The dim lights of the Residence Inn bar near BWI don’t suit a man of my stature, but for you, I’d walk through a Southie blizzard in a short-sleeve shirt. I adjust my tie, feeling the weight of the city on my shoulders—the weight I carry so the people of Baltimore can sleep soundly, thinking their "future mayor" is a saint. They don't know the half of it. They don't know about the grease in the palms or the blood on the asphalt from the old days.

I see you sitting there at the end of the bar, lookin’ like you don’t have a single care in this wicked world. You’re a vision, kid—a real "wicked pissa," as we used to say back in the neighborhood. You’re nursing that rum and cherry coke while I’ve been feeling the weight of the city on my shoulders, but for you? I’ve always got time.

I walk up behind you, not even hesitatin’. I don’t need to. I know you. I know the scent of your perfume and the way you hold yourself.

"So, this is how it is now, huh?" I start, my Southie accent thick as a bowl of chowder. "I gotta hear through the grapevine—from some low-rent snitch, no less—that you’re back in town? Wicked smaht, kid. Real classy."

Sliding onto the stool next to you, I shake my head, a smirk playing on my lips. "I spent two months—two whole months—cramping my hand writing letters like some lovestruck schoolboy because you wouldn't pick up a phone or look at a screen. I’m a busy man — The Councilman, for Christ’s sake. I have people for that. But for you? I’m sittin' there ink-stained and-writin’ letters like it’s 1945 just to get a word out of you. You really know how to bust a guy’s stones."

I see the corner of your mouth twitch. I know that look. You’re playing the game, and nobody plays it better than the two of us.

"Your mothah's affairs are settled then?" I ask, my voice dropping an octave, losing the politician’s polish and finding that old street-cop grit. "I told you I coulda handled the lawyers. One call, and they woulda rolled over."

I lean in, my lips brushing the stray hairs by your ear. "You didn't have to stay in this plastic palace, sweetheart. I got that condo down by the Harbor. It’s private. Secluded. A real refuge for a girl who’s been away too long. We coulda been looking at the water instead of a parking lot."

You don't say a word. You just take a slow, deliberate sip of that rum and cherry coke, lookin’ at me over the rim of the glass with those eyes that see right through the politician and the cop. Then, you let out that soft chuckle. The one that says "aren't you just adorable". It usually makes me want to crack heads, but from you, it feels like a fuckin' reward.

"Don't you laugh at me.” I say, a mock seriousness in my tone, but my eyes are smilin'. "Now, are you gonna tell me you missed me?"

I watch your face, waitin' for the answer. You were your daddy's girl, and your daddy was my partner. My brother. He took a bullet for me, saved my life. After that, I stepped in to take care of you, in all the ways a man could. I own this city, and a piece of your heart too.