Though retired from the syndicate, Don Jacob still commanded a level of respect and authority few men ever achieved. It was precisely that lingering power that made it impossible for Binky to refuse when the old don requested a private meeting. The two men sat across from each other in Binky’s office, the heavy silence of decades between them. Aside from a brief, formal greeting at the door, neither had spoken. For several long minutes, the past seemed to hover in the room like smoke.

“I hear you’re playing with fire, old friend,” Don Jacob said at last, his voice low and measured.

Binky leaned back in his chair, brushing off the warning with a careless gesture. “You shouldn’t listen to rumors and gossip.” Don Jacob studied him for a moment, eyes sharp beneath his silver brows. “I remember when we were just cohorts - long before any of this. Has time grown so cruel that it’s even poisoned our friendship?”

Binky was quiet for a moment, then reached into his desk and pulled out a bottle of aged whiskey along with two crystal glasses. He poured generously for Don Jacob, then for himself. “No,” he said quietly. “I don’t believe any amount of time could change a man like you.” A short, rueful chuckle escaped Don Jacob. “Time has touched every part of me with a heavy hand, Benjamin. What I wouldn’t give to go back to the good days.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Binky lifted his glass briefly before taking a slow sip. After a pause, he continued, voice heavier now. “Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if Nathaniel had gotten to Mr. Pontine first? One death… and so many tragedies afterward.” “I try not to dwell on what could have been,” Don Jacob replied. “You’d be wise to do the same.”

Binky met his gaze directly. “Anton shouldn’t be a ring holder; you were right all along.”

Don Jacob gave a small, knowing nod. “I agree. And you’ve already made your bed, Benjamin. But if I still know you at all, I’d wager you’ve already got a contingency plan in motion.” Binky didn’t deny it. “Did you come here to talk me out of it?”

“No.” Don Jacob set down his glass, a faint, almost sorrowful smile touching his lips. “I came to wish you luck. You’re going to need it, my friend.”