

"Should I leave, sir? I don't want to get in the way of family time."

"Yes," McRae answered, "but not for that reason. I'm grateful for what you did here."

"You did all the talking, sir. You defused the situation."

"It was my situation to defuse, Devon. I created this."

Goral shrugged.

McRae set the photo back on the bookcase and took a step back. "We'll need to wind down our relationship. I feel betrayed by your actions, but I also understand that no malice was intended against me. Because of that, there will be no repercussions for your actions."

Goral nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"As for our little problem, I have a solution. I want you to go to Gloria and tell her that she can have the original deal."

"Deal?"

"From this morning. I've decided to retire, Mister Goral. I didn't want to mention it in front of Papadous because it wasn't a specific reaction to his demands, but this whole situation has made me realize what I'm missing from my life. I've spent years ? decades lecturing other people that family comes first ? yet I've repeatedly failed to take that advice myself. So I'm going to sign over all of my businesses to Gloria, just like she wanted, and she can succeed me. She's a shrewd businesswoman and I have no doubts that she'll make me proud. And RhyDin is ready for a woman of her stature to really make some noise."

"I understand, sir."

"Please tell her that I do have two conditions, however."

"Conditions?"

McRae nodded. "First, she has to use my son. I know she has a deal with Miller to handle her import-exports, but he's good at what he does and there's enough business for the two of them. Without me I worry that he won't have a place here anymore, which would be tragic. So she needs to promise to kick a substantial amount of business his way."

"Okay."

"Second, and this is trickier, I want more information about the death of Giovanni Donatello. Something about how it went down doesn't make sense to me. Rooney was convinced that Donatello would betray me, so I assigned Rooney to monitor his movements. Next thing I know, Donatello's getting gunned down in public by a dozen assassins. I want to know why Rooney didn't have warning that this was going to happen, and I want to know why Gloria knew to have her gunmen ready. Basically what happened was the opposite of what should have happened and I want to know why."

Devon nodded. "I understand."

"If she accepts those two conditions, I'll make plans to immediately start signing everything over to her. The process will take about a month, after which I intend to leave RhyDin and do some traveling." He paused, looking over some of Annalynne's medals and trophies. "Perhaps I can even convince my daughter to go with me."

"I'll see to your wishes at once."

"Thank you, Mister Goral."

Goral hesitated a moment, before speaking again. "Uh, what about Rooney?"

McRae sighed. "I'll have to tell him that I'm going to retire, of course. He won't be happy."

"And the beef between us?"

McRae narrowed his eyes, looking out the window at the street beyond. "I want no part of that."