The Karasu was a big bar, bigger than he'd expected. During the day, it looked rather plain, but there was promise there, underneath that crenelated roof and those dark, dingy windows. Ichigo suspected they would front as a teahouse once the Prohibition hit this part of the city — and then eventually go out of business, if what he read on the news was true. Keigo and Mizuiro entered the bar, but Ichigo lingered, eyes scanning the two-storey with cursory interest.

"She got to you, huh?" he heard a familiar voice say from behind him.

Ichigo turned over his shoulder to see Tatsuki Arisawa, an old childhood friend, leaning against the wall in her trademark paperboy hat. He straightened, unsure of what she was doing here. The last he saw her, she'd made it expressly clear how much she disliked the ways he spent his time and earned his money. "Tatsuki."

"Orihime, I mean," Tatsuki continued, walking towards him as if he hadn't just greeted her. "I heard she visited your, well—" she grimaced "—office."

"You know Miss Inoue?" Ichigo asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"We're in the same group," Tatsuki explained. "Women's Resistance, New York."

"I see," Ichigo remarked. "I figured she was one of those types."

"What type?"

"A suffragette."

Tatsuki laughed, making his ears turn red. "Oh, in some ways you truly never change."

Ichigo cleared his throat. "What are you doing here, Tatsuki?"

She jiggled a bunch of keys in his face. "Picking up my house keys from Orihime." He watched her throat tighten in a nervous gesture. "You know she couldn't stop talking about you, after your meeting. She's been trying to stand up to that bastard for months. I told her to quit, but she…she's not very well-off."

Ichigo knew. He'd had Mizuiro look into her background, Iwao's background, the history of the bar and a list of every single employee who worked there. Orihime Inoue was clean, and also terribly broke, but she was a respectable New York citizen who earned nothing but admiration from her neighbors.

Tatsuki continued, "I told her not to come to you, but she'd gotten it in her head that she and the other girls needed…I don't know. Justice? Is that what you promise to deliver?" She glanced behind him and towards the bar, where Keigo and Mizuiro were no doubt breathing down Iwao's neck by now.

"I don't promise anything," Ichigo replied, a touch defensive. When her gaze returned to him, he felt uncomfortable, exposed. "This is just business."

"Wow." Her eyes were sad and full of disbelief. "And what's the favor?"

Even in the searing daylight, Ichigo felt very cold. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on." She laughed mirthlessly. "Everyone knows how these things go. They come to you with their money problems, their woes with friends who double-crossed them…and you–you get rid of their problems, just like that!" She snapped her fingers. "Except months later, they're eating dinner and they get a call on their telephone. It's Don Kurosaki. He knows how much you owe him, and he's come to collect. He needs you out there to do god-knows-what, and you'll do it because that's how this works, isn't it? You're a glorified loan shark."

Out of the corner of Ichigo's eye, he spotted a petulant Iwao walking out with his things in a box. Keigo was grinning. Mizuiro caught Ichigo's gaze and jerked his head towards the bar.

"I have nothing to say to you." Ichigo walked past her and up the landing leading to the bar.

"It'll all catch up to you one day, you know!" she shrieked, her voice already distant to him. "It'll all be downhill from here!"

Ichigo ignored her and swung open the door.

..

..

It wasn't like Tatsuki said. He didn't call in favors, and he certainly didn't want blood on anyone's hands other than his own. They came to him, begged and pleaded for him to do something against their cheating business partners, their abusive husbands, their shitty landlords. The truth is, people came to him when they were desperate, and out of desperation was born fealty. He wasn't their hero or their god, but he might as well have been because he looked out for them when no one else did. Not their elected representatives, not their cops, and certainly not their gods.

If they wanted to bury the bodies, he couldn't stop them. He was their godfather, not their priest.

Inside the bar, there was a giddy hush that spread throughout the room. The girls seemed relieved, excited and curious as Ichigo came up to Keigo and Mizuiro.

"Stuck a knife to his throat," Mizuiro muttered under his breath. "Barely even jostled him before he started squealing like a pig."

Ichigo frowned. "I hope you didn't do it in front of the girls."

"Of course not!" Keigo exclaimed indignantly. "Besides, they would have totally cheered us on if we did. Guy was a real piece of work."

Ichigo was hardly listening. Instead, his eyes had landed on Orihime, who was smiling at him, clearly waiting for him to finish his conversation. Ichigo nodded at her, then motioned for Keigo and Mizuiro to get going towards the bar. They were doing a poor job of concealing their desire to socialize, and he had important things to discuss, anyway.

"Behave," he called after them, and they waved back dismissively, already making a beeline for the girls. Ichigo shook his head and walked up to Orihime.

"Your friends told us Mr Iwao won't be coming back," she said, her eyes searching his as she smiled slightly. "Is that true?"

Ichigo nodded. "We're buying the place from him."

Orihime looked surprised. "I can't thank you enough," she confessed as she humbly bowed her head. "I don't think I can ever repay you for your kindness."

He remembered Tatsuki's words, cold and cutting, and he swallowed. "There's no need for that."

She looked pleased. She had a pretty smile that dimpled her cheeks and spoke of a gentle temperament. Under the glow of the bar lights, her eyes were bright, expectant. "What's going to happen to this place now? I mean…with our manager gone, and the new laws…"

"I have good product coming in from our factory. I'd need a place to store it, sell it," Ichigo explained, then glanced around at the musty interiors with a wince. "Though I'm not sure how well it'd sell in this dump."

Orihime giggled. "It's certainly due for a facelift, but I think it has promise."

Ichigo neglected to tell her he'd thought the same thing when he walked in. "And how would you facelift this?" He gestured out to their surroundings.

To his surprise, Orihime's face lit up. "Oh, I think I would love for there to be some music here. And dancing! We'd open up those balconies up there—" She pointed up high to a bunch of plain, under-utilized balconies, "— get some cozy lights on, get a live band. A complete and total makeover. Exclusive, but respectable. A place for gentlemen and ladies to bring their friends, fall in love, spend their time…"

"And their money, I hope," Ichigo remarked, but secretly he was impressed. "Your vision—it sounds like you've been thinking about it for a while."

Orihime gave him a sheepish grin. "I've always wanted to run a business."

"It's yours," Ichigo said simply.

Orihime gaped, whirling around on her heel to stare at him. "I'm not sure…what you mean…?" Her voice sounded faint with disbelief.

"Well, it'll be ours on paper, but you'll be running the day-to-day, overseeing business, making sure we turn a profit." He watched her face grow wondrous with amazement—beautiful, and unspeakably genuine. There seemed to be, Ichigo was learning, not a single insincere thing about Orihime Inoue. He averted his gaze. "I'll have protection placed to ensure there won't be trouble with the police—a bouncer at the door, or something. Alcohol is in high demand right now, but it's a dangerous business, Miss Inoue."

"I don't know what to say," she breathed.

Ichigo held her gaze. "It's yours, if you want it. If not, I'll find someone else—someone who will give you and your girls your wages on time and respect you. I promise."

You won't owe me, Ichigo thought. You won't have to.

"I'd be honored, Mr Kurosaki," she said softly, her eyes full of hope. "I won't let you down."

Ichigo gave her a small smile. "Good. My accountant will be in touch."

Orihime nodded. Then, "Do I kiss your ring now?"

Ichigo unconsciously curled his hand, stunned. "That—that won't be necessary," he cleared his throat, trying not to sound strangled.

"I know." Orihime laughed, a little guilty, a little pleased. "I was joking."

Ichigo shook his head and turned on his heel to leave, taken aback by the natural charm of her humor, her total lack of fear or modesty. With his back to her, he said, "Congratulations on the promotion, Miss Inoue."

She cheered something back, but Ichigo was long gone, eager to hide his warm cheeks.

The audacity of that girl.

..

..

By midday, Ichigo had wrapped up business in time to go home for lunch. When he entered the foyer, there was, as usual, noise, warmth, the heavenly smell of lunch and sounds of casual conversation.

Yuichi, who was playing with his toy car, briefly looked up at him and gave him a toothy grin and a thumbs up, quite reminiscent of his adopted father. Ichigo chuckled and patted the boy's head before shrugging his coat off. He headed into the kitchen, where he saw his sisters, Chad and Uryu sitting around the table and listening to the radio.

"I'm home," Ichigo announced, holding one arm open for Yuzu, who got up to greet him with a brief hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Wash up, it's almost time for lunch," Yuzu instructed, hip-checking him out of the way once their pleasantries were done. Ichigo approached the sink and gave himself a brief once-over in the mirror. He cupped some water on his face, then washed his hands, catching tidbits of the radio over the running tap.

"...new police commissioner, who promised the city of New York that she would, quote-unquote, 'eradicate the mafia problem' once she took office."

"Oh, turn that off." Karin made a disgusted face, crossing her arms. Ichigo raised a brow in her direction, while Uryu leaned over to switch the radio off. "All this talk about the new police commissioner gives me the heebie-jeebies." She got up to help Yuzu set the table, and Ichigo followed her, curious.

"New police commissioner?"

"Yeah." Karin reached out into the fruit basket and tossed a newspaper at him. "Rukia Kuchiki. First female police commissioner in New York. Yay, her."

Well. Karin had never been subtle in her sarcasm.

However, underlying her blasé tone was an apprehension that Ichigo could easily sense. He set the paper aside and nudged her once, sidestepping around her to reach for the casserole. "So what? Times are changing."

"Brother, don't joke," Yuzu chastised, as if he'd said something blasphemous. "You know that's not what Karin is worried about."

"What are you worried about?" Ichigo asked, even though he knew the answer. Yuzu and Karin both shot him a look of disbelief. Even Uryu and Chad were looking at him apprehensively.

"I don't know if you heard, but the new police commissioner's manifesto specifically points out that she wants to eradicate the 'mafia problem'!" Karin spat out, exasperated. "Ring any bells?"

"No," Ichigo said shortly, setting down the casserole with more force than necessary. "I'm a used car salesman. What would I know about organized crime?"

Yuzu shook her head and stormed away to the kitchen, clearly too upset to continue the conversation. Karin groaned.

"Brother, that might work on the kids or the police, but it won't work on us."

Ichigo frowned. "It's not a lie. I do run a sales service and we have a very consistent business."

"Where did you get the cars from?" Karin demanded, her arms crossed.

Ichigo sighed. Though he loved his sister dearly, he felt irritated by her line of questioning. He was further irritated by Chad and Uryu. He knew they were silent out of respect for his private matters, but they were in this line of work, too. A little support would have helped, though he didn't dare ask for it in front of his sisters.

"We don't care about that," Yuzu said, returning to the table now that she'd cooled off. "But Rukia Kuchiki might. I mean, don't you think this is all connected? First the temperance law, and now this — a new police commissioner?"

"Yuzu, there are always going to be new police commissioners," Ichigo explained gently, "and we'll do what we always do. We'll deal with them. You have nothing to be afraid of, I promise." He put every ounce of confidence into his smile. "I'll take care of you."

"That's not what we're worried about," Karin muttered, her eyes downcast.

Luckily, their conversation took a lighter turn when they began eating, as they were consciously aware of the child in their presence. Yuichi, only four years old, was Chad's adopted son and Ichigo's second godson. Only a year ago, he was orphaned after his mother's run-in with the Gilga mob went horribly wrong. Now, he lived with them as their own.

"What are you going to say to him when he gets older?" Ichigo asked Chad later, when they were washing the dishes together. "About all of this, I mean."

Chad shrugged. "Hopefully we'll be out by then."

Ichigo stared at Chad. It was hard to think that only two years ago, they'd been hoping the same in another country, fighting a different war.

The only similarity was that he was still afraid to lose.