"You're lucky my window opens," Maura calls out in English from her hotel room balcony. She tightens her robe over herself, conscious of the setting sun and the folks starting to gather on the street in anticipation of the night life. "Why are you down there and not up here? In my bed?"
Jane stands below her, having just tossed a pebble at said window. She blushes at Maura's interrogation, even if it is in a language most people around them cannot understand. Then she walks closer so that she's right under Maura's nose. She looks straight up, and the crane of her neck distorts her voice. "Because I thought we'd do somethin' nice for your last night here," says Jane. She flashes a pair of tickets that she's pulled out of her pants' pocket. "Now you gonna get dressed and come down here or what?"
Maura's eyes twinkle. "And what are those?"
"Come down and find out. After you put some clothes on," Jane insists.
"Come up here and show me," Maura counters.
"If I go up there, it's not the tickets I'm gonna end up showin' ya," Jane says. "And I'm actually proud of myself for these. So hurry it up, yeah?"
Maura shuts her window in reply, and Jane knows that she's accepted the proposition. Not fifteen minutes later, Jane is joined by Maura on the street. Maura wears jeans, a blouse, a blazer, and heels, somehow able to read Jane's outfit and determine that dressy casual would be the most appropriate. "Hi," Maura says.
"Hey," Jane appraises her. "It's amazing, you know? That you can do that. Pick an outfit based on what I'm wearin'."
Maura grasps Jane's elbow and folds her hands together in the crook of it. "I'm much better at reading clothes than reading people. You know this."
"Nah, your people readin' skills aren't so bad," Jane says as they start their stroll.
"Jane," Maura says.
"What? They aren't! You know what the problem is? Most people are too stupid to know what you're talkin' about," Jane defends her assertion.
Maura pulls her close by the arm, touched. "Well, I would disagree. But thank you."
"I disagree with your disagreement. You dressed Don Antoninu down at that dinner a few weeks ago. You knew he couldn't resist a pretty American face."
Maura considers the night in question. "And you knew he'd respond to that story about you with your grandfather, doing ironwork in the city for under-the-table pay."
"What can I say? Bosses like Don Antoninu, they like to think of themselves as bootstraps types of guys, you know? So I tell 'em harmless little stories about men that they think are like them, and they…"
"Give you what you want?" Maura finishes, her voice deep in a way that Jane has only heard in the bedroom.
"Yeah," Jane's tone gives Maura a run for her money. "I can't be… made, but I get money. And I get protection. It's not a lot, but it's a living."
"And where is it that we're going?" Maura asks, suddenly abandoning the topic at hand. She sees the sea as they walk along, and eventually a parked, blue Alfa Romeo.
Jane jingles the keys, smirks, and then opens Maura's door. "You'll see," she quips before she trots over to the driver's side and drops in. "'Bout 45 minutes away."
Maura puts her hand on Jane's wrist on the gearshift before the car turns on. "Jane?"
"What's up?" Jane asks, looking at Maura.
"You could be more, you know," Maura chases the bravery that induces her to say this out loud. "You could get more than money, and protection. Even if you aren't made."
"You think so?" asks Jane, a tiny bit bashful.
"Yes. One look at our teamwork that night… Don't squash your potential by being humble. By accepting scraps because you've been told that's all you are allowed to receive."
"Il teatro greco," Maura can't help but utter in perfect standard Italian when Jane pulls into the designated parking for the ancient structure. There are already people milling about, entering the arches through metal detectors, letting their bags be searched by attendants in suits.
"You from Florence?" Jane teases. She runs over to Maura's side of the car and opens her door for her. "Anyway, yeah. They do movie nights a couple times a month here and I thought it'd be fun for us to go. Tonight's is G-Men, you believe that?"
Maura laughs. "Your mortal enemy, the FBI guy," she says.
"Yeah, they could be watchin' me, even now," Jane adopts the caricature of paranoia, whipping her head around, checking for spies.
This time, both she and Maura laugh. "So, I admit that I had wanted to spend this evening in another way, but…" Maura starts, falling in line next to Jane as she walks.
"I did good?" Jane supplies with a smile. She has her hands in her pockets, but they itch to take Maura's. She resists because the night is young and they still have the business of taking Maura home.
"You did good," Maura assures her. She takes the tickets from Jane's front pocket and flashes them to the attendant in their line. In her month on the island, she still hasn't seen the theater.
It doesn't disappoint.
Ancient Greek columns reach toward the sky on elevated stone steps, and brick sprawls out on either side to create an abundance of those Sicilian archways. Jane passes one through ahead of her now. When they enter the theater proper, there is a stark contrast between the bleacher-style seating and projector screen that has been set up for the film, and the grass-covered ancient seats that spread outward for hundreds of yards in a semi-circle. Maura almost regrets the intrusion of modernity on this antiquity, but then she remembers the circumstances that have brought her here. And she follows Jane to their seats, even if the bigness of the moment, the weight of thousands of years and thousands of dates in this place feels overwhelming. She decides to face it because Jane faces her, waits to take her hand so that they can sit.
"That was, uh… mmm. Nice, yeah?" Jane asks as they fall into Maura's hotel room, kissing since they parked the car. They kiss now, and it distorts Jane's rather pedestrian assertion.
Maura has her hands on each side of Jane's face, and when she bites at Jane's lips, just before sucking on her tongue, she wonders how else she can make her intentions known. "Shut up and take me to bed."
Jane pulls back just a little bit, swerves when pretty white teeth come for her chin. "Kiss me a little bit first," she implores, with a raised eyebrow that looks like a dare, even if her words are soft.
Maura huffs. "I've been kissing you all night," she whines. When she hops up, Jane catches her, and she wraps her legs around Jane's waist. "I'm-"
"Bagnata?"
"Wet," Maura says at the same time as Jane, though Jane's sounds like a question and is definitely Sicilian.
Jane smirks. "Me too," she admits. "Let's get to business, then."
She lays Maura down when Maura wants to be dropped, plays with the fly of Maura's jeans though Maura just wants to be rid of them. She kisses Maura softly, keeps their lips tangled for long moments even though Maura squirms, corporeally begging for Jane's lips to be elsewhere.
So Maura flips them and sits on Jane's lap, a leg on either side of Jane's hips, and she rolls her own once. In the time that it takes Jane to groan and toss her head back, Maura has divested herself of her shirt and her bra - she now sits topless atop the woman she's been seeing since she touched down in Sicily.
Jane's eyes turn dark at the sight of Maura, panting with want and effort, breasts with nothing but light to cover them. She removes her own shirt, anxious to even the score, and then she places her hand against Maura's back: the one snaking with arousal, arching with need, when they kiss.
Jane flips them again, too, so that she is on top, and shortly, they are naked.
Maura moans in relief and drags her fingernails from Jane's ass all the way up her back, to her shoulders. Jane feels the red streaks forming, deepening, and from them she knows exactly what Maura wants in the moment. Their eyes lock, and then Jane slips two fingers inside. The moaning is back, and in order to accommodate the new addition, Maura moves everything up: her hands, from Jane's back to her hair, tugging and bunching enough for pleasurepain; her legs, from tangled with Jane's up to their sides so that her body can drink in as much of Jane's hard thrusts as possible.
They continue this way, panting and desperate, until Jane looks up from where she had rested her head on Maura's shoulder, and chances a kiss upon Maura's lips. She means it to be tender, a reassurance that though they are rough, she is still Jane. Maura meets it only with the roughness Jane wanted to temper, clashing their teeth together behind the harshness of it.
And though Jane drinks the moan that Maura deposits into her mouth, though she appreciates it, she breaks them apart to look at Maura fully. "You come back just because I'm fucking you right," she says as they move together, creaking the bedsprings and sweating sheets out.
Maura smiles indulgently at the petulance in Jane's voice, and for a split second, she can see Jane as a child: independent and unruly, but needier than one might think. "Is that so wrong?" she asks, "to want to see you because you fuck me how I like?"
"No," Jane answers quietly. Then she grows louder. "But I'm over here feeling things and it seems like you just want to have a good time."
Maura's chest constricts, and then bursts with warmth. "Oh, baby," she says, trying desperately to contain the laugh she wants to let out. "You have feelings?"
Jane's face falls, and she almost cries. But she stiffens her upper lip and returns to the task at hand. "Mmhmm," is all she says.
Maura shakes her head to clear it, which is hard to do when Jane is curling those long, strong fingers between her legs and she feels like she is about to explode. She grips on Jane's shoulders and squeezes, pulls up, until Jane slows down. Then, she kisses Jane the way Jane had tried before: with intimacy in the slow press outward of her lips, in the way her tongue darts out to soothe instead of conquer. She winds their legs together again, and Jane becomes heavy in her arms with satisfaction.
They continue that way, in that intoxicating fusion of emotions and sensations, long into the night, until they are both sleeping. Jane rises a few hours later, in that border time between late night and early morning, and dresses, careful not to wake Maura, who has to be up early to call a cab and get to the airport. She snatches a pen and some hotel stationery to leave a note, and the cell number of the car that she's arranged for Maura's trip. It's her last gift, her last surprise, before Maura returns to the hub that birthed them. Well, the last gift that is, before she puts down her address and one final line: I'm yours, she writes, if you want me. Come find me when I get back.
For a year and a half, Maura does not.
"Hang on, I grabbed the wrong earrings," Maura says as she trots back toward the vanity against the wall closest to her bathroom, and finds the diamond studs she originally wanted. She stops to look at her hair in the mirror, done up with bobby pins in the back, her bangs styled forward and whipped to each side just enough to accentuate the golden green of her eyes. She sees the small lines against the corners of them, ones that weren't there when she had first met Jane, but ones that give a well-earned sort of elegance.
She likes how she looks now better than how she looked then. She knows that Jane does, too, when she straightens her tight, black cocktail dress, the one with the neckline that plunges between her breasts and accentuates the round of each one.
"You get lost?" Jane calls from the phone on the bed. "Or just forget me?"
"Sorry, I was doing a once-over on my way back from the jewelry," Maura says distractedly, now standing back in front of the bed and removing the earrings she decided she didn't like with this dress.
"I'd get distracted if I was starin' at you, too," teases Jane. "Did you find a pair to your liking?"
Maura rolls her eyes. "I'd tell you that you don't have to be charming anymore since we've been married nearly twenty years, but I know it's just who you are," she says. "And yes. I went with the studs. The others were too gaudy."
"Sometimes you kinda like gaudy," Jane replies, and Maura can hear passing cars while Jane drives with the handsfree on. "But yeah, I don't know if the plumber's union fall gala is really the time or the place."
"Calling it a gala is a stretch," Maura chimes in. She wiggles her toes as she concentrates to find her piercing, a habit she's picked up over years of inserting pins into her earlobe. She feels the carpet spread between them, and that spurs her to try and remember exactly where she put those red bottoms she intends to wear. "But yes. I'll save the others for something truly special."
"Like the opera?" Jane says, drawing it out because Maura has been pestering her for months to go, despite the fact that Jane hates it, can hardly sit still even though she quite likes music.
"You said it, not me," Maura feigns innocence.
"Well," Jane sighs, resigned. "Christmas ain't that far away. And we both know I'm prone to doing shit for you just because, so the opera may yet be in our future."
"Despite your disdain for it, hmm?" Maura asks, because she knows that what Jane says is true: Jane will do whatever Maura wants.
"Yeah, despite all that," Jane says quietly. Maura hears the clicking of a turn signal and the swish of windshield wipers. "So listen. That Dorfman guy-"
"The builder on that South Boston project?" Maura asks, taking her phone to the walk-in closet so that she can face her wall of shoes.
"I must be in the closet now," Jane guesses. "Is it shoe time?"
"How did you know?" Maura laughs, setting Jane on the island of drawers in the middle of the closet. She fingers a few of the sleeves of Jane's hanging silk shirts on her way to the French section of her shoes.
"The echo changes. Anyway, yeah, he's the one. He settled up yesterday," Jane explains.
Maura picks up an open-toed pair, then puts it back. "Another three days late?"
"Yeah, but the interest payment was there, so I'll give him that. I'll take the cash to Frost tomorrow and we should see it in our account in a few days," says Jane. Frost, her computer-whiz friend that runs with a very different kind of crew, always finds creative ways to funnel her cash through overseas accounts before bringing it back to her, clean.
"Well, I suppose the broken kneecap was enough incentive, then," Maura mutters. She taps a manicured finger against her lips and takes one heel to try on her foot. "Is the building on schedule?"
"Ahead of it, actually," Jane answers. "We're probably looking at a couple million when it's all said and done, even after your dad's part."
"A worthwhile investment," Maura comments. She is satisfied with this shoe, and grabs the other one to slip on. Black on black, what Jane likes the most.
"Yeah, thanks for convincin' me," says Jane.
Maura shrugs even though her wife cannot see it. "It was your idea; I just pushed you along. And made my father more amenable."
"He did come through on this one, I have to admit."
"Are you going to pick me up?" Maura asks with one last glance in the mirror before she turns off the light and steps back into the bedroom.
"Wish I was, but I need you to find your own way. I actually gotta go, babe, I got a quick thing to take care of before I swing over to the hotel. Save me a seat, though, huh? And some champagne," Jane responds. Maura does truly hear regret in her voice.
"Always," Maura says. Then she ends the call and exits her bedroom in search of her clutch and her children.
Jane pulls up to Milano, her favorite coffee spot in the North End, and parks around the corner on a less-crowded side street. It's a little chilly, so she takes her trench coat from the Range Rover's back seat and shrugs it on over her black suit with the billowy white, silk shirt. The sun is setting now, earlier during the fall time, but she still orders her espresso for an outside table, because she figures that if she takes it out, she'll spend as little time in this meeting as possible. The woman behind the counter sees her and immediately gets to work on the order, knowing exactly how she likes it.
After a couple of minutes, Jane's coffee is ready, so she takes her cup outside to the folding chair and table just in front of the shop's window.
Not long after that, Teresa Campusano approaches her, in a fur coat, no doubt paid for by Frankie, with a tight, shimmering dress that falls well above her knees. Her curly hair, cut in a bob-style with ringlets that fall attractively on either side of her face, moves as she nods. "Hey Jane," she says, and takes a seat.
A man, Giovanni Gilberti, stands behind her, in a Versace-print shirt, tight black pants, and black Italian shoes. He has a thin coat on, as if to accentuate his masculine resistance to the cold. Jane takes one look at his impeccable hair and rolls her eyes. "Hey, Teresa. You want somethin' to drink?"
"No thanks," Teresa says, her eyes lighting up like they always do when Rizzolis show her kindness. She takes the seat closest to Jane, leaving the chair across from them open for Giovanni. "We got that thing soon."
"Yeah, we do," Jane says, leaning back and crossing one leg over the bent knee of the other. She sips. "And what about you, G? You need anything? I thought you were workin' with Carlo tonight."
Giovanni shrugs and blushes. "I'm good, Janie, thank you. And this is work for Carlo. Teresa's movin' up in the world, got some more things goin' on, so I'm just here to help out."
"Keep a lookout, huh? Make sure things don't go south?" Jane says, even though Giovanni doesn't register the sarcasm. She wonders who the hell would pick Giovanni to protect anybody, but she keeps that comment to herself. Especially since a couple of Talucci guys and their girlfriends walk past at just that moment. She nods at them, while Teresa waves.
"Somethin' like that," Giovanni answers proudly. "With the two of them gettin' so close, and me growin' up with both of them and all, I think I'm the natural choice."
Teresa widens her eyes at him, bidding him to shut the fuck up.
"As a go between? You and Carlo doin' business together?" Jane asks as innocently as she can, looking at Teresa between gulps of warm espresso.
"No more than usual, Jane," Teresa attempts to smooth over Giovanni's overshare.
Jane smiles handsomely. It's a tactic, but it softens Teresa anyway. "Well good for you. We all gotta find a way. How's your ma, by the way? Frankie said you went down to visit her this week."
Teresa doesn't expect this, doesn't expect Jane to know where she's been, so she clears her throat before answering. "She's doin' good, thank you. My aunt's the one not doin' so well, so I was helpin' mom deal with some of her affairs."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Jane says sincerely. "It was good to see Lola, though, a couple days."
"Yeah, she won't shut up about you," admits Teresa, and though her words seem rough, Jane hears the affection in her voice. "She keeps saying she wanted to go to work with you and Frankie instead of goin' to school."
Jane laughs. "They all say that. If they only knew, huh?"
"I think even if they knew, they'd still want to. Runnin' nightclubs is way more interesting than spelling tests," says Teresa. She crosses her arms and legs, turns towards Jane to bring some warmth to her body.
Jane notices, and decides to cut to the chase. She pats Teresa's shoulder, makes eye contact with Giovanni. "That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about tonight," she says.
Teresa sighs as if she knows. "Desiderio?" Giovanni stiffens.
"Yeah, Desiderio," Jane confirms. "You've been hemorrhaging money." Giovanni leans forward, but Jane leans closer. "Well, let me be more clear. Your pop's been hemorrhaging money."
"You already got us on a plan, Jane, we're payin' on time," Teresa's face hardens.
"From your other accounts," Jane says. "The club itself is somehow not profitable, despite it being so before you took over. It can't continue."
"C'mon, Jane. Give it some time," Giovanni pipes in. "Carlo's committed to-"
Teresa snaps her head in his direction. "Shut up, G." He puts his hands up.
Jane watches them with interest, taking a few moments of silence before responding. "I've given enough," she insists. She frowns, and her brow knits closely together, and she is dangerous in the impending darkness. "I'm takin' it back. Puttin' Frankie in charge. You two can work it together, and in the meantime, I'm givin' your dad the East Boston motel."
"Jane," Teresa pleads, too proud to do it in anything other than the confines of Jane's name, but the begging is there.
"I'm takin' it, Teresa," Jane says. She downs the rest of her drink and then stands up. "It's too important to fuck around with. You and him find a way to get it back on its feet. And if Carlo asks why, you tell him exactly what happened."