"M'goin' out," Connor announced as he pulled on his jacket. It was an hour past breakfast and he had been going on about running out of cigarettes between the three of them – him, Murphy, and Wren. "Try not ta kill each other while m'gone," he chuckled.

Murphy flipped him the bird and Wren merely rolled her eyes, and then they were alone, together, in Rocco's apartment. There was silence between them as they sat together on the couch, and smoke rose up as they inhaled and exhaled the last of Connor's cigarettes.

Wren noticed Murphy shifting and scratching the side of his leg where his bandage was. "Want me to look at that?"

He shrugged. "Aye, s'pose that would be a good idea." He twisted around until he was stretched out on the couch, and shoved the sweats he still wore down to his ankles. His forefinger prodded the bandage as he frowned. "Itches like hell."

"Means it's healing," Wren announced as she perched on her knees at Murphy's side. She peeled the tape back and lifted the gauze, watching Murphy's face as she did so. She then looked to the wound. "Looks okay," she surmised. "But it should probably breathe." She pulled the bandage off the rest of the way and folded it over itself before moving to discard it in the kitchen garbage. When she returned, Murphy was looking at her thoughtfully. "What?" she mused softly.

Murphy ruffled his hair and shifted back on the couch, making room for her to sit. "Ya said tha other night that ya…shot yer da," he began cautiously.

Wren paused and then nodded, climbing onto the sofa. "I did," she nodded.

"Tell me what happened?"

"Um…there's not a lot to tell, really. Arkady was upset that my father had left in the first place and he didn't fully trust him anymore. Didn't believe that he'd had a change of heart, either. Thought my father was a spy for the US." She paused with a chuckle. "Arkady was paranoid; a mean old bastard. I didn't know I'd shot my father until it was too late. I thought it was target practice in the woods. I thought I'd shot a deer."

Murphy swallowed thickly. "Does yer Ma…did she know?"

"No," Wren sighed. "At least, I don't think she did. She never mentioned it, not even when we returned to the States. Chris and Nate knew nothing, too."

"I never knew my Da," Murphy said after a stretch of silence. "Just me, an' Connor, and Ma."

"I'm sorry," Wren offered sincerely. "I don't feel like I knew my dad, either. It happened so long ago…I was taught how to compartmentalize very early on." She looked at her hands. "I have trust issues, you realize."

Murphy chuckled lightly. "Aye."

"When I was fifteen, a psychiatrist told me that I had intimacy issues. I had problems making friends. I'd spent so long being used that I expected it; always expected things to come with a price."

"But ya don't feel that way about me?" Murphy ventured.

"How can I?" Wren answered sadly. "You've been nothing but honest with me from the start. You and Connor. I tried, Murphy, I tried so hard to be straight up with you, but I thought that the only way to do that was to push the past back, to keep it in the box I'd stuffed it in when left Chicago. I only wanted a fresh start."

Murphy nodded. "That's all anyone can hope fer. After somethin' like dat…after anytin' like dat… Connor an' I came here five years ago lookin' fer somethin' dat we couldn't find at home…at first, we didn't know what it was. But we had faith, aye? Knew dat we would find it eventually." He smiled. "A little strange, don't ya think, dat da very ting yer tryin' ta leave behind is tha same ting dat is our calling?"

Wren twisted on the couch to face him fully. "Do you really believe that? That this is your calling?"

"I believe tha good lord has a plan fer all o'us, girl. An' dat we are put on certain paths for reasons." Murphy reached for her hand and laced his fingers with hers. "M'not tha best at expressin' things, girl…think we both suffer from dat affliction. But believe me when I say dat I met ya fer a reason. Dat I'm wit ya fer a reason. An' if dat reason is only cuz I love ya, den dats all I need ta know."

Wren chuckled. "Murphy MacManus, you smooth talker, you."

"Aye, girl. Is it workin'?"

She pursed her lips. "Don't know. Might need some more convincing."

Murphy slowly leaned forward, catching Wren's waist and pulling her to him as he sat back against the arm of the couch. "No more lies, aye? From dis point on." He looked at her lips for a moment and then back to her dark blue eyes.

"No more lies," Wren agreed. She watched his gaze wander back to her mouth. "I'm not fucking you on this sofa, Murph," she warned.

Murphy pouted and leaned down, brushing her lips with his. "Why not, girl?"

Wren shuddered, pushing her mouth firmly against his before breaking away. "Can you imagine the things Donna and Rocco have done on here?"

Murphy pulled away with a face. "Thanks fer the visual," he groused. "Me leg's not in the best workin' order, anyway," he shrugged. "But me mouth? That's a different story."

Connor strode into The Black Rose like he owned the place, and ignored how conversation began to lag as those surrounding the bar noticed his presence. He scanned the seats quickly, finding Tommy Callahan easily enough. The knuckler was seated next to a slight, fair haired man with familiar blue eyes. Nate Abernathy, Connor concluded to himself, and he smirked with amused satisfaction as both Tommy and Nate stared at him as he took a seat, uninvited, at the table.

"Callahan," Connor greeted, shifting and waving to a nearby waitress. "Guinness," he called, before turning back to the table. "Who's your friend?" He nodded his head in Nate's direction.

Tommy's initial look of surprise melted into one of stark curiosity and he leaned forward on the table. "What are ya doin' here, MacManus? Last I heard, you and yer fuck-stick of a brudder didn't want anytin' ta do wit' tha Irish."

Connor shrugged insolently. "Lad can change his mind, can't he?"

"MacManus?" Nate echoed. "You're Murphy's brother?"

Connor lifted an eyebrow. "Aye," he drawled. "Who are you?"

Nate gave a little chuckle. "I'm Nate Abernathy," he announced. "Your brother is screwing my sister, Wren."

"That so?" Connor mused lightly. He picked up the beer the waitress had dropped off and drank deeply before turning back to Tommy. "Me and Murph have had some time ta discuss Mr. Monaghan's offer from the other night."

Tommy shook his head. "Mr. Monaghan doesn't usually extend his offer past the initial point. It's been more than a week, Connor. I don't know as though he'll need yer services."

Connor laughed. "C'mon, Tommy, don't give me that. Yer boss has been breathin' down our necks since we stepped foot on American soil. Ya tellin' me dat he's no longer interested?"

Tommy thought about Connor's words for a moment. "Well," he began slowly. "I can't answer fer Mr. Monaghan…but I can see if he'll meet wit da pair o'ya ta discuss things."

Connor nodded, pursing his lips. "All right." He snagged a pen from the table and scratched a phone number on a napkin. "Yer boss wants ta meet, dis is how ya get a hold of us." He then picked up his beer and drained the glass before standing to make his exit.

"Where's Wren?" Nate suddenly asked, standing as Connor did.

Connor bit his tongue, fuming inside at the sudden concern lacing the guy's voice. Probably just wanted to make sure he could still get his money. Connor shrugged. "Don't know. Haven't seen her since Tommy's fight – dat was a good one, by the by," he offered, glancing back to Callahan. "Thought I might ask ya tha same ting. Murph wants ta know."

Nate frowned with a scowl and sank back to his chair.

Connor gave Nate a tight smile. "If I see her, do ya want me ta deliver a message?"

Nate nodded, and grabbed the pen that Connor had used and scribbled a few words on another napkin. He handed it to Connor, who glanced down at it. "It's Russian," Nate bit out as he saw Connor reading. "So don't bother."

Connor's hand tightened on the napkin, but he nodded and shoved it in his jacket without a second glance. "Aye, I won't. Be seein' ya, boyos." He turned on his heel and left as quickly as he had come.

He waited until he'd crossed the street and rounded the corner before he dug Nate's note out of his pocket. Of course it was written in Russian; he couldn't have known Connor had a handle on that, and four other languages. Unfolding the napkin, he scanned the Cyrillic, translating it easily enough:

I want my money. And I'll get it, one way or another.

Connor saw red, and threw his foot into a nearby garbage can with a loud curse. He needed to get back to the apartment and start planning.

Wren fingered the napkin that Nate had sent his message on, her eyes narrowed as she turned the words over and over again. She wished she knew just exactly how she'd fallen out of Nate's good graces. He couldn't fault her for wanting a better life; not fully. It was something that they'd always talked about. Now, he saw her as his chance at that life, and she knew that despite his moronic tendencies, Nate was just as stubborn as she was. When he wanted something, he usually got it, no matter the consequences.

As she sat at the kitchen table, Murphy and Connor muttered back and forth to each other in Gaelic, their eyes flicking to her every now and again. The phone rang, startling them all, and Murphy dove for it, picking it up on the second ring.

"Roc? Is everything okay?" He paused, frowned, listening to the Italian mutter on the other end. After another chunk of seconds, Murphy set the phone down, staring at it with obvious concern.

"What's wrong?" Connor growled.

"He sounded weird," Murphy mumbled.

"Weird like how?" Connor pressed, leaning across the table.

Murphy shrugged. "Just…weird."

Wren stood abruptly from the table at that point and the twins shifted their attention to her.

"Did you read this?" she asked Connor, holding the napkin out to him.

He met her gaze. "Aye."

Murphy scowled and snatched it from Wren's hand. He read it over once, his scowl deepening, and he crushed the flimsy paper in his fist. "What tha fuck is that supposed ta mean?" He looked to Connor. "Ya didn't tell him where she was, did ya?"

Connor shook his head. "F'course not," he growled, shooting his brother a look of disbelief.

"It means," Wren hissed, interrupting the boys, "that Nate is going to try and track me down and hand me over to the Irish, once and for all."

Murphy froze, going silent, and sucked at his cigarette.

Connor shook his head. "Won't happen."

"God's truth," Murphy agreed.

There was silence after that, crawling through the dingy little apartment, and the three gathered around the table smoked, and drank, and then smoked more. The only talk was if someone requested another beer, or the lighter, or a slice of cold pizza from the fridge.

Half an hour had passed when the phone rang again. This time, Connor snagged it. " 'Lo?"

"MacManus?"

Connor recognized Tommy's voice on the other end. "Aye."

"The meeting is a go. You pick the time and place. Get back to us at the bar."

Connor nodded. "Aye."

The other end went dead, and Connor replaced the phone.

Murphy and Wren watched him expectantly.

Connor drummed his fingers on the table top for a moment before fishing a cigarette from the pack sitting there. He lit it quickly, blowing out a thick stream of smoke, and looked up to his brother and Wren.

And that was when Rocco exploded into the apartment, and all hell broke loose.