Mickey pulled up to Anton's house after dropping off the syndicate's collections at the dead-drop spot. Johnathan was already waiting at the door, looking like he'd aged ten years since breakfast. "Mick," he said quietly, voice tight. "Boss is...volcanic right now."

"Greg again?" Johnathan shook his head. "No. He called Doreen here about ten minutes ago. Been screaming nonstop since she walked in. Don't know what about."

Mickey clapped him once on the shoulder in thanks and headed straight for the office. Even from the entryway he could hear Anton's voice booming through the heavy door, sharp and unrelenting. He gave a single polite knock before pushing inside. Doreen stood in the center of the room, hands clasped behind her back, face perfectly composed except for the thick ribbon of blood flowing from her eyebrow, cutting a dark line down her face.

Mickey's stomach dropped. "What the hell happened?"

"Get your ass in here," Anton barked. "Stand next to this other dipshit."

Doreen didn't flinch. She spoke in the same calm, tired tone she always used when things were going catastrophically wrong. "Two containers got routed to the Cartel of the Suns instead of the ELN." Mickey blinked. He and Doreen triple-checked every manifest that touched the ELN shipments precisely because of the Purple faction. The Purple faction, which was run by Anton's despised twin, Anthony, handled all products destined for the ELN. One crossed wire with the wrong people and blood started flowing. They both knew that better than anyone.

"That's imp-"

"Tiny signed off," Doreen said, cutting him off before the word could finish. Mickey's jaw tightened. "Tiny?"

“I had him signing off on some of the shipments for me after you left the other day. It's my mistake, not yours,” Doreen said. Anton slammed both palms on the desk hard enough to rattle everything on it. "You two swore things were locked down! Smooth! Professional! And you," he jabbed a finger at Doreen, "have the nerve to call a hundred-and-forty-million-dollar fuck-up a 'mistake'?"

"Boss," Mickey started, stepping forward, "let me handle it. I'll figure out a reroute and -" "No." Anton's voice was ice. "You deal with Tiny, but Doreen fixes this mess! Or I swear I'll have one less fucking kid, understand? Now get the fuck out and don't come back until this shit is handled!" The door clicked shut behind them with the finality of a guillotine. In the hallway, Mickey looked at Doreen and sighed at the blood on her face. He reached out for a moment, but quickly shoved his hand in his pocket.

“You okay?” He whispered.

She met his eyes, ignoring the blood like it was nothing more than sweat, and said quietly, "I fucked up. I should've been paying attention to what Tiny was doing."

“No, you shouldn't have to babysit him. He wants to take my place, but can't even handle the simple shit. Don't worry, I'll make sure this doesn't happen again. But…you'll have to talk to Anthony.” Doreen sighed, “I know.”

“One thing I know about Anthony: he can smell bullshit a mile away. Just be honest with him. Doesn't mean he won't rip you a new one, but he may go easier on you.”

“Yeah, I'll keep that in mind.”