A/N: This flashback occurs six months after the previous one.
Jane, in her usual attire of slacks and a fitted tee, tucked in, ushers Matty O'Rourke onto a walk-around boat at the harbor. She pushes gracefully, but insistently, on his shoulders, until he steps towards a row of seats. "Sit, Matty, sit. Just enjoy the view."
She waves to the man at the wheel who waves to her. His back is turned to them and he's wearing a floppy hat, so only she knows that it's Frankie. He pulls away from the dock slowly and heads for open water.
"Ok, Jane," Matty says. He takes one of the beers sitting in a bucket of ice to his side, and cracks it open. "This sure is a nice vessel, and I appreciate the star treatment. But if you think it means I'm gonna cut you in on this new plumbing gig, I just can't. We're all booked up."
Jane ignores his latter statement; doesn't grab a beer. It's an Irish brand she knows he likes, and she hates Irish beer. "It is pretty nice. Say, you know whose boat this is? Frankie, why don't we show him what it can do?"
Frankie waves, one hand still steering. "You got it, sis," he says. There are few, if any boats around now.
When the boat slowly accelerates and Matty realizes Frankie Rizzoli is commanding it, when he realizes he's surrounded by Italians and has nowhere to go, he gulps. Sweats. Grasps the railing. "It uh, it's a nice, smooth ride," he attempts to pacify them.
Jane stands up and chuckles at his fear. "Yeah, ya think so? I'll tell Paddy. He'll be happy to hear that his boat is up to snuff," she responds.
"It's Doyle's boat?" Matty croaks, tugging at his collar. He feels claustrophobic in the open air.
"It is. Listen, Matty," Jane crosses her arm and taps her chin with her forefinger in faux thoughtfulness. "It's imperative that I'm in on this union thing. Paddy and I have an agreement going and having the union would make it a lot more lucrative, you see? Nevermind that my Pop was a plumber in that same union."
When she approaches, Matty leans back in his seat. He hears the roar of the ocean get louder when Frankie speeds up. Soon, the wind whips around them and his hair is slapping his eyes. "I… I can't…" he tries again, knowing his bosses will ruin him if he lets the Italians in on their union thing. The O'Rourkes and the Doyles have warred since the 60s and giving Paddy and his associates any inch of room could get him on probation. Fast.
Jane sees the conundrum in his eyes, feels for him. She decides to help him out.
She lunges forward, snatches his collar in her hands, and then holds most of his upper body over the side of the boat. Saltwater pelts his mouth, and he waves his arms, desperately looking for balance he'll never find with her holding onto him. "What was that, Matty?! Kinda hard to hear when we're movin' this fast!" She shouts.
"Jane I can't!" Matty screams, "let me up!"
Jane nods to Frankie, who turns them sharply. Matty nearly falls into the deep. "What'd you say?!" She loosens her fists slightly, and the upper parts of his legs hang over now, too.
"A'right a'right! I'll cut you in! Just pull me back, pull me back!" Matty shrieks, like a child.
Jane smiles widely, then yanks him so far forward that he falls and smacks his brow on the railing for the steps in the middle of the deck. "Ok then, we have ourselves a deal," she says, panting and then wiping her hands together. "Was that so hard, Matty? You're gonna love workin' with me; I'm gonna make you a lot of money."
He stumbles back up, finds his way to a seat, and waves her away so he can dab at the blood over his eye in peace.
Frankie looks behind him at the scene and giggles. "Whattaya say, Janie? Ready to head back?"
"Yeah," says Jane. "And make it quick. I'm late for a date."
Jane hustles across the street on that hot, late summer night, weaving through throngs of visitors in the North End when she reaches the sidewalk just outside of Romana, a dark, small Italian restaurant amongst a row of them on Prince Street. Unlike the rest, most of its seats are inside a tiny, old, wood-floored room, with the kitchen in the back and up three small steps. The cooks shout at each other in various Italian languages, and Jane snickers when she walks in because she always knows exactly what they're saying: the tourists order dishes they have no idea about, then send them back when those dishes are not to their anglicized liking.
This time, it would seem a midwestern man towards the front ordered the gnocchi, but didn't like when it came out with seasonal vegetables and capers. She stops eavesdropping when they begin to extol the virtues of a colorful plate and bemoan their guest's cro-magnon tastes.
Jane has better things to focus her attention on, like the pair of bare shoulders - tanned and freckled by their recent fourth of July soiree in Angela's backyard - waiting for her at her usual table near the back. Jane places her hand on the breathable cotton tank before its wearer jumps and looks up.
Jane winks, and Maura, who has just dipped her table bread into her glass of wine, smiles brightly. Jane sits across from her. "Hey stranger," she greets, and then leans forward for a kiss.
Maura grants it, and then leans back and appraises Jane's face. "Hi. You look like you had a very fruitful meeting with Mr. O'Rourke," she remarks brightly. She can't help but reach across the table and run an affectionate thumb over Jane's chin, because Jane is smiling broadly, too.
"Let's just say that when he found out it was your dad's boat I took him for a ride on, he came around. Thought it was a real good idea for me to be cut in on some of the plumbin' action in Southie, especially on this new city services building by the docks," explains Jane. Flashes of Matty O'Rourke's head, inches above the choppy waves while she held him over the edge and Frankie steered, pass through her mind. She bites her lip to keep from laughing at his misfortune and the way he pissed himself when Frankie sped the boat up.
Maura pushes the breadbasket toward Jane and holds her wine glass for Jane to take. Jane does, and gulps eagerly. She rips her bread and dunks it in. Maura then hears the cooks chattering, telling the server to mind the Sicilians in the back - make sure they have enough wine and that the bucatini is perfectly al dente. She looks fondly at Jane, whose cheek is stuffed with soaked bread: the cooks have clearly divined where she is from by what she eats and how. The fact that they have lumped Maura in with Jane is delightful.
Maura tries on this new Sicilian identity in private for a few moments, in the confines of her own mind. The ensuing inferno of awakening, of the specific sexual thrill of ownership, floors her. "Quick thinking on my part, don't you think?" she says coyly, and she finds the talk of business only builds on her arousal.
Jane leans back while tapping her fingertips on the table, joining in with her own barely-bridled energy. "I'll say. Quick thinkin' that's probably gonna make us half a mil by November. Tell Paddy thank you."
"Tell him yourself," Maura flirts behind the rim of her wine glass. "He likes you."
Jane reddens. She, after these past five months with Maura, still rejects compliments as a reflex. "Y-ya think so?"
Maura shakes her head. "Of course he does. He let you borrow his boat, understanding the distinct possibility that Matthew O'Rourke might not come back to shore. He knows you mean what you say, and that you follow through on threats. He respects you for that."
"Well, I don't play about my money," says Jane seriously. "Which is why I am very fortunate that you've picked up this little side job of being my consigliera, so to speak. You've put a lotta dough in my pocket."
Maura takes that as her chance. "It's been fun, hasn't it? We make a good team," she says, reaching for Jane's hand.
Jane lets her take it, and the blush comes back. "Yeah, we do. We make good other things, too."
"Mmm," Maura hums around another sip. "We do. I agree. One of those things is conversation."
"Not what I was thinking of, but yeah. Our conversation is definitely… titillating," Jane uses a Maura word and grins in self-satisfaction.
"It is. So is the time that we spend together, whether we're in bed or not," Maura leads them back to where she wants to go, but doesn't quite step over the line yet.
"I like spendin' time with you too," Jane agrees. She quirks an eyebrow, open but unsure.
"What do you think about marriage?"
There's the line, and then Maura, flying over it.
Jane snorts some of her wine and coughs. "Uh, marriage? I would say that I'm, uh, married to the job," she hedges, dabbing her nose with her cloth napkin. "You've seen me work."
Maura shrugs. It's true, she has. When she's not at the hospital, she is spending most of her time with Jane, and most of that time, Jane is working. "Sounds loveless," is all that she says.
"Sometimes it is," Jane replies honestly. They let the pregnant pause linger.
"So, marry me instead," Maura offers.
Jane is smart enough to not have put anything in her mouth this time, but she still clears her throat. "Marry you? Just like that? You sure have changed your tune."
"I want to get married, and have children. Soon. It's something I've always wanted. And, you're brilliant. You're so attractive, and you work so hard. I think you're everything I could ever want in a spouse. In a parent for my children."
"Well shit. It sounds like you've thought a lot about this," Jane rubs her sweaty palms on the tops of her slacks. She laughs nervously. "Got it all planned out."
"Marriage and kids were always part of the plan after I finished school, and then residency. I know I'm not going to find better than you," Maura responds. She is just as honest as Jane.
Jane respects that, she can tell. She can tell by the way Jane looks her right in the eye and threads their fingers together on the table. She can also tell when Jane dismisses the waiter who wants to take her order. "I… I have a lot of… big feelings about you. You know this. I had 'em in Sicily, too. But, what about this thing of ours, Maura? What I do?"
Maura moves her head from one shoulder to the other, as if she is weighing the options, weighing what she should say. "What about it, Jane? Don't I do it, too? Let's get out of neutral. If it's ours, then let's make it really ours. We're potent now - imagine what we can do, where we can go, if we really commit to being together. Let's consolidate all this power, do something Boston hasn't seen before."
Jane blinks because hell, she can't refute any of it. She thinks about the homophobic assholes In her line of work, what they might say, and finds she can't be bothered to care about any of them. Actually, the thought of power makes her sweat, and the thought of marrying Maura makes her salivate. In her mind, that's more than enough reason to say yes. "Ok, let's do it."
Her mother is going to freak out.
Jane wakes in her bed the morning after the union gala, well past nine am. She hears nothing but her mother's voice in her head, scolding her for missing mass. She hasn't been to mass on a regular Sunday in nearly fifteen years, but the nagging lingers and pulls Jane out of bed, because catholic guilt will prevent any subsequent sleep from being restful. She reaches out and pats the pillow next to hers, her arm emerging from the covers in hopes of finding a familiar body.
No such luck is to be had, of course. No matter how late their night, Maura always rises early. By this time, she's finished her yoga, started a load of laundry, maybe even cleaned a bit before breakfast. That fact entices Jane to rise, rather than cajoles her, and then she sits. The covers fall into her lap and she rubs the heel of her hand into her chest just before running it through her hair. She uses it to then shake her hair out, spreading the wild mass a little more evenly over her head.
She stands up then, naked and tall, the heated air pleasant on her skin on the way to the bathroom. She uses it, washes her hands, splashes water on her face, and then brushes her teeth. She's always been a double brusher - once before breakfast and once after, and once she finishes, she dries her hands and steps back into the bedroom. She's just a bit more awake when she slips on her favorite pair of black briefs, the ones she likes to be lazy in, before tossing on a tight tank and some long pajama pants - blue and plain. Her robe hangs on the back of the open walk-in closet door, so she grabs it and then puts it on. She slides her feet into slippers on her way out the door.
When she opens it and shuffles out into the hall, robe on her shoulders and open, she hears the sounds of her family already in the middle of their morning. She hears the clang of spoons against bowls, teenage siblings bickering and laughing, and her wife, opening and closing the refrigerator, probably in search of all-natural creamer.
She takes the stairs one at a time, slowly, and turns the corner right into the dining area itself. Maura is there at the counter, in front of a full pot of coffee, because Cristina has started to drink it, too. Cicciu also partakes occasionally, and Jane anticipates, in a few short months, having a house full of caffeine addicts. "Mornin," she grumbles tiredly, but not unhappily, to the rest of the Rizzolis in the room.
Maura pulls a Red Sox mug off of the mug tree for her. "Bongiornu," she replies, smiling into the black liquid as she stirs two spoonfuls of sugar into it. "Sleep well?"
"Yeah. Fuck," Jane groans when she takes the first sip. It's perfect, just like every time. "That's good."
"Good," Maura says. "Do you want me to make you something to eat? Eggs? Pancakes?"
"You're offering me pancakes? I must have done something right," Jane teases, even as she pulls a bowl from the cupboard. "Or maybe you did something wrong." Maura only rolls her eyes. "Nah, thank you. Cereal's good."
Maura points to the cereal boxes and the almond milk on the table, in constant use by the growing children sitting there. "Take this mug to your daughter," she tells Jane, handing her another cup, this one nearly blonde with creamer, how Cristina likes it.
"Got it," Jane brings both drinks over. She stands just a foot or two away from Cristina, slides the mug over to her expectantly, looking down while the girl continues to scroll her phone. "Bambina," Jane says sternly.
Cristina smells the coffee and then pulls an AirPod out of her ear. She looks up to see who exactly has brought it to her and gasps. "What the hell is that?!"
Jane crinkles her nose and furrows her brow until she remembers the large red bruise on her neck, just over the jugular vein. She half-laughs to herself. "Penance, kid."
Cristina blushes crimson when she realizes what it is and what Jane's comment means. She thinks back to her parents' fight the night before, and tries to tamp down on her sudden nausea. "Oh god, you guys are so gross. Please don't elaborate. Sorry I asked."
"Didn't plan on it," Jane snarks over her shoulder, winking when Cristina makes a gagging sound. She makes her way back to Maura, who nurses her own mug still at the counter and spoons at a serving of yogurt, honey, and berries. Then Jane reaches over, puts a hand on the small of Maura's back, kisses her temple. The taste of lingering sweat is there, along with the sweetness of perfume. "Gotta pay a visit to your pop today," she says, just for Maura to hear.
Maura stands up straight. "About the complex? Do you need me there?"
Jane shakes her head. "Spend time with them," she nods to their children. Cicciu piles all of his gangly limbs onto the kitchen chair he inhabits, knees up to his face and arms wrapped around them as he watches youtube, oblivious to the conversations around him. Jane means him especially. "Do somethin' sciency with him today."
Maura raises one brow and smirks. "Something sciency?"
"Yeah, you know, like you two do," Jane says. "T can entertain herself til I get back, then we can all, I dunno, have a movie night in."
"That sounds nice," says Maura. "He has been asking me about capillary action; I suppose we can conduct an experiment out back."
Jane grabs her bowl from the counter. Just before she walks back to the table, she taps her fingertip on the counter. "You uh… you think Carlo was lookin' at me kinda funny yesterday? Last night, I mean."
Maura leans her backside on the lip of the farmhouse sink. "Funny how?"
"Ah I don't know. Pissed off," Jane says quietly.
"If that's the definition, there were several people lookin' at you funny last night, myself included," Maura muses.
"You know what I mean," says Jane.
Maura sighs. "I don't know, my love. I mean, you took Desiderio back, after his plant ran it into the ground. Profit or not, I'm sure it doesn't please him to have a Rizzoli there now," she says. She watches the thoughts flit across Jane's pensive face. "But you know how to take care of yourself. And he'll get over it. Or he won't, and then we'll deal with his passive aggression."
Jane nods. She is assuaged by the sense. "A'right, you're right. I'm gonna eat, then shower and head out, ok?"
Maura assents, and then goes to join her children at the table.
Jane rarely makes visits to the Doyle home in Beacon Hill, because she usually meets Paddy during the week, and it's usually at The Robber. But a call had come in late last night, at two or three in the morning, that the city approved a second tower for the complex being built in South Boston, after some rather convincing negotiation tactics on the part of her brother. Frankie had recently procured some sensitive information regarding a councilmember and his activities at their motel in East Boston, and used it to his advantage. He had taken Teresa as a goodwill gesture, given that she now runs its book, and he told Jane that she hadn't been pleased.
But regardless of Teresa's hurt feelings, it had given them a chance at double the money, and she needed to let Paddy know immediately. Hence her arrival at his brownstone at eleven am on a Sunday, her finger pressing gently on the doorbell.
Hope answers the door, in a sweater and a pair of slacks, and Jane feels self-conscious in her New Balance sweatsuit and shoes. And she doesn't feel self-conscious because she thinks she looks bad, but because the look on Hope's face, compulsory though it was, makes her think she should feel that way. "Hey, Hope," says Jane anyway, with a disarming smile. She glances beyond Hope's shoulder into the hallway, and hears the chatter of sports announcing from the living room, but asks anyway: "Paddy home?"
Hope steps aside, and her touch on Jane's arm is warm, genuine, where her split-second gaze had been cold. "Hi, Jane. He is. Did you want to see him?"
"Just in the living room?" Jane points toward the sound, and Hope nods.
Hope Doyle has always been a conundrum to Jane. She had become pregnant with Maura at eighteen, and married Paddy Doyle shortly after that. Paddy had fed an FBI informant information to get his own father sent to prison, because that father had threatened to kill Hope and their unborn baby if Paddy didn't get rid of her himself. Whether or not Paddy shared this information with Hope, or if it was just common street knowledge, she has, since that eighteenth birthday, experienced untold trauma. Jane knows that Hope had never intended to abandon all ideas of morality and wed herself to the life of a mobster, but it just sort of happened. And despite all their troubles, she and Paddy have this unending, irrefutable love between them. It has sustained them during the lean times, and really done a number on both of their children. And it's done a number on Hope, too, as she tries to reconcile it with all of Paddy's sins.
So, Hope doesn't really know what to do with Jane - the disruptor of all her dreams for Maura. She knows, and Jane knows that she knows, that Maura has chosen this life. Maura's chosen it with wide open eyes, too, and Hope struggles to fathom that. She also struggles to fathom how much she loves Jane, and loves Jane for Maura, and it shows in how she treats Jane. Kind, mostly, interspersed with some moments of rudeness when the more violent aspects of their life make themselves known.
Jane ruminates on all this as she touches Hope back, and walks further into their home. Maura herself had grown up in Southie, but this palace had been Hope's insistence, the way Paddy could keep her after his infidelity. After much toil, he had acquiesced, and left the neighborhood that had raised his father, him, and his children. All to make Hope happy. It had mostly worked. Jane enters the living room proper, and sees him in a recliner in front of NFL Red Zone. He moves to get up and greet her, but she stuffs her hands in her pockets and shakes her head. "Don't worry about it," she says, and then walks in front of him quickly to take the seat next to him on the couch.
"You want the Pats on?" He asks gruffly, but then passes the remote her way. "I imagine seeing all the games at once is stressful given your… investments."
Jane takes it and flips to the Patriots game. "Nah, you kiddin' me? I've had my guys runnin' that book since 2012."
"Silent partner, huh?" Paddy jokes. He is so dry that sometimes Maura misses his humor. Jane never does.
"More like silent owner," she replies. "Listen, I got a call from my brother last night."
Paddy doesn't look at her, but takes the remote from the arm of the couch and turns up the TV so that Hope won't hear his business talk. "The Waterfront Lofts?"
"Yeah. He uh, he says he got word from Simon that the second tower's approved," she says. She wiggles her knee slowly, with a lazy rhythm, as she watches the Pats offense throw for a three and out.
"That's great news," says Paddy honestly. They are silent for a few moments and he grows more restless. He taps his armrest until he can't take it anymore and crosses one leg over the other. "You haven't had anyone trying to strong arm their way in, have you?"
Jane does turn to him this time. "You mean made men?" She asks. He nods. "No. Business with you is my thing, they know that. I'm the point person because I got my hand in both pots so to speak. Why?"
Paddy fiddles with the ring on his right ring finger. "No reason. It's just, with Tom and Mario gone…. We got a good thing goin' with the Italians overseas is all."
"Yeah, and it works because you run the docks," Jane says.
"And because of your people's connections over there," Paddy responds. "But lately, I've been… getting pressured to let others in on that business."
Jane leans forward, coils her spine as she bends, ready to lunge at some unseen threat. She becomes a threat herself. She makes one hand a fist and covers it with the other. "What? Who?"
"Talucci has been insistent, especially since the DiVincenzo's have been away, that I cut in the Russians. Apparently, they have contacts in Europe that are willing to pay for what we've got," says Paddy. He means the cocaine that he runs through the Italians' stolen luxury car business. The Sicilians get rare American vehicles for cheap, and Paddy sells his product to a larger market. Everyone wins. He and the DiVincenzo brothers had come up with the scheme in the 90s, and it had been ultra-lucrative ever since. And with Carlo Talucci inserting himself as acting underboss, despite the position not existing in New England since the 70s and the DiVincenzos never approving it, it might be in danger.
"Carlo, huh? And how are you feeling about all that?" Jane asks.
"Fuck the Russians. They tried to move in on my neighborhood in the 80s. There was all-out war on my turf. I don't wanna cut them into a goddamn thing. But if it's gonna make me money, I don't know. I need to know their intentions. And I need to know what Taluccis intentions are," Paddy answers. His feelings are clear, his intentions less so.
Jane knows what she's been tasked to do. "You think he's tryin' to push you out? Put the Russians in?"
Paddy shrugs. "Would it surprise you? Especially if he thinks their product would be more lucrative?"
"No," Jane replies. She thinks about how Gaetano Campusano was installed at Desiderio. She wouldn't be surprised at all. She stands up, and sighs, popping her back. "I'll see what I can figure out, a'right? Maybe I can massage Carlo for some information. We got our Sunday meeting."
Paddy does stand up this time, and holds his hand out. She shakes it. "Thank you, Rizzoli," he says earnestly. "Just need all the pieces to the puzzle before I make a decision."
Jane walks with him past the entrance to the kitchen and to the front door. She stops just before he opens it. "I understand that. And you gotta do what you gotta do. But I have a motto, Paddy, that has saved my ass more than once: no new friends."
Paddy moves his lips in the motion of a smile, but the sentiment never reaches. He accepts her advice, and then watches her depart from his front step.
"Janie! There you are! We're over here," Giovanni Gilberti stands up at his table and waves Jane down, even though the cafe portion of Milano and by no means full on Sunday at two pm. He smooths down the front of his garish Versace silk shirt as she approaches, his gold pinky ring blending into the print.
Jane smiles painfully at him, more in secondhand embarrassment for Carlo, who has brought Gio along. But, Carlo deserves it: he's chosen Milano on purpose, because it was the scene of the so-called crime the night before. He is making her face what she has done, which is remove a possible stream of revenue from him. She holds her hand up to the woman behind the bar, who acknowledges her and nods for Jane to sit; the drink will be brought to her.
Carlo sniffs to hide a snarl: this is Jane's place. Not owned by her, but they take care of her. They respect Carlo, sure. But they know Jane. "Hi, Jane," he says to her, much more subdued than Gio. Gio himself sits, pulling his chair cacophonously across the floor tiles when Jane sits, too.
"Hey Carlo," Jane sighs, dropping her keys on the small table. "How ya doin', huh? How's the family?"
"Seems like things at home are good for you," Giovanni laughs as he speaks, though neither of the other two do. He flicks the bottom of his icy to-go cup at her neck, at the bruise that is obscured partly by the fall of her hair, but also that she does not bother to hide. "Even with all the drama yesterday."
"Family's good, good. Mikey's livin' and breathin' basketball right now," Carlo offers, despite his sour face. He ignores Giovanni and rolls his eyes.
Jane ignores both Carlo's mood and Giovanni's crass comments. "He on varsity this year?"
Carlo's facade crumbles for a moment when she asks this. "Yeah is. Starting two guard," he gushes.
Jane can relate. Cristina's good at pretty much everything she does, too. Even got Mikey beat at academics. "I'm happy for him."
"I'll let him know. He'll be happy to hear that," Carlo lies. "But me, Jane, I'm not so happy, I gotta tell ya."
"Oh yeah? Why not?" Jane plays along. She thanks the server who brings her black coffee to the table, her second cup of the day. Then she looks intently at Carlo, hoping to communicate concern, though she doesn't feel it.
"C'mon, Janie, you know," Giovanni prods from his seat across the table. Carlo glares at him and he puts his hands up. "Sorry."
"Sounds like Giovanni can tell you the whole story. Whattaya need me here for?" Jane asks sternly. Giovanni has made himself a liability in his lack of seriousness, and now she can lord it over Carlo.
Carlo shakes his head. "I know you took Desiderio from Gaetano," he says. "And what I want to hear from you is why. I want to know what happened, that's all."
Jane sipped from her mug. "Let's be frank, here. You know what happened."
"You're takin' money outta my pocket," Carlo hisses, whispering so the guests around them can't hear him.
"Not really," Jane asserts. "Gaetano had Desiderio in the red within months."
"So leave it to me to correct," Carlo raises his voice. "Tom told you to put in who I wanted right before he went away."
"No, Tom told me that diversifying earners' portfolios would protect the family while he's not here, and suggested I plug your person in at Desiderio because it runs itself. But, he left the decision up to me. And now, because the person you wanted to run it fucked it up, I'm puttin' my guy back in," Jane says. She commands the table, commands the attention of both men when she speaks so firmly. "We can't afford for one of our biggest books to circle the drain, Carlo. We just can't. Why do you want it so bad anyway, huh? It's pennies compared to the dock shit you run with Paddy Doyle."
Giovanni slurps the straw of his iced coffee drink. "This is what I was tryin' to say last night. You gotta understand that we got boys from Newton at De-"
"Would you shut the fuck up?!" Carlo shouts at Giovanni, whipping around to him and using all his might to keep from strangling him.
Giovanni flinches and stares at his boss, wide-eyed. To his credit, he doesn't talk.
He doesn't need to. Newton is the Russian neighborhood, and Jane immediately guesses that Carlo was letting them run drugs through Desiderio, knowing Tom and Mario would never allow that shit. She wonders what else they're letting the Russians do. She files it away for later, and pretends not to have heard. "Look, Carlo. I can cut you in on the action once I get it back to where it needs to be… if you get me in with the car business."
Carlo laughs, releases a little tension because Jane has dropped Giovanni's comments. "You wanna go back to stealin' cars?"
"Ideally, that wouldn't be the part that I do," Jane says to him. "I been talking to Mariu a little bit recently. I could expedite, maybe expand, our communication overseas."
"I don't think you're ready, Rizzoli," Carlo waves her thought away just before he leans back in his chair. "But you know what? You work this Desiderio thing out for me and I might think about it."
Jane stands abruptly, her coffee less than half gone. "I'll call ya, when Frankie finishes moppin' up the mess. You two have a good evenin' a'right? Say hello to Alessandra for me," she says.
Carlo nods. "You too, Jane. Give Maura my love. And don't forget to call. I'm up all hours."
Jane waves, already on her way out the door.
Jane pushes her mother out of the front door, finally, though Sunday dinner had been held an hour earlier than usual, at four, and it had been just her and Frankie at the Rizzoli home. Angela leaves in a huff at being rushed, and Jane slumps against the back of the door and groans in relief that she's gone.
She walks back down the hall and into the living room, where her children argue over their expansive movie collection on their seventy inch screen. She takes one look at their intense discussion and, not seeing Maura, decides that she'll return when the bloodshed is over and a choice is made. Oh, to have had the luxury to argue about such things when she was sixteen, she thinks. Instead of having to argue with her mother about who was going to scrape her drunk father off of the kitchen floor that morning.
Maura stands over the rather alluring scent of popping popcorn, preferring to prepare it on the stove, rather than the microwave, of course. "Have they decided yet?" she asks, smirking at the flummoxed look on Jane's face.
"No," says Jane. "And have they always been that loud? Or is it because they're teenagers?"
"I think it's because they're teenagers," Maura chuckles. "Are you alright?"
Jane shuffles over to the stove and leans against the counter right next to it. "I talked to your dad today, and he shared something with me."
"He did, did he? He doesn't do that with just anyone," Maura quips. She takes the pan off of the heat and transfers the popcorn to two large bowls, meticulous in everything.
"Somethin' business related, c'mon," Jane nudges Maura's shoulder with her own, now that that Maura is even closer. "I'm not his favorite. You are."
Maura twitches her nose. "I know. What did he tell you?"
"Carlo's trying to strong-arm him into letting the Russians in on the Sicilian car business," Jane explains.
Maura's eyes widen. "My father hates the Russians."
"No shit. And I think he thinks that Carlo is trying to push him out, so he can replace Paddy's supply with the Russians' drugs," Jane says. "I told him I'd do a little reconnaissance, and get this: when I met with Carlo today, Gio was there. And he let it slip that they were letting Russians run business out of Desiderio with Gaetano in charge."
"Tom and Mario would have never let that happen," Maura comments. "That's why he was so mad that you took the club back: Teresa was letting him do it."
"Yeah," Jane responds, with a heavy sigh. "But I need more. I need to know if the Taluccis' relationship with the Newton boys goes deeper. I need to know so that I can protect your father, and protect you. But I also can't be sniffing around."
Maura faces Jane, inches apart from her. She finds their height difference delicious, even when they're both in socks. She smiles. "What are you thinking, hmm? You're always thinking."
"You're beautiful, you know," Jane says. Maura blushes. "You were beautiful when we met, of course. But you're irresistible now."
They join fingers, their arms at their sides. "Mmm," says Maura. "I think I'm beginning to understand. We've done this before."
"A couple of times, yeah," Jane nods. "And I think Giovanni would be the perfect…"
"Target?" Maura guesses. The way Jane looks her body down, from head to toe, lights her on fire. Even if it is to appraise her appeal to someone else. "You want me to befriend him, don't you?"
"Would you feel comfortable? Doing that?" Jane asks in a small moment of doubt.
Maura's wicked smile assuages her. "I would do anything for you. And this? To help my father, to save our business? This would be nothing."
Jane returns the grin, just as cunning. She accepts the bowl that Maura hands her, and then they walk together toward the living room. "But nothin' below the belt," she adds seriously, maybe a little petulantly at the end.
Maura laughs. "Oh Jane. You're not the only one who keeps her vows."