A/N: Hello! Yes, in case you were wondering, I am still alive. I've just been extremely busy and things have taken over, and well AWATS has suffered a little. So so sorry. Big thanks and hugs to dear Apollo, who deals and revamps my writing!

Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and New Year.

Enjoy!

P. x

Southampton Main Street, Southampton, New York. Mid February 1935. 3.21pm

Clara Blake was about to make a gangster cry. She just didn't know it yet.

It happened 3 days after she met her Papa formally for the first time; they met in a crowded café in the main street of Southampton with Miss Crawley acting as chaperone, seated not far from the reunion between father and daughter.

"Miss Crawley is awfully nice, Papa. She tells me stories at bedtime" Clara chirped, her long blonde curls bounced on her shoulders with excitement as she picked a biscuit off of the plate in front of her.

"Does she now? What type of stories does she tell you?" Matthew asked, his eyes never leaving his daughter's face.

"She tells me stories about Mama, about how pretty she was and how kind she was," Clara took a little nibble of her biscuit. "Did you think Mama was pretty, Papa?"

Matthew looked down at his daughter, her face so bright and hopeful. It was as if the answer that he gave to her question was more valuable to her than anything else in the world. He cleared his throat. "Yes, my little darling. I thought she was very pretty"

"You mean, you thought she was beautiful?" Clara asked innocently.

Matthew chuckled and ruffled her hair affectionately. "Yes, Clara. I thought she was beautiful. You must get it from somewhere, don't you think?"

Clara nodded and hummed happily, seemingly satisfied with her Papa's answer, kissed his cheek and carried on eating her biscuit.

Matthew smiled adoringly at her, before turning to Mary, who sat quietly in the far corner. He caught her eye and smiled, before mouthing the words 'Thank you'.

Just an hour before she made a gangster cry, Clara was out doing errands with her older brother, Raymond and Miss Crawley. They met a kind man called Henry. He said he was a Policeman, so Clara trusted him, and he said he knew her Papa, which made her trust him even more.

"Is it possible for me to take Clara on an adventure?" Clara overheard Henry asking Miss Crawley politely.

Miss Crawley sighed and thought about it for a second or two. "I suppose a little adventure wouldn't hurt, and she ought to be safe with a member of the police. But, she must be returned by 6 for dinner and a bath."

Clara looked up at Miss Crawley with a big smile. "Thank you, Miss Crawley," the little girl took Henry's outstretched hand. "I promise to be good and not talk to any strangers."

And on that agreement, they parted. Clara's little hand safely entrusted in Henry's as they approached the awaiting police car. Henry seated himself beside Clara and asked the driver to get moving.

"Where are we going, Mr Policeman?" Clara asked, fiddling with a button on her coat.

"We are going to see a friend of your Papa's," The Lieutenant noticed the little girl's eyes lighten up at the mention of her Papa.

"Is he a good friend?" Clara asked, staring Henry directly in the eyes. It startled him then how much she looked like her father, how much trust this little girl had put in him in only a few minutes of knowing him.

Finally, when he formulated an answer. Henry chuckled to himself and looked his best friend's daughter in the eyes. "I'll let you decide, Clara."

Richmond Town Hotel, Staten Island, New York. 5.10pm

"You sent Clara where?!" Matthew shouted, slamming his fist down on a nearby table, the action caused Mary to flinch.

"She's with Henry," the governess protested weakly, which made Matthew glare at her. "He's a policeman. I expected she would be safe with him."

Matthew lifted his eyes to the Heavens and let out a frustrated sigh. "Clara's my daughter, Mary. If any harm comes to her, I'll..."

"You'll what?" she frowned, her voice shaking slightly as she struggled to get a foothold in the conversation.

"I'll not be very pleased, put it that way," he said finally.

"You won't be very pleased," she repeated, narrowing her eyes. "Do you expect me to be scared?"

Now it was his turn to frown.

"I've supported you, entirely," she noted, her voice sharpening. "I didn't have to, you know. I owe you nothing. I could have easily turned Clara away from you, regardless of Madeline's wishes. I've spent more time with Clara than you have, and I dare say I know her a hell of a lot more than you do. Your name and voice may strike fear into the hearts of foolish men around here, but I couldn't care less whether you are pleased with the way I do my job or not!"

Matthew blinked in shock, staring at her as though she had two heads.

"I trust Henry," she said somewhat less angrily, trying to get them back to the way they normally were with each other. "Don't you? I thought he was your friend."

Matthew pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. "He is. I do. I just…just promise me you will call me as soon as she's home."

Mary nodded. "Of course I will. It's my job."

They reached an uneasy truce, neither one willing to admit the other was in the wrong. After several moments, the tension between them melted away as they each decided that yes, Clara was in good hands.

"How are you, Mary?" he asked, chuckling at how casual the question sounded. "I haven't been able to talk to you properly, since our meetings have been so brief."

Mary gave him a Mona Lisa smile, still wary of the quick change in his attitude. "I've been well, thank you. Focusing mostly on Master Raymond and Miss Clara; but being on my own tonight is a rarity I would like to enjoy."

The innocent comment made Matthew smirk and think of decidedly wicked ideas. "Is that why you came to see me? You're looking for some enjoyment, are you?"

Mary felt a blush rise up her neck and to her cheeks; suddenly her throat felt very dry and she felt hot and constricted by her blouse and skirt. Is he playing with me? she wondered. That wouldn't do. No man caused her to feel this way. She was the one who made men quiver, not the other way around.

"That depends on what kind of offer I receive," she managed, though her voice and eyes betrayed her. She wasn't nearly as in control as she was during their first meeting.

He took a step towards her. His mind was racing, all the reasons why he shouldn't be thinking what he was thinking, wanting what he was wanting, blaring loudly, then fading away just as quickly.

"Are you interested in what I have to offer?" he asked, his blue eyes trying to show all the confidence he didn't actually feel.

"What are you offering me, exactly?" she asked, unable to stop him from seeing her swallow in anticipation. He was so close now, within her reach.

"What is it you want?" he asked, his voice low and deep. His eyes fell to her lips and lingered there before coming back up to her eyes. He did that on purpose, she thought, and she chastised herself for doing the same thing back to him.

"You don't want to go home, otherwise you would have left by now," he said, pressing his advantage. She almost felt her knees weakening as he came even closer to her. "You don't want to go find someone else, otherwise you wouldn't have even come over."

She took a step back, giving up ground to him as he slowly moved forward. She gasped in surprise as she hit the edge of the table that he had just pounded his fist on to mere moments ago.

"You know, it's rather dangerous for you to be here," he said, placing his hand on the table next to her and leaning forward, his lips just a breath away from her cheek.

"Charles would be angry if he knew I was here," she whispered shakily.

"Blake would be angry if he knew you were here, yes," he agreed, turning so that his lips were next to her ear. "And he would be absolutely livid if he knew you were here with me."

She gulped audibly and reached back to grab the table to steady herself.

"I don't know why you're with him," he said, his voice losing some of its composure. "I don't know what you see in him, and I don't know what you expect from him, but I know him. I know what he wants from you."

"And what is that, pray?" she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"He wants you to serve him, just like all of his other girls," he said. "He just wants to use you, turn you into his…turn you into his whore."

She grit her teeth and willed herself not to react to his words, as crass and disgusting as they were.

"I know that sounds disrespectful, but that's the point. Charles Blake doesn't respect you. He doesn't respect anyone," he growled.

"And you do?" she asked, turning to look at him, locking her eyes on his to stop herself from thinking about their lips being so close to each other. "How do I know you don't want to use me for the same purpose? How do I know that I'm not just a pawn in whatever stupid and dangerous game that you and Charles are playing at?"

"If that's what you truly believe, then you can go," he said, stepping back and to the side to give her a clear path to the door. She felt cold all of a sudden without his presence practically on top of her as he was before. "I would never force you to do anything, Mary. Anything that happens between us, or that doesn't happen, will be because you wanted it so."

"And if I want to stay?" she challenged. "That could be dangerous for you too, you know?"

"It could be, yes," he said, looking at her intently. "But I've risked my life for a lot of stupid and foolish reasons before."

"Are you saying I'm another stupid and foolish risk?" she demanded, arching her eyebrow at him.

He stepped in closer.

She blinked in surprise.

His hand came up her front, his fingers settling under her chin. For a second she was afraid he might throttle her, but his touch was light and gentle as he moved in.

"You, Miss Crawley," he said. "Are someone worth risking everything for."

Her pulse jumped.

"Do you want to stay?" he asked, his mouth so close she could almost taste his voice on her tongue. "I'm offering. I want you to stay."

Through her lust and fear she somehow found enough courage to look directly into his eyes.

"I want you," she replied.

His lips were on hers before she even finished her reply, but then again her words weren't important. He was right. She had already made her choice just by coming here to see him. His hands moved down to hold her hips and pull her towards him. Her hands went up his chest and across his shoulders, finally settling in his hair as she opened her mouth and let his tongue past her lips. He kissed her hard, so hard that she arched her back against him and tilted her head, giving him full access and permission to do whatever he wanted. Warnings fired in her head, but she ignored them, and eventually quieted them completely. He scooped her up off the floor and she vaguely recalled the direction of the bedroom as he carried her away. There would be consequences for them later if this went too far, but as she kissed him back she paid no attention to the risks, the danger, or the prospect of Charles' fury if he was to find out. Tonight was about her, what she wanted, and feeling as though her life was hers again, if only for a night.

Holiday Home of the Chicago Outfit, Long Island, New York. 4.05pm

Clara gasped in wonder as the car approached a large mansion; she turned to Henry with a smile, so wide, that her face might burst. "Is that where Papa's friend lives? It's pretty."

Henry chuckled and stroked her hair as the car came to a halt. Alfred let them out and Clara instantly latched onto Henry, although not without thanking Alfred first; which made the nervous Sergeant blush a little.

Henry greeted an elderly man once they came inside the house. Clara did the same in the hope she was acting politely. The elderly man told them to wait in the drawing room, which Clara silently observed was on the left from the front door.

"What's the name of Papa's friend?" Clara asked, in that sweet tone of hers. The tone that made Henry internally wince and feel like a dagger to the heart, he didn't want to use her, but children could be useful with certain people, little girls especially.

Henry sat down on a divan, took a deep breath, took Clara's hands and asked her to look him in the eyes. "Clara. Papa's friend sometimes isn't a very nice man, but don't worry, I won't let him hurt you."

"You promise?" Clara asked, now a bit afraid as to why she was here.

"I promise" Henry smiled, stroking along her cheek with his forefinger, a technique he used to soothe his own children.

"What's the name of Papa's friend?" Clara asked again, hoping that she would get an answer this time.

Henry chuckled and smiled. "His name is-"

There was a sharp knock on the door that startled both the Lieutenant and the little girl jump, the door opened to the elderly man.

"Mr Ricca will see you now, Sir and little ma'am." He said, gently bowing to Clara, which made her giggle.

"Now you know his name" Henry whispered in Clara's ear as they went through.

"Ah, Henry. So delightful to see you again"

Clara hid behind Henry slightly, a little intimidated by the man in front of her. The man didn't sound like people she'd seen around town or the people like she met on holiday in New Jersey. He sounded a little like her Uncle, who lived in a place called Chicago.

The tall man noticed Clara. "And I see you've brought a friend, Henry." The man bent down to Clara's level. "Hello there sweetheart, what's your name?"

Henry pulled Clara out in front of him, out of hiding. "My name's Clara, Sir," she said softly.

"Well, it's certainly nice to meet you, Clara." He held out his hand and Clara gently shook it. "Why don't you come and sit down?" the man gestured for them to sit down opposite him.

"Why doesn't Clara come and sit beside me?" The man patted the spot beside him on the divan. Clara looked at Henry expectantly, Henry nodded and whispered in her ear. "He won't harm you. I promise."

With Henry's reassurance, Clara padded towards the other divan and sat down slowly next to the man.

"You're my Papa's friend." She said innocently, fiddling with a button on her coat. "At least that's what Mister Policeman said."

The man chuckled. "And who's your Papa, darling?"

Clara looked at Henry, she was still finding the pronunciation of her Papa's name hard to stomach, no matter how hard she tried or was taught by Miss Crawley.

"She's Matthew Crawley's girl, Paul. The Matthew Crawley that serves as a wingman and lawyer for Charlie Carson." Henry said, flatly.

Paul gasped. "Oh you are a sweetie are you?"

"Don't avoid it, Paul. Matthew works for you, doesn't he?" Henry said, his eyes narrowing.

But Paul remained focused on Clara, trying to block out Henry's question.

"Excuse me, Sir?" Clara said, "Why won't you answer Mister Policeman's question?"

Paul chuckled nervously. Clara raised her little eyebrow. The remark made Henry laugh quietly to himself. She was so much like her Papa.

"Does my Papa work for you, Sir?" Clara asked. "If he does, I think that's swell. He should have a job to do, to keep him busy."

Paul began to tear up, the little girl sat beside him was so innocent. How could she be the daughter of the man he hired to cause mayhem and murder? It just didn't seem possible. It just didn't seem right.

"My Papa has a job, he tells me that in his letters, but he never mentioned you," Clara carried on. "He also tells me about my Mama, what she was like and all, since she's not around anymore." She glanced up at Paul, who was struggling to hold back the tears. "He tells me that my Mama was very pretty, and that I'm pretty like she was."

Henry shook his head. "Come along, Clara. Time to go home."

Clara nodded and said goodbye to the crying man, taking Henry's hand as they left.

No one shared the revelation that a 4 year old girl could reduce the boss of the Chicago Outfit to tears.

She didn't realize it, or understand it at the time, but later on, Clara Blake would be quite proud that she made a gangster cry.

Historical Note-

Paul Ricca, also known as 'The Waiter' (1897-1972) was a Chicago mobster and leader of the 'Chicago Outfit' for 40 years.