The old church stood like a guardian of stories untold, its gothic spires piercing Chicago's twilight sky. Saint Patrick's wasn't just another landmark—it was a confessional booth for the city's most dangerous souls. Mason Rivers knew this better than anyone.He'd arrived early, selecting a corner table that gave him full visibility of every entrance and exit. His contractor's days had him wired that way, even when he was playing the role of Leo King. The worn leather jacket he wore today wasn't designer—it was street armor, a stark contrast to the tailored suits he'd been flashing around lately.Mason absently traced the rim of his coffee cup, the steam curling up like the memories that haunted him. Each twitch of his fingers, every measured breath every micro-movement—survival instincts hardwired into his DNA. In this game, stillness wasn't weakness. Stillness was a weapon.The church basement reeked of old wood, stale coffee, and unspoken confessions. AA meetings and community gath

"You think this is about justice?" Mason's words dripped with cynicism. "This city runs on power, Maria. And power? That's always been your sweet spot."Her jaw clenched, but she didn’t bite. Not yet. “Keep talking. Dig your own grave faster, Mason.”“Go ahead, Detective,” Mason taunted, his voice smooth like bourbon but tinged with steel. “Show me the guts you think I lack. Pull the trigger. What’s holding you back?”“Simple,” she shot back, unfazed. “Every shot comes at a cost. This one? It’s your life.”“Funny how the morals shift,” he replied, an amused smirk flirting with the edges of his mouth, “you can’t pull the trigger, can you?” His words forward, slow, deliberate, daring. “Because deep down, you know it’s not just my blood on your hands. It’s Leo’s. Ramirez’s. Hell, maybe even your own.”The name Ramirez hit like a slap, but Maria didn’t flinch. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.“You don’t know the first thing about me.”“I know you’re dangerous.” His tone was soft, b

"You want to know how I landed here?" His voice scraped like broken glass, a raw blend of whiskey-soaked memories and bone-deep exhaustion. "This wasn't some goddamn choice. This was pure, raw survival."Maria remained silent, her posture rigid yet attentive. The church's guttering candle threw shadows across her face, transforming her from a hardened cop to something more—a listener, a potential ally.Mason's narrative began to unfurl, each word carefully selected, like a street veteran hustler revealing his most guarded secrets. "Before Olivia. Before this whole damn empire, I was just another South Side kid trying to dodge the knockout punch life kept throwing. St. Catherine's Orphanage? That wasn't just some building. That was a war zone where survival was the only currency that meant anything."He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle between them. Maria's green eyes never left his face, studying every microexpression, every slight tremor in his voice."Construction

“Survivor or not, Mason, you can’t expect me to ignore the law. Playing vigilante with your current life sets you up for failure, no one can escape those kinds of stakes, trust me.” Her voice firm, holding its ground.Mason's response came measured, almost too calm. "See? That's where we differ." His eyes, dark as the Chicago River at midnight, locked onto Maria. "You're sitting on a throne built of rules. I'm floating on tides of chaos. I don't crave darkness; I don't revel in blood—but it's what I've got.""Wake up!" Maria challenged, dramatically waving her fingers to his face. "This isn't just a game—those tides? They'll swallow you whole. I'm not trying to destroy you, Mason. I'm trying to save you from your mistakes."Mason studied her—really studied her. The way her green eyes flickered between accusation and something deeper. Something almost protective. He looked for a crack in her resolve, that moment of understanding that might change everything."Save me?" A bitter laugh e

The shadows from the stained glass windows stretched across the floor, casting fractured light on the tension-filled conversation. Mason leaned against the rotting pew, arms crossed, a playful glimmer in his dark eyes masking his underlying desperation. Maria glared back, unwavering, her stance only growing more rigid.“Let’s cut the crap, Mason,” Maria challenged, arms crossed defiantly. “What exactly is this grand proposal of yours?”Mason pushed himself off the pew, a smile creeping onto his face. “Alright, here’s the deal.” He paused, savoring the moment. “How about we show these crime lords something worth more than their petty cash?” The confidence in his tone mingled with a hint of mischief as he eyed her reaction.Maria raised an eyebrow. “You meaning what? Art classes or therapy sessions?” she shot back, sarcasm dripping from her voice, a habit she’d honed from years outsmarting the knuckleheads in her precinct. “I mean, you gotta be kidding me.”“See, what if we give them so