Daniel Caffrey had always been a good cop. He played by the rules, worked hard, stayed late, wrapped up cases, caught a lot of bad men and put them behind bars. He made an okay living, but it wasn't about the money, it never had been. He'd wanted to protect and serve. He wanted to be a hero.

All that changed when his wife told him she was pregnant.

Now he was going to be a father. He needed to provide. They couldn't raise a family in a small one bedroom apartment. They needed to get a house, they needed money for baby supplies - a crib, a carseat, baby clothes, a college fund - and Daniel realized very quickly that his salary wasn't going to cut it.

He had been really starting to feel the pressure around the same time that he and his partner Ellen had gotten assigned to be part of a drug bust. Jen was six months pregnant and they'd just put a down payment on a home, and already he was wondering just how he was going to afford the mortgage payments.

They'd kicked in the door of the crack house (drug houses never used to exist in the little town of Shrewsbury but the mob's activities had started seeping out from St. Louis and into the surrounding suburbs). Ellen and a few others were busy dragging the suspects outside, and Daniel was left alone with stacks of cash and drugs before evidence came in to collect them.

He stared at the cash for a long moment. Just a couple stacks of bills and he'd be set for years. And they were right there. Wasn't it better that someone who needed the money have it? Definitely better what it would have been used for. Why not let it pay for diapers instead of drugs?

Decided, Daniel snatched up several stacks of hundreds and stuffed them into his pants.

And that was how it started.

He had no idea how the mob found out he'd stolen their money. One day on his way home from work however, he was grabbed off the street and pulled into a black towncar.

Daniel came to in an empty warehouse, tied to a chair. He'd been on the force five years, and he had to admit that even he thought shit like this only happened in movies, not in real life. He was not alone - standing above him was a man he'd never seen before, but that he'd become very familiar with in the next few years, dressed impeccably in a three piece suit, dark hair neatly combed, and an expensive looking watch on his wrist.

Anthony "Nino" Parrino had not been the boss of the Giordano family when Daniel had known him. He'd been a smaller boss, who handled a lot of the business in areas outside of St. Louis. He was calculating, smart, and strangely charming. He also had an uncanny knowledge of what made men tick, which, to Daniel, made him more frightening than any two bit goon with a gun.

He never asked Daniel for the money back. In fact, he told him to keep it. Told him there was more where that came from, if he was willing to play ball. There were no threats. Daniel couldn't blame it on that. Couldn't even pretend like he was doing it to protect his wife and baby. Parrino had seen the greed that had awoken in Daniel Caffrey, and he offered him an opportunity to get more.

Daniel took it.

He fell further into the crime world. He was bringing in cash for his family, and when Jen finally had his son, Benjamin Neal Caffrey, there were no money worries. As far as Jen knew he'd gotten a raise.

He did things he wasn't proud of, but that he justified by saying it was for Ben and his future.

Once he was caught, once his trial was over and he'd been found guilty, Jen cut ties. She lied to their son and kept him from Daniel, even went so far as to start calling him Neal as if that would somehow remove any claim Daniel had to him. Ben had been his choice - his father's name.

He'd told Neal the truth. When he'd been released from prison he hadn't sought him out because he wasn't sure his son wanted anything to do with him. They'd had one awkward visit when the kid had been eighteen, and Daniel hadn't heard from him again.

This silence may have continued on for the rest of his life, while Daniel made a meager living as a garbage man in St. Louis (it was hard to make a living as a former convict), if not for Anthony Parrino appearing back in his life, nearly five years after he'd been released from prison.

It wasn't Parrino who approached him, of course. One of his goons - not one that Daniel recognized, it had been years after all - came up to him on a Saturday evening as he left the local bar, telling Daniel to come with him. It brought on a familiar wave of dread and excitement, the one he'd always felt whenever he'd meet with Parrino or one of his men, when he'd get his tasks or his payoffs.

Parrino was now the boss of the entire family. He'd grown grayer and fatter than the last time that Daniel had seen him, but he was still as sharp as ever.

Daniel hadn't implicated the Giordanos or Parrino in anything during his trial, even though he probably would have been able to turn on them and get a reduced sentence. It just wasn't worth the risk that the Giordanos might seek retribution on him or his family. Because of this, Parrino still seemed trust him.

It didn't even take much persuasion on Parrino's part. He still knew all the right things to say, pointing out that Daniel probably could use a supplement to his rather sad income. Daniel had tried to turn him down - he was through with all that, he'd said. Parrino responded with a few things that somehow managed to make Daniel feel like he was being threatened without ever actually threatening him. Pretty soon he found himself working small jobs here and there for the Giordanos, eventually getting a group of thugs of his very own. He wasn't a boss of course, not even close, more like a manager, focused on running drugs and cash around the city. He was back on the wrong side of the law, but he was getting paid good money, and he figured keeping Parrino happy would keep himself healthy.

Then, about three weeks ago, he was summoned to Parrino.

"Danny," Parrino said when he entered his office. "You have a problem."

"I do?" Daniel asked, trying ignore the sudden sick feeling in his stomach as he racked his brain for what that problem could be.

"The books are off, Danny," Parrino said, lighting a cigar and taking a puff. "You're skimming."

"What?" Daniel said, that sick feeling intensifying. If Parrino thought he was stealing from him… he'd used the first time as an advantage to get a cop on his payroll, this time though, Daniel didn't have that leverage. "Nino, there's no way – you know I wouldn't do that."

"I'm missing five hundred grand," Parrino said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Do you have an explanation for why?"

"It wasn't me, Nino," Daniel said. "It must have been one of the guys—"

"One of your guys," Parrino interrupted. "They work for you, Danny, they're your responsibility." He nodded at one of his goons who'd been standing near the door. He took a step toward Daniel, who started to panic. They were going to kill him.

"You're right," Daniel said. "They're my responsibility. I'll find your money, Nino. I'll get you the five hundred."

Parrino held up his hand and the goon stopped advancing. "I like you, Danny," Parrino said. "I always have. I believe you didn't take it, but you should be paying more attention. I'll be generous here. You've got a month to find my money."

Daniel spent almost two weeks trying to figure out who'd taken the money, but he wasn't the type to use the same kind of methods as Parrino, and without the threat of broken legs or missing fingers, no one was talking. He wasn't able to trace back where discrepancies were coming from. He had no clues whatsoever.

He was going to need to come up with the money some other way.

Neal's expression remained blank and unreadable throughout his father's entire story. When he finished, Neal didn't say anything for a while. He'd been right from the start. Peter had been right. This had never been about a father wanting to get to know his son. Stupid.

Mozzie was looking between the two Caffreys, clearly barely managing to contain whatever it was that he wanted to say. The three men were sitting on Neal's veranda. Neal had little reason to hide his father anymore, so he'd invited him over after getting his phone call.

"I don't have that kind of money lying around, dad," Neal finally said. If he fenced the Raphael he would, but the painting was too hot. Too many people suspected he had it at the moment and with his commutation hearing slowly approaching, he wasn't about to make a move that dumb. He had other items he'd hung onto for a rainy day, but they weren't in New York. By the time someone was able to retrieve them it would be too late anyway.

"No," Daniel said. "Of course you don't." His father took a shaky sip of the coffee Neal had poured him. A silence descended. After a moment, Daniel looked up from his coffee cup and said, "Do you know any way to get it?"

Neal and Mozzie exchanged a glance. "Are you asking if your son is willing to pull a job to get you half a million dollars?" Mozzie asked. Neal glanced at his friend, surprised to see that he looked disgusted.

"Look, I know I'm not exactly a shoo-in for 'Father of the Year' here," Daniel said. "But if I don't come up with that money quick I'm dead, and any chance to make up for lost time is gone."

"Do you have any idea of the intricacies involved in planning a job like that?" Mozzie asked.

" I'm willing to help," Daniel said. "I just can't pull this off on my own. I'm just an ex-cop who got caught up with the mob, I'm not exactly a criminal mastermind."

Neal guessed that in his father's eyes that's exactly what he was. He was barely paying attention to the conversation, staring at the skyline, thinking.

"That much is obvious," Mozzie said. "A job like this takes a mark – which we don't have, followed by planning – which we have no time for, upfront cash – which is obviously something you're lacking, more planning. Oh did I mention all the planni—"

"I've got an idea," Neal interrupted, lips tilting into the start of a grin when Daniel and Mozzie both looked at him.

"For the record? This is a terrible plan," Mozzie said, watching as Neal straightened his tie.

"It'll be fine, Moz," Neal said, shrugging on his suit jacket. "Dad takes me to meet them, introduces me, I explain how I can get them a whole lot more than five hundred grand and I'm in."

"Your friend is right, Neal," Daniel said, shaking his head and looking pale. "I don't like this – you shouldn't be getting involved with these people, you have no idea what they're capable of."

"Trust me," Neal said, looking at his father. "I know what I'm doing."

"And he's got backup," Peter added from his spot by the door of the FBI conference room. He tossed Neal the watch that was actually a bug and GPS locator all in one.

Neal caught it with all his usual casual confidence, securing it on his wrist. "Exactly. The FBI'll rush in and save the day if anything sounds off."

It was weird, Peter thought, to hear Neal placating someone else. Then again, the last several days had been a strange shift in their dynamic. It was one of the few times they appeared to be in agreement on how to handle something.

Peter was sure his surprise had shown on his face when Neal showed up at his door the evening after they'd had their argument. If it wasn't, however, it quickly became obvious when Neal said, "Guess you were right, Peter."

He said it with all of his usual charm, his mask of cheerfulness, as if it was a statement about nice weather, but Peter could tell - his gut was positive - that Neal was feeling things that Peter himself had felt only yesterday. Disappointed. Let down.

Whatever Neal had learned about his father, Peter was almost certain it had not been expected. Which made him feel a little guilty, because that probably meant Elizabeth had been right, and Neal hadn't been doing anything wrong except using the FBI database to try to get information on the father who'd been absent for almost his entire life. In fact, Peter felt a certain sense of pride in his CI when it occurred to him that Neal might have had his own suspicions of Daniel Caffrey's intentions.

"What happened?" Peter asked, letting him in.

Neal sat at the kitchen table and told him the whole story over a slice of cake that Elizabeth practically forced on him.

Peter didn't relish this victory. Being right about Neal's dad still having involvement with the mob was a hollow win when it proved that the man had come to see his son for no other reason than a desperation to save his own skin.

What he did relish was the fact that Neal was sitting there in front of him, actually telling him what was going on, instead of running off and getting involved in some scheme to make a quick five hundred grand. Not only telling him but -

"Peter," he'd said. "I need your help."

They'd had to get Organized Crime involved, from the St. Louis office no-less, which of course had turned the whole thing into a bit of a pissing contest, but in the end it was Peter who won, pointing out that this in was only an option because of his CI, and if they wanted to use him then Peter would be calling the shots on how things went down.

When Neal had first told him his idea, Peter's immediate response was a firm, resounding, "No."

Like Daniel Caffrey, Peter knew that the Giordanos were dangerous people to mess with, and even though Neal had been in dangerous positions before, this was a whole new level of ball. It wasn't that he didn't have faith in Neal to pull it off, but if it didn't work, or it was discovered that he had double crossed them, Neal was going to be walking around with a huge target on his back probably for the rest of his life. Peter didn't want to risk it.

But Neal had been adamant, slowly convincing him of the merits of the idea. So he had run it by his wife who pointed out that if Peter didn't help Neal, he was probably going to do something equally as dangerous, without the benefit of Peter waiting to back him up. Knowing this was most likely true, he then brought the idea to Hughes, who said that it was the kind of opportunity that didn't fall in your lap every day, and they should really take advantage of it.

So, reluctantly, Peter green lit the plan to send his friend into the clutches of the mafia.

Getting his father to agree to go to the FBI had taken all of Neal's considerable persuasion skills. He'd had to point out that this would be the best thing for him, he could get out of the mob, start fresh, get a new life, get -

"Stuck in witness protection," his father had muttered. "Or back in jail."

"You won't go back to jail," Neal said. "Peter will cut you a deal. They'll want Parrino."

"And if they don't get him I'm as good as dead anyway," Daniel said.

"They'll protect you."

"They'll try."

Daniel hadn't seemed too pleased to learn about his Neal's ties with the FBI. Clearly he thought he was coming to a seasoned criminal who would help him come up with some cash, and he would head back to St. Louis to continue his life with the Giordanos - with the added bonus of a possible new bond with his son that had been forged through theft or something similar.

Neal had considered it. He had. For a brief moment his mind had been doing a rundown on possible things they could get their hands on that would be worth that kind of money, and rated them in order of difficulty to steal. Then he realized what he was doing. Exactly what Peter had accused him of. Planning something illegal.

And in the process he was playing with both his life and his dad's. Because if it didn't work, or if they were caught, it would mean the end for both of them, likely in jail or dead.

Right then he thought to himself, what would Peter do? He'd use the FBI. He'd go about thing the legal way. He'd have backup. He'd not only solve this immediate problem, he'd make it so future problems never had to happen.

He'd catch the sons of bitches.

Once Neal had finally managed to convince his father that the FBI was the best answer, he'd gone to Peter and asked for his help, explaining that his dad was willing to testify if he could cut him a deal. And Peter had come through, just like Neal had known he would.

So all that was left was to take down Parrino.

And hope it worked.