This is the chapter where I owe Apollo big time. Seriously. Thankyou, my dear.

Enjoy!

P. X

Richmond Town Hotel, Staten Island, New York. 5.15pm

Matthew lowered Mary onto the bed and followed after her, continuing to busy her mouth with ardent kisses. She moaned into his mouth as her back came into contact with the mattress, her hands moving up his back, holding him close, signalling her desire, and consent. He felt the familiar surge of power and delight as he hovered over her, his lips moving to her neck, his hands trailing down to take hold of her skirt, pulling it up and baring her thighs, making her gasp.

"Oh God," she breathed. "Please."

Matthew grinned, his blood racing with arousal. He hadn't felt this way with a woman in years – frantic, powerful, devious even. It had been so long, and he'd become so guarded that he'd almost forgotten what lust and the need for excitement felt like. There were a few women, in the 18 months since Madeline's death, but no one stable enough for him to trust, let alone even think of settling down with. He knew so little about Mary, and she even less about him, and yet he knew he didn't want just a dirty fuck and nothing more. She was already a part of his life; she had known Madeline, was Clara's caregiver, and yet he found himself fantasizing about wanting more. As she lay before him now, writhing under his touch, he wanted to give, and take, and show her a side of him that only one other woman had ever seen.

"Again," he growled, kissing her collarbone and nuzzling against her breast through the silk of her blouse.

She responded immediately, which only made him want her even more.

"Please," she said tightly, the need in her voice sending a jolt between his legs. God, he wanted to hear that voice calling his name, feel her long legs wrapped around him as he took her hard.

His fingers found the waistband of her knickers, and she arched her back and lifted her hips to assist him.

There was a knock at the door.

"Don't answer it," Mary whispered, her eyes finding his, pleading him to keep the outside world away for a while longer.

The interloper knocked again, this time a little more firmly.

Matthew sighed in resignation, his head dropping to her stomach as he took deep breaths and tried to calm himself. Ignoring someone at his door was a dangerous thing, even if he did have every reason to do so at the moment.

"I'm sorry. I have to see who it is," he said quickly, rising off of her. He adjusted his trousers and smiled down at her, proud that he had made her so dishevelled.

"You should probably tidy yourself a bit, just in case I can't get rid of them," he said, leaning down and kissing her.

Walking out to the living room and over to the small foyer, he checked his hair in the mirror before taking a deep breath and opening the door just a crack. He blinked when he saw who was on the other side.

"Henry, you're back already?" Matthew exclaimed.

The Lieutenant's answer was cut short.

"Papa!" Clara exclaimed, nudging her way through the door and throwing herself at him, He smiled and picked her up, carrying her into the living room. Henry followed, shutting the door behind him.

"Have you had a good day with Henry?" Matthew asked gently to Clara, who was happily nestled in the crook of her father's neck. Clara nodded.

"Where did you take her?" Matthew asked cautiously, rocking his daughter back and forth in hopes that she was tired and would nod off shortly.

Henry cleared his throat. "To see Paul. Paul Ricca."

Matthew's shocked glare told Henry everything he thought of that idea.

Home of Isobel Crawley Clarkson, Pittsfield, Massachusetts. 5.05pm

"You never did tell me what happened when you took Atticus to the police. It's been a month and you've still not said a single word," Isobel asked, pouring tea for Violet and herself.

Violet sighed. She'd resigned herself to stay in Massachusetts until all this ghastly business with Matthew and Atticus and Lord knew what else was over. There was no point in flying backwards and forwards between here and Berlin with fires starting up all around them.

"Well, safe to say that your son isn't quite the saint he's made himself out to be." Violet said matter-of-factly, taking the cup from Isobel.

Isobel scoffed as she sat down opposite her friend. "I already knew that. He's my son. All mothers like to think that their children are perfect, but I know that Matthew has made his fair share of mistakes."

"Does getting involved with the Chicago Outfit count as mistake?" Violet said, raising her eyebrow, waiting for a reaction.

"Yes," she said. "One that I tried to talk him out of, but it was too late."

Violet was dumbstruck. "So you knew?"

Isobel shrugged and placed her cup down. "Of course I knew. It all happened a few months ago, if I recall, and rather quickly. He summoned me to Boston in the early hours of the morning looking for advice. As it turned out, I wasn't the only person he'd called."

"Charlie?" Violet said.

Isobel nodded and continued. "Charlie indeed. Matthew said that Paul Ricca had personally hired him to take out a rival of some sort and he didn't know what to do. He wasn't bothered about the job, it was what he did. He said that his loyalty was to Charlie was preventing him from accepting right away, that he felt like he was betraying Charlie if he went ahead."

"So obviously he went through with it?" Violet said.

"Well yes, otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation. None of us thought it was overly serious, just Ricca needing an outside man for the job. Charlie was almost indifferent to it, didn't think it concerned him at all. Matthew completed the job in Chicago and was back in Boston a few weeks later. But now it seems that Paul Ricca isn't done with Matthew yet, so the job wasn't a one-off as originally thought."

Violet made to interrupt but Isobel stopped her. "I don't know anything more than that, but obviously whatever Matthew did, he angered the wrong people and has gotten himself into a battle of some kind that has ensnared Atticus, and now Henry as well." Violet sighed in resignation, feeling the odd sensation of defeat. She set her questions aside and elected to change the subject. "Did anyone ever tell you why I left for Berlin after Patrick died?"

"You left without word in the middle of night 8 years ago, so no. No one has ever really told me, because I honestly, I don't think you told anyone" Isobel said.

Violet sat up straighter. "After Patrick died, I felt vulnerable. More afraid that people were going to come after me. I had to leave America altogether, sever all ties with my children and grandchildren, which as you can imagine, wasn't an easy thing to do. It seemed to me that if I disappeared, they wouldn't be considered pawns or threats to be used against me. I headed for Europe. I couldn't go to England or France. Too many relatives and acquaintances there. I wanted to go somewhere where no one knew me, hence- Berlin."

Isobel smiled in understanding.

"And now here I am again," Violet sighed, shaking her head. "When they called me, I couldn't just stay away. Perhaps I ought to have, but if someone is after my family, then I need to be here."

Isobel sipped her tea solemnly. "Well thank you. I'm glad that you feel you can still confide in me after all this time."

"Confide in you about what?" Violet said, without emotion. "I'm just making conversation."

Isobel laughed quietly to herself.

Typical Violet.

Staten Island, New York. 5.35pm

It took almost twenty minutes for Clara to fall asleep. Matthew rocked her back and forth and hummed some tune that was stuck in his head to soothe her. When her eyes finally closed, he kept rocking her for another five minutes before gently setting her on the divan and tucking a blanket across her. He didn't acknowledge Henry until Clara was sleeping comfortably.

"Paul Ricca!" he said quietly, directing Henry to the far side of the room. "My God, Henry. Do you realise how dangerous that was!? Give me one reason why I shouldn't beat the living hell out of you right now! "

Henry held up his hands. "Woah, Matthew. Calm down. Paul didn't harm Clara. In fact, he was rather accommodating to us both. He didn't really say much, but I needed her there to take him by surprise and gauge his reaction, and it all came off beautifully, I have to say. I found out everything I needed from his response to her."

"Henry, don't you dare use my daughter like that ever again," Matthew sneered. "You're my friend, which is the only reason you're still alive. Don't you think I know what you're playing at? Clara won't be a witness, or a tool for you in whatever operation you've got going on. I will not allow it. Are we clear?"

"Matthew, we'll never…" Henry protested.

"Matthew? Henry," Mary said, coming into the living room and staring at the two men.

Henry and Mary eyed each other warily, before Mary's eyes fell on Clara's peacefully sleeping form on the divan. She walked past Matthew and Henry and went over and scooped Clara up in her arms. The child mumbled and squirmed a bit, but kept her eyes closed.

"Clara, darling, we're going to go home now," Mary said to the child, cradling her in her arms before taking her over and handing her to Matthew. "I promise to call when we get home." Mary said, putting on her coat quickly and buttoning it up before taking Clara back from Matthew.

Matthew nodded silently, kissing the top of Clara's head before watching his daughter and Mary disappear out of the door.

"Jesus, Matthew, are you certifiably insane?!" Henry demanded angrily. "Fucking one of Charles' Blake's women?"

"She's not his woman, not like that," Matthew retorted. "And we never got that far, thanks to you."

"A lucky thing that I came back when I did then," Henry declared.

Matthew waved his hand and turned away, going over to the bar and pouring both of them a drink.

"Matthew?" Henry asked suspiciously. "You do agree that Miss Crawley is off limits, don't you? Need I remind you of what happened to Madeline?"

Matthew winced, but didn't reply until after he sipped his drink. "Her name is Mary."

"Oh Jesus," Henry said, shaking his head. "You've got a thing for her? Matthew…"

"Shut up," Matthew ordered. "I don't want to hear it, Henry. I stayed away. I left her alone and she died. I've been living half a life for years now and what has it gotten me? A daughter who barely knows me and Charles Blake still has it in for me. No. I live on my terms now, and if Mary is willing to take a chance on me, then, well…"

Henry ran a hand through his hair. "Matthew," he said tiredly. "Look, we can talk about this later. I need you to come with me."

"Where? Why?" Matthew asked, looking at him suspiciously.

"We're taking a drive, to your mother's," Henry said.

Matthew blinked. "Does that mean…"

"Yes," Henry said. "She's here and she wants to talk to you, quite desperately I might add."

Matthew frowned. "Fine, let me just get some things together."

Henry nodded and waited for Matthew to go into the bedroom and change clothes. When he emerged, Henry moved to the door.

"Henry, if we're going to be stuck in a car for five hours, I expect you to finally tell me how Madeline died. You said you would. It seemed you were about to before we found Atticus, and still you haven't."

Henry rolled his eyes. "I can't tell you that, Matthew. Not yet."

"We'll see," Matthew replied, waving for Henry to go out first.