It was the next week that Paul Smecker noticed something going on with his daughter. She refused to leave the house, she didn't talk to him much anymore, and Conner and Murphy had said that she didn't even look at them anymore. Something was up, and he was intent on finding out what it was. Smecker was worried about Emanuelle. It started when Paul told them about Romeo. Was that what was troubling her? Was she upset about what the brothers used to do?

She was a tough girl, he raised her that way. She wouldn't even take shit from Greenly, which was a hardship from him being such a pervert. He was proud of her for making it this far without seeing her friends. She didn't even get to say goodbye to anyone she knew back at home. This new life was rough on her. She was a socialite, making friends everywhere she went. Paul remembered that he had taken her to the park once, and she came home with a best friend, who she still associates with to this day. She was such a polite, nice, and beautiful woman with the personality that matched an eagle. Graceful, yet mighty. She had those times that when she got irritated, and those were the times you should fear her most. She had her mother's looks and her father's temper.

The boys were downstairs, Murphy sleeping on the couch and Conner watching television. Paul decided this would be the best time to say something to her, when everyone else was distracted. He quietly snuck upstairs and knocked on her door. "Manny?" When she didn't answer, a devious thought crossed him. Was she pregnant? Paul shook his head at the thought, hoping and praying that that definitely wasn't the problem. "Emanuelle?" He tried opening the door, but it was locked. "Manny, open the door. I want to talk to you." He jiggled the doorknob again. Still no answer. He did the only thing that he could think of, and kicked the door in. The splintering crash broke through the silence, and revealed Emanuelle's room to be empty. "Manny?" Paul asked. "Look, I'm sorry that I kicked-" he stopped when he noticed that the window was open and there was a bloody handprint on the frame. More blood was in droplets, and a smear on her bed sheet. There was a small white piece of paper next to the smear. Anger boiled inside him as he read the cluster of words.

Go back to where it all started, boys. Where the crosses hung, the glass was shattered and the water was never hot. Come and get her.

His hands were shaking, his blood was boiling. Paul Smecker had had enough. First, someone shot his colleague, now someone had kidnapped his daughter. Paul reached under Emanuelle's bed and pulled out the box that he'd given her with the brother's belongings. The Saints were back in business.

Murphy was dreaming about her again, something that he'd grown accustomed to these days. It was the same dream he'd been having for a week and a half. He and Emanuelle were laying in the grass, soaking up the afternoon sun, smoking cigarettes and laughing at anything that seemed funny. Her laugh seemed to calm his nerves by a thousand, and calm was something that he never was anymore. A gentle breeze was flowing her scent into his nostrils as they lay with her back against his chest. Her head was turned towards him so he could look into the eyes that drove him wild. He wished that instead of how they had done what they did, that he had made love to her the right way. He didn't regret the kitchen sex at all, it was just that he wanted to tell her that he'd fallen in love with her without saying any words, and just staring into those lust filled eyes as he kissed, licked and nipped every part of her gorgeous body. He wanted her to moan his name with lust, love and pleasure, telling him that she loved him back. He wanted to be there when she needed him most. Whenever Emanuelle needed something, he wouldn't hesitate to jump at her command.

Emanuelle had been acting strangely for the past couple of days, and it worried him and Conner, both. She used to be so bubbly, so happy about every little thing. Now, she sat in her room, listening to her music and ignoring reality. He just wanted to hold her, tell her that everything was alright and that he was here for her. Conner, too. The two brothers had had that specific conversation many times. They had both fallen for her, but was it possible that she could love them both back? It wasn't everyday that a young woman fell in love with two twin brothers, and it definitely wasn't an everyday thing for the brothers to fall in love at all. This whole thing was new to them both, and they didn't know how to react to the feelings that Emanuelle had made them feel.

As his dream wore on, Murphy had found himself on top of Emaneulle, whispering dirty, yet loving things in her ear, listening to that giggle that he loved so much. Her hands were playing with his shirt, slightly tickling the skin under it. Everything felt so real, so right. He leaned in to kiss her luscious lips. Before their lips could touch, Murphy was jolted awake by Smecker's voice.

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Wha's yer fuckin' problem?" Conner asked.

"My problem? She's gone! Emanuelle's gone!"

Murphy rubbed his eyes. "Wha' do ye mean, gone?"

"I mean someone came in and took my daughter!" He threw a crumpled up piece of paper at Conner, who unfolded it and read it with wide eyes. Conner then handed it to Murphy.

"Wha' do we do?" Conner questioned, his eyes silently pleading Smecker for a solution.

Paul set the box on the floor. "We go get her."

"Where?" Murphy asked. He was thinking so hard about the clues that were in the note that his head was starting to pound. Someone had taken Emanuelle. What balls this person had! How dare they? Shattered glass. After everything that Emanuelle had went through to get them out, they had to go back out into public, risking their freedom. Where the crosses hung. It would be worth it, though. Knowing that Emanuelle was safe was worth any freedom that even God could give them. The water was never hot. Murphy's mind raced. Was she okay? Was she tied up, duct taped mouth and unconscious? He didn't even want to think about it. He looked at Conner as a memory flashed in his head. The rosaries hung on the wall, still slightly swinging from when they had hung them there. Conner was sitting on their makeshift couch, holding an icepack to his crotch when the phone rang. Murphy let him answer it as he walked past the shattered mirror, the glass all in the dirty sink. He turned the shower knob, waiting for hot water that would never come. Conner was yelling at Ma, who was on the other end of the phone, telling her not to do something. "There's no fuckin' hot water." Murphy said grimly.

Conner and Murphy gasped and said in unision. "Boston."