It goes back further than me, and my father, and his father before him. It is a long line of blood, you see, tracing back to the beginning. There has always been a leader, a chieftain, one who was in charge of his warriors, the one that had the final say of the way things were in that world. Time changed. So did man. When the Irish first settled in America, the old ways were lost. There were no bear warriors, or hawk-eyes, or wolves. Just men who needed a fresh start. When our country was divided, Catholic and Protestant, that was when the ancestors of those warriors were needed once more. We organized. Became aware of the direction and demise of our future if something wasn't done to protect the Irish blood. It started in Dublin, with either a Leary or a McGee – always a Leary or a McGee – and a MacManus at the right hand, protecting their leader, their land, and their blood, fiercely.

There were so many Irish immigrants in America, and no way to keep track of them. So, Finlay Leary put in place these choirs in the major centers of the country. He branched out, choosing men from worthy families, and from there, the thrones were passed down through blood first, and if that wasn't possible, then to one who was like blood, one who was like a son. But corruption comes with power, and blood gets muddied along the way. It didn't matter how in control things were here in Ireland: in America, money ruled above all else, and slowly, the concern for blood and family and history became lost. Sons culled fathers, brothers murdered brothers. Corruption spreads like a disease, and it found its way across the ocean.

With the promise of wealth in America, those in line for the Dublin throne got greedy. Danny Leary was aware of this the day his daughter was born, and his counterpart, Angus McGee had seen it burnin' in the eyes of Frankie, his first born. Marcus will never get the throne: he's too simple. But Frankie is cunning, and Kevin is his muscle. A MacManus was always one for the job – it was no coincidence that Colm Gareghty sought you an' yer brother out. An', it's no coincidence that Frankie is hell-bent on beating down the two of ya. Your allegiance has already been decided. The day ya met Pam wasn't fate, an' neither is the Lord's work. You'll see the throne into the right house, boys, an' the world will be better for it.

Suki Leary stormed about the bedroom she shared with Jimmy at the Leary Ranch, flinging her belongings into her suitcase. Despite her anger at the decision, she knew that her going back to the States with Wyatt and Teague was the best course of action. It didn't sting any less, especially when Jimmy had announced he was staying behind to, as Noah MacManus had put it, 'strengthen the Leary claim to the Throne.' Suki felt like she was in a bad HBO series, really: before the prior evening, she hadn't even known the Irish Mafia was an actual entity, and she guessed that the Italian and Russian contingencies weren't as flashy as they had been portrayed in movies and television. The conviction in Jimmy's voice, however, had solidified it. She knew Jimmy was insanely proud of his Irish heritage, and now that his family was threatened, a side of her husband was emerging that she'd never seen before. Jimmy had always been rational and calm, but as Noah MacManus and Seamus had woven a tale of deceit and murder borne decades earlier, Suki had seen her husband's well buried temper begin to bubble to the surface.

Jimmy's face was grim as his wife and sons gathered in the foyer an hour after breakfast, their bags packed. The boys were still unsure as to why there were being herded back before their grandfather's funeral, and Suki and Jimmy both supplied them with half answers that they would no doubt have to fully explain one day. The last thing Jimmy wanted to do was send his family away; they weren't in direct danger. Noah MacManus had explained in his most diplomatic way that Wyatt and Teague weren't a threat, as they were only half Irish. Still, Suki and the boys could be used as leverage, and so it was decided that they would go back stateside.

It was Shayne that the McGee boys would seek, if they managed to put down the Leary Siblings, as she was full-blooded Irish, and the only successor to the Dublin Choir. The girl couldn't stay in Ireland, but both Jack and Jimmy refused to make the call on the girl's wellbeing. Besides, if she was sent back with Suki and the boys, Jimmy figured, that could be a potential threat on his family. He hoped that Pam had someone in Boston she trusted; someone that wasn't a Leary or a Burke or associated with the Irish in any way, someone that could take the girl in while they remained in Ireland and dealt with the McGees.

There was no time for tears; a cabbie had been called and its arrival hailed by Murphy where he sat close to the front window, just in the shadows, his keen eyes watching for anything coming over the rise in the direction of town. Noah was staked out at the back windows, keeping an eye on the moors, and for his other son to come home on horseback, Pam along with him. Seamus and Maggie said their goodbyes, along with Jack, and then left so that Jimmy might walk them to the car. Murphy watched their succinct goodbye, but from what little he'd determined of the diminutive Japanese woman, that was par for course in their relationship. Still, Jimmy stood and watched until the cabbie's brake lights were no longer visible on the highway that would lead into Dublin.

"Are you married?"

Murphy was started from his thoughts by Shayne's question, and he cocked an eyebrow at her with a confused frown.

"I think not, girl," he muttered, glancing back to the front window.

"Is Connor married?"

"No, Connor's not married, either," he sighed, letting go of the curtain he'd held aside.

"Neither is Ma. Not anymore. She's windowed."

"Widowed," Murphy corrected, cocking his head at the girl. "How did yer da die?"

Shayne stared back at him for a moment, and Murphy wondered if maybe he'd been to hasty with his question. He hoped she wouldn't start crying – he didn't know how to handle children, and he certainly didn't know how to handle them when they cried, so he braced himself for her reply.

"He died in fire," Shayne replied placidly. "He was a firefighter."

Murphy watched for any signs of Shayne's good mood dissolving. "How old were ya?"

Shayne thought for a moment. "Two." She gave a little shrug. "I don't really remember him, but Ma's got a whole book with pictures of him and me when I was a baby. Do you have pictures of you and Uncle Noah from when you were a baby?"

Uncle Noah? Murphy paused at the term and narrowed his eyes at the by her candidness, Murphy huffed and stood from the couch, moving to the sideboard where Seamus kept whiskey. "Nah," he shot back over his shoulder.

"What about Connor? Are there pictures of Connor?"

The dark MacManus brother shook his head. "No pictures of Connor, either." He paused and watched the whiskey fill the glass. "We were two when he left."

"Why did he leave?

"He had his reasons," Murphy replied, more to himself.

"You and Connor were both two? How does that work? It takes nine months to make a baby, you know."

He chuckled at her rationale and turned back to where she was still perched on the couch. "Aye, that it does." He braved a step forward, and then another one, and cautiously sat on the opposite end of the couch. He didn't make another move, but it didn't dissuade Shayne. She clambered up onto the cushions and made her way to his side, plunking right down against him and burrowing into his side, arranging his arm along the back of the couch so that she could get as close as possible. Murphy fought the urge to roll his eyes at the girl's affection, but he couldn't deny she was growing on him. "You comfortable yet?" he groused playfully as she continued to wiggle.

"Aye," she drawled, her eyes wide and solemn as she looked up at him.

"Right. Connor an' I are twins – ya know what that is?"

Shayne heaved an exasperated sigh and nodded. "Yes," she droned. "Who's older?"

Murphy choked on the sip of whiskey he'd taken and coughed, leaning forward. "Ah..." he shook his head and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Why don't ya ask Connor when ya meet him?"

"You don't know?"

Murphy grinned. Of course he knew, he'd always known that Connor was older, despite the fact that their Ma had never come out and said it, instead relying on her sick humor for an answer. He shrugged in reply to Shayne's question and turned the interrogation back on her. "Ya go ta school?"

When she nodded, Murphy continued.

"What grade are ya in?"

"Two!" She announced proudly. "I skipped kindergarten."

Murphy did his duty and looked impressed. "That right? Well, ya must be a smart girl, then, aye?"

Shayne giggled and nodded, her eyes wide as she stared up at Murphy.

"Eh…" he trailed off, shifting under her intense gaze. "Ya like horses?"

Again, Shayne nodded enthusiastically, and then she proceeded to go into a very detailed account of Seamus' horses, their names, heights, colors, and Murphy listened attentively, somewhat relieved that his brother wasn't here to see him cowed and cornered by a five year old girl.

Shayne was in the middle of talking about Seamus' barn when voices erupted in the kitchen. Footsteps pounded on the slate floor, and Murphy was already rising from the couch when Noah stepped into the front room.

"They're back," was all the old man said.

Murphy nodded and without a second thought, reached for Shayne's hand. Her fingers curled about his as he led her to the kitchen and out to the back porch, the pair of them beaming as Connor and Pam rode into the south paddock.

"She seems rather taken wit' me brudder," Connor grumbled as he watched Shayne play shadow to Murphy, lurking at his elbow as he dug into the bowl Maggie had set before him.

Pam tilted her head and smiled. "She just doesn't know you yet, Connor."

Connor nodded and shovelled a few mouthfuls of left over roast beef into his mouth. When he'd swallowed, he lowered his voice even more. "Don't think Jack there is too happy with her attachment," he continued. He nodded faintly to where Pam's younger brother narrowed his eyes, watching his niece chatter incessantly while Murphy sighed good-naturedly and indulged her. When Connor looked back to Pam, however, she only had eyes for her daughter, and Connor swallowed thickly before he breathed, "She can't stay here."

With a faint nod, Pam wiped her mouth on a napkin. "I'd rather wait until after Da's wake," she pointed out. "It's tomorrow night."

"Do you really think it's a wise plan ta have that wake?" Connor wondered out loud.

There was a hollow thunk from the head of the table, and all heads collected there – Jack, Jimmy, Pam, Connor, Murphy, Shayne, and Noah – all turned to where Seamus looked on with narrowed eyes. "I'll not have the McGees upsettin' me brother's wake, Connor." He shot a meaningful look across the table to Noah, and then picked up the glass of ale he'd plunked down before speaking.

Maggie dove in with another loaf of sourdough bread. "Let's eat first, aye? We can figure out what we'll do after. The problem ain't goin' away between now an' when the dishes are done."

There were nods and murmurs of 'Sorry, Maggie', and 'you're right', and the sounds of eating, of knives scraping plates, resumed at the table. An undercurrent of tension remained, however, in the looks passed between Pam's brothers and the MacManus twins.

Pam followed Shayne upstairs to the guest bedroom on the second floor, her heart heavy with what she had to do. As Jimmy had sent Suki and his boys stateside, Pam knew she had to do the same.

"Can I stay with Sloane?"

Pam froze in the doorway, watching as her daughter moved to the dresser and began pulling her clothing out. "What?"

Shayne shrugged. "Uncle Jimmy sent Wyatt and Teague home. Does that mean I'm going home?" She paused and looked down at the pile of sweaters in her arms. "I don't want to go."

Pam worried her lip, unsure of how to proceed. She didn't want to scare Shayne and tell her it wasn't safe here; she knew her daughter would argue why it wasn't safe for her, but safe for her mom. Pam sighed. "I don't want you to go, either."

Shayne looked up. "Murphy and Connor will keep you safe," she concluded with a resolved nod. "And Sloane can keep me safe at home. Are those bad man coming for you, Ma?"

Pam's words tightened in her throat. "I don't know, baby," she lied. "I hope not."

"Will Murphy and Connor come back to Boston? Murphy said he lived there once, a long time ago."

"Sweetheart, I don't know. I can't answer for them. I'd like to think they might, someday."

Shayne nodded and continued putting her clothes onto piles on the bed. Pam fetched the suitcase from the closet and set it on the bed. Together, they packed it. A comfortable silence grew. As Shayne leaned forward across the bed, the pendant she wore slipped out of her shirt collar and dangled, catching the light. Pam paused, staring at it, and she reached out and held onto Shayne's shoulder. "Baby, where did you get that?"

Shayne glanced up, wide-eyed, her cheeks flushed. "It was in your things," she mumbled, ducking her head. She knew better than to snoop, and now she had been caught. "M'sorry. It's just that…it's so pretty, Ma. Is it Murphy's? He looked at it funny when he saw it."

"Murphy saw it?"

"Uh huh," Shayne nodded. "Is he mad that I have it? He said he wasn't, but he scowled a lot."

Pam chuckled at that. "Murphy scowls a lot, sweetheart. It doesn't mean anything." She sat on the edge of the bed and gathered Shayne into her lap. Then, she picked up the pendant and turned it over in her fingers. "Murphy gave this to a girl, a very long time ago."

"Murphy said he wasn't married," Shayne interrupted.

"He's not," Pam nodded.

"What happened to her? The girl he gave this to?"

Pam wound her arms tightly around her daughter and buried her nose in the dark, sweet smelling waves. "She died," Pam admitted softly.

"Oh," Shayne said quietly. "Why do you have it?"

"Because Murphy asked me to hang onto it for him."

"Oh."

Pam nodded wordlessly, but her tears came easily enough, dropping onto Shayne's head.

"Ma?" Shayne gently ventured. "Are you goin' ta marry Connor?"

"What?" Pam half-laughed. She wiped her tears and held Shayne out at arm's length. "No, baby, I'm not marrying anyone any time soon."

Shayne looked down at the pendant at the end of the silver chain. "I'm going to marry Murphy."

"Don't you think he's a little old for you?" Pam smiled at the simplicity of youth, but her heart broke a little for her daughter. Murphy wasn't an easy man to love. But then again, neither was Connor.

"Maybe," Shayne sighed. "Maybe he can marry Sloane?"

Pam burst out laughing at this. "Oh, Shayne, I love you."

Shayne wrinkled her nose, but accepted her mother's hug readily. "You're weird, Ma."

"You really want to stay with Sloane? You don't want to stay with Aunty Mel?" Pam deftly slid the conversation to other things, leaving off the topic of Murphy and his troubled love life.

Shayne shook her head vigorously. "No, Ma, please, please, please can I stay with Sloane? She makes the best s'mores."

"Is that what she feeds you when I'm not around?"

Shayne giggled. "Not only," she explained. "She's really good at macaroni and cheese, too."

"I think I'm going to send her a pamphlet on the food pyramid," Pam replied dryly. "Let's phone Sloane, okay? Just to make sure she's not busy. But I'm sure she'd love to have you."