There are few things Firo'd like better than a card game right now, but her remarks on his age are ringing too loudly in his ears for him to let them slide.

He frowns, leaning forward and resting one fist on the table. "Yeah, four years. And it's done just fine with me runnin' things, thanks."

What could that have been but an insult? It's true that--possible misconceptions about his age aside--he was their youngest capo ever. So normally someone with such a job at his age wouldn't happen. But Firo's not necessarily thinking of such things.