A/N: This flashback is a few months after the previous one.
Jane steps into the driver's side of their new Mercedes S-Class, having just transported Cristina from her carseat to Angela's front door. Maura takes her hand as soon as she buckles up and starts the vehicle. "She went pretty easy," says Jane as she pulls away from the curb and drives them back to the highway that leads into the city. "I'm startin' to think she likes Ma better than she likes us."
Maura laughs. "Nanna's house is novel. She likes it so much because she doesn't get to go every day," she reassures Jane.
"Pretty much every Sunday," Jane grumbles, but her heart isn't in it.
"During football season especially," says Maura. "Which, speaking of, I quit my job so that I could stay home with Cristina and spend more time with you. So imagine my surprise when most of my Sundays are comprised of watching the NFL and rubbing elbows with pathological gamblers."
Jane snickers. "Don't lie. You quit your job because you make more money workin' with me. Don't think I don't see how you look at those envelopes when we collect on Monday morning."
Maura's mind flashes to the Monday after the last Super Bowl, when she and Jane had collected three duffels worth of cash from the book. Jane had emptied the bags out on the bed, and somehow snuck a bottle of iced Dom Perignon into their room. Maura had ignored her instincts about germs and money and let Jane fuck her senseless on top of their haul. She blushes and puts her hands to her barely-growing belly, as if apologizing to their unborn child for whatever bacteria she invited into herself that day. "The fact that your occupation is now more lucrative than mine was a factor… yes."
"And you like doin' what we do," Jane goads. They pass through East Boston, and then exit in their neighborhood so that Jane can take the scenic route down to Southie.
"I like doing what we do," Maura admits shamelessly. "I love the luxury it affords us, especially lately. But I do not love spending time in a room full of nitrates and my father's associates."
"Yeah I don't usually partake in the cocktail weenies," Jane concedes. She brushes phantom crumbs off the front of her Patriots jersey as if in preparation for the snacks she is about to eat. "And I know that it's not the most fun thing for you, having to spend the afternoon with your dad, but it really is our bread and butter, here, Maura."
"A central pillar to this thing of ours," Maura comments as she looks out the window. The early January sun cuts the chill in the air and highlights the bare branches on the trees on the way to The Dirty Robber.
"Damn right," Jane says, sounding far away as she concentrates on nabbing a spot on a side street close to the bar. "Recession-proof, baby. Got my family through a lot of rough years."
"Your father," Maura says, running a thumb against Jane's cheekbone, just under the eye that has turned sad despite her bravado.
Jane turns into the touch so that she can kiss Maura's wrist. Then she smiles and sniffles. "The one and only. But we've done things with his book that he coulda never dreamed of. You ready?"
Jane is done speaking on it, so Maura accepts the change in subject without any complaint. "Not really, but I suppose it must be done," she teases.
Jane exits, and then goes to Maura's side of the car to open her door. She holds out her hand for Maura to take. She smirks at Maura's form of protest: slacks, a fashionable, oversized sweater, and flats, no football gear in sight despite the fact that every person in that room will be wearing some form of it. It's not cold enough today for over coats and gloves, so they both wear hooded, padded jackets, Maura's a fashionable hunter green, Jane's a sensible black. "It must. Every time you look at a TV screen, I want you to picture dollar signs. Lots and lots of dollar signs. Poppin' up all over the city."
Maura chuckles, and then the side door for The Robber bursts open. "Janie! Maura! Kickoff is in five minutes!" Frankie calls to them, and sure enough, he wears a Tom Brady jersey with a hoodie under, and jeans, just like his sister. He looks a little more boyish, with his old New Balances and no styling product in his hair. Jane meanwhile, has on a twenty-thousand dollar watch and brand new Nikes, the white of them brilliant in the daylight. The two of them are three years apart, just like Jane's children will be, and Maura thinks about how much difference so little time makes: in their mindsets, in their stations in life, in their income.
"Hi, Frankie," she greets him warmly, because his youth and his scrappy up-and-comer status makes her love him all the more. She kisses his cheek, red with a few beers, not with the cold outside.
"Hey Maura." He hugs her tightly around the shoulders, careful of his midsection against hers. She finds his overprotectiveness of her when pregnant endearing, if also a little silly. "Teresa's here, so you won't be completely alone."
"Oh yeah, what a comfort," Jane snarks, rolling her eyes. Frankie steps aside to let them in, even though he glares daggers at his sister.
"Jane," Maura chides her, but with a smile over her shoulder that says she's trying not to laugh at the thought of socializing with Teresa Campusano.
Jane doesn't hide her mere tolerance for Teresa when they enter the back room of The Robber, where Italians and Irish alike crowd around a row of televisions with all the impact NFL games blaring. She nods to Teresa out of obligation, but hugs and kisses the members of her crew heartily as soon as she enters their fray.
Maura is greeted by them, too, and she makes her requisite handshakes and cheek kisses before excusing herself to find her father.
Paddy stands with a cold drink in his hand on top of a cocktail napkin, and he, like her, has foregone the football attire. He wears a dark navy polo and black slacks, like it's just another day at the office. For him, it very well may be. "Hi, sweetheart," he says to Maura as he sips on his dark liquor. He smirks at the contempt very clearly wafting off of her for the game of football itself.
"Hi, Dad," she says. She follows him to a table towards the back of the room, weaving through associates monitoring online bets. She keeps an eye on Jane, still up front by their team. Frankie stands right next to her, and Maura feels a bit better. Increased power, increased money, brings increased visibility, and Jane has never been more visible. No O'Rourke associates are in the room that they know of, but their world is notorious for backdoor alliances, especially for vengeance.
And so, Maura worries. She doesn't say; she doesn't want to cause undue stress or fear, but she worries.
Paddy has seen the look on Hope a hundred times. He puts his hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Take a seat, get off your feet for awhile. We've got about six hours worth of games to get to," he says. When she does sit, angling her chair towards the televisions, he sits next to her. "Jane'll be fine," he says quietly, acknowledging her. "Let her do what she does best."
"And what's that?" Maura asks him, looking at him expectantly.
"Make money," he replies, laughing. "You know that better than anybody. This used to be her father's business. She's made it more profitable than I think we could have guessed. For her and for me."
Maura feels guilty, but she cannot help what she says next. "She doesn't talk about him much. About what happened."
Paddy has no loyalty to Jane's father, so he doesn't hesitate to explain. "He started gambling, dipping into his own business. And then he started losing, and he owed the DiVincenzo brothers a lot of money. Word is he's in New Mexico somewhere, and the only reason the family hasn't pursued him is because Jane paid his debts and agreed to take over the book. They watch her like a hawk, and she rakes it in."
"Jane is not her father," Maura defends Jane.
"Doesn't mean the brothers shouldn't protect their asset, especially now that it's five times as valuable," Paddy reasons.
"She won't do what he did. She wouldn't compromise herself or her earning potential that way," Maura continues, and she wonders why she is so desperate for her father not to think poorly of Jane.
"I know," Paddy says, proving that he doesn't. He gets up, grabs a bottle of water for her from the refreshments, and then comes back. When he hands it to her and she takes it, he puts his large hand over hers. "She's good for you. You're good for each other. Keep her around, Maura - I trust her."
Paddy Doyle never particularly enjoys coming to the DiVincenzo auto body shop, despite the fact that he always walks out richer. He can't bring more than one man, due to DiVincenzo rules, and while both he and his man are always strapped, they are also always outnumbered. Needless to say his cortisol is high when he enters through the front door now with Sean Kelly behind him.
Carlo is behind one of the reception desks with his feet up when they walk in. "Hey, Mr. Doyle!" he calls, snapping up. Paddy can't untangle contempt from affection in his greeting. He sits among piles of papers and manuals for old cars. It smells like motor oil.
"How are you, Carlo?" Paddy smiles professionally, with crinkled eyes and closed lips. His gun rests behind his back in his waistband, and he stretches to make sure he can feel it.
"You know what? We've got a lot goin' on," Carlo replies. "But that's what happens when you're the boss, right? C'mon, we'll talk in back."
Paddy follows him and four other men to the back of the shop. They walk through the garage and to the main office space, passing luxury cars getting general tune ups and license plates removed. In the workspace below each bay, a man loads Paddy's cocaine cargo into specifically designated areas of the undercarriage of each vehicle so that it is ready to be shipped at his docks.
This is why he had the crack wars of the eighties with rival crews. This is why he stiffed the Colombians in ninety-three, when he ruined Sean Cavanaugh's life and career for cheaper coke. It built his empire, and made his bed with the Italians.
And now he doesn't know whether or not the Italians want him out, so they can plug the Russians in. He takes those doubts with him into his meeting with Carlo Talucci. "Things are good with the Sicilians," Paddy says as he sits. Sean stands behind him. Carlo's men do the same. "Profits are goin' up."
Carlo shrugs. "That's very true," he says. He pats his slicked back hair. "It's one of our most consistent things."
Paddy sees his body language and cuts to the chase. "So why do you look unsure, then?"
"It's just… Since Don Antoninu died and Mariu took over, they've been whispering in my ear about wanting more. Higher end cocaine, possibly some harder shit," Carlo replies.
Paddy pales. "We don't do H. We don't do pills, either," he says firmly. "My father believed in that, and so did yours, and the DiVincenzos were always firm on that, too."
"I know, I know," Carlo says as he puts his hands up. "Don't shoot the messenger, Paddy. This is just what I'm hearin'. And I gotta say, I'm not surprised I'm hearin' it, because the profit margins are supposed to be… whew." He whistles at the end. "They want business to grow over there, too."
Paddy takes his cap off of his head and twists it in his hands. "The Russians almost ran me out of my own neighborhood because of that shit they put on my streets, Carlo. We narrowly avoided disaster. If we start this up, they'll come for you, too, for encroaching on their line of income."
"Somethin' tells me not," Carlo replies. He sounds very assured, and, Paddy thinks, cocky. But Paddy also knows not to trust his paranoia when it comes to the emotions of others. He only knows that what's being suggested is bad. "But I hear you, too. We've never gotten into that shit here in the past, and for good reason. Mariu seems insistent, though. And I think he's gonna bring it up directly soon."
Paddy decides to play a hand, to see if he can force Carlo's. "I need a man out there, then. To talk to him. I can see if Jane will go, and talk some sense into him, or at least make him see our side. She knows him."
Carlo tenses. He shifts in his seat and dabs his handkerchief against his lips, a habit. "I… I wouldn't send Jane, Paddy."
"Why not?" asks Paddy with a raised eyebrow. The unspoken rivalry between Carlo and Jane had always existed, but neither had spoken a bad word about the other to Paddy. Ever.
"Because I don't know if you can trust her. You want a Sicilian in the room? Send Giovanni," offers Carlo. He points to Giovanni in a chair behind him, who's been running union scheduling and off days at the docks for deliveries. Giovanni grins widely, like he's being called up from triple-A to the bigs. "Plus, I know Jane is very busy with this new building venture you two have going."
Paddy doesn't miss the ice in Carlo's last statement. He narrows his gaze on Carlo and wonders how exactly he plots to take money out of his grandchildren's hands, because he is now sure that somehow, Carlo is doing so. "You know what? Maybe I'll send Maura. She speaks the language, has some contacts out there, too," he says breezily, and then he waits for Carlo's dissent.
Carlo looks troubled, uncertain about what he is going to say. His brow furrows and he frowns in what looks like pity. His eyes soften and he leans forward on his desk, folding his hands together. "Listen, Paddy, can I be frank?"
Paddy, confused, nods. This is not the fire he expected. "I'd prefer it."
"We've also been getting word… whispers, on our end of things, about some federal heat that may or may not be coming our way. And I don't know much yet, but, here's what I'm going to say: if you're serious about this meeting with the Sicilians? Let me send someone for us. Because if you ask me, you send a rat, or you send the wife of a rat, the outcome is the same. Time away for everybody in this room."
Paddy's ears grow hot when Carlo looks right at him. He checks for his piece again, and it's there, but he's sixty years old. Sean is a big man and thirty-nine, and he could probably take four or five guys in a firefight. But neither of them would live to see tomorrow. And if Paddy does die today for what Carlo has just insinuated about his only daughter, he will never know if it's true: if there are whispers and if Jane is talking to the feds. "Maura is no rat," he growls through gritted teeth, fighting against that Doyle impulse for carnage with all that is in him. "And Jane has been nothing but loyal. To you and to me. So you better have one hell of a good source if you're telling me this. Because if I find out that it isn't a good one and you're saying these things about my daughter? I'll have a fucking problem with that."
"The source isn't bad, Paddy," Carlo says, and Paddy clenches his fists because he honest to god cannot tell if Carlo is lying. It's a den of snakes, and the only one fidgeting is Giovanni, but he has no idea what that means.
"Then let me do my own digging," Paddy says, standing abruptly. He needs out. "Put a hold on that meeting until then. I don't care what you have to do, just stall the Sicilians. Because if Jane is talking, we have a much bigger problem than profit margins."
He leaves, without looking back at Carlo. He has ears on the streets and he needs to know what they're hearing.
Jane strides out of Venezia with a huge fall bouquet, in gray slacks and a tucked-in white button up with the first three buttons undone. It is an uncharacteristically warm day before Halloween, and she is in a good mood: she doesn't have to wear her blazer, or her coat, for a nice mid-morning walk through the neighborhood. She carries the flowers down Snow Hill Street, smiling into the side mirror of the driver's side of a car that's been parked on the street. She walks right up to the open window, and sticks her head in. "You know," she begins, flipping her aviators off of her face and into her hair, "I usually buy my wife flowers here, because they're her favorite. So don't tell her that I'm giving you some, too."
The driver, a Black woman with tight curls framing her face and falling just above her shoulders, just a bit younger than Jane and also in a suit, sips her coffee. Her dark lip gloss leaves a print on the lid of the cup. She smirks, then purses her lips. She's been spotted. "Hi, Jane," she says sweetly.
Jane hands her the flowers, then kisses her cheek when she accepts them. "Hey, Nina," she greets back. "They got you on rotation today?"
Nina looks around. "Volunteering information now will make you look much better down the road than if I have to force it out of you, Rizzoli," she says, just before turning the dial on her radio all the way down. "Thank you for the flowers," she continues, inhaling deeply at the top of them. "They're beautiful."
"You're welcome," Jane says. "You keep my brother happy, so I owe you. You seen him today?"
Nina takes another drink. "No, I haven't, but if you do, tell him he could stand to buy me flowers more often."
Jane laughs, and she scratches her arm as it leans on Nina's door. She glances at the FBI badge clipped to Nina's jacket and then back up into her eyes. "I'll do that," she says. "How's your ma?"
Nina's mother lives just a few blocks away from here, and Nina always visits her when the Bureau puts her on Rizzoli watch. "She's good. She asks about you, you know. Can't tell her much, and she doesn't know I'm… seeing Frankie, but she does ask."
"Well, tell her I ask about her, too. When I see you out and about you know, in the neighborhood," Jane replies kindly. "So, is there heat on me? More than usual?"
Nina laughs. She turns her radio back on just before she says, "cooperate and I just might be able to do something about that. But not until then."
Jane sees that their time is over, which is just as well given that it would be bad for her to be seen conversing with a federal agent, even a federal agent that stymies investigations into the Rizzolis and makes sure that their profile at the Bureau remains relatively low. Even a federal agent that is sleeping with her brother.
Several made men in their lives, like Tom and Mario, Carlo, and the other captains, know about their mutual agreement; the lower-level soldiers and associates do not. So, Jane pushes off the car and nods her head. "You know I can't do that, Nina," then she points to the radio again. Nina turns the dial down. "And ask Frankie about the Russians, yeah? Might be a big bust for you."
Nina nods. "Ok. Thanks, Jane."
"No problem."
Jane is breathing heavily into Maura's shoulder as they lay in bed, lights off and house now quiet. Moments before, the room itself had been loud with creaking bed springs, a knocking headboard, and moans shared between the two of them. Now, though, she lays on top, spent and gulping in air.
Maura's hands are in Jane's hair, and then stroking the sides of her face. "You're still very good at that," Maura says, laughing breathlessly. "So much for me promising to be quiet."
"They're asleep. Who cares?" Jane mumbles into the skin just under her mouth. Her lips brush it as she speaks, and they are reminded of how nice it is to kiss that skin, so they do. Repeatedly.
Maura hums in contentment at the gesture, and how pleasant Jane's weight feels when it's tired and heavy against her. "I haven't really seen you since breakfast," she says, changing the subject. "How was your day today?"
Jane lifts her head up then. "You serious? You wanna talk about the weather after we just did that?"
Maura quirks an eyebrow. "Well what do you think we should talk about? I didn't realize that there were sanctioned post-coital topics."
Jane kisses Maura's lips to staunch the flow of big words. "I wanna talk about you openin' up that pretty thing for me again," she quips, dancing her fingers from the bed, to Maura's side, pulling at her hip, grasping at her ass, and then settling to grip her thigh as Maura bends her leg toward their middles.
"It never closed," Maura counters, kissing Jane back when she feels Jane's hand inching to where she wants it to be so badly, though it was just there. "You know I'll always keep it open for you."
"Yeah?" Jane teases, because she knows it's true. "Only for me? Not for Giovanni?"
Maura clamps her legs shut around Jane's trim waist. "Must you ruin things? Now I have to refuse you when all I want is for you to make me come again."
"Oh c'mon!" Jane barks out a laugh. "You don't have to refuse me," she says, but Maura just squeezes harder. "I'm just kidding, babe."
"The moment's gone. And no, I am not sleeping with that… fool. He's a fool, Jane. You didn't tell me he was this stupid," Maura says. Jane is doing that thing with her tongue on Maura's neck, and she starts to think about dissolving her moratorium. It's actually almost all she can think about.
Jane chuckles. "I'm sorry, but if you knew he was a fucking dum-dum you would have never agreed to get intel outta him. And I need you. You're my MVP," she compliments Maura as her hands begin to wander again. As soon as they go below the waist, Maura squirms to half-heartedly keep Jane away.
"I ran into him today, on purpose. At Milano. He told me he quite enjoyed himself when we saw each other at Pisa, so I told him that I did, too, and that we should go out again. That it's been awhile since I've been wined and dined," Maura explains through a hiss as Jane connects, circles her entrance with a fingertip. "Don't touch me there when we're talking about him," she warns.
Jane goes back to a hip, a safe zone. "Yes, baby. You know I'm grateful, right? That you're doing this for me?"
"I'm doing it for us," Maura corrects her, nips at her eyebrow. "And he is incompetent enough that I think he might tell us exactly what is going on between Carlo and the Russians if I just give him enough of my time."
"Speakin' of Russians, I saw Nina today," Jane says.
"What does she have to do with the Russians?" Maura asks. "And how is she?"
"She's good. I told her to ask Frankie about 'em, because I have a feeling that if Carlo is sniffin' around them, they're makin' moves elsewhere, too. Which means increased visibility. And if they have increased visibility, that takes some heat off me," Jane responds.
"Mmm," Maura loosens her grip and splays her legs at the knees. "You're like my very own personal Machiavelli, you know that? I can't tell you how attractive it is to me when you manipulate the federal government for our mutual benefit."
"We're quite the team, kid," says Jane, laughing. She lifts her torso up, and presses herself into Maura's slick, swollen sex. Maura is not laughing. She groans, and grips Jane's ass to push Jane against her further, following the pleasure their current position gives her. Jane gulps at the friction, too. "And bein'... un-made affords me a certain amount of freedom, but…"
"But what?" Maura breathes out, because the hook that Jane has just left dangling confuses her, pumps adrenaline into her for some reason. She stops writhing and reaches up, tugging on Jane's neck to bring her close. She is searching Jane's eyes, which are unreadable. Jane's eyes are hardly ever unreadable to Maura.
Jane stops her movement and lets herself be held. She lets Maura's hands touch her, bring them closer. "I, uh, I been talkin' to Mariu."
Maura blanches. "Mariu del Re? From Missina?"
"Yeah," says Jane. "Just a few secure phone calls, is all. But he likes me, Maura. He likes me and he likes that we do things clean here. No hard drugs, no sex trafficking. I guess his rivals in Corleone have been trying to make inroads over here with that shit. They're tryin' to find Boston Italian suppliers."
"And what does this have to do with you not being made?" asks Maura.
"He thinks that when Tom and Mario get out, there may be a workaround for a promotion… if I'm sworn-in over there," Jane closes one eye, grimacing, waiting for Maura's reaction. "To keep business here clean."
Maura shoots up, effectively pushing Jane to her side and off. Their legs are still tangled, but Jane scrambles to lean on an elbow so that they can look at each other. "He wants to make you? In Sicily?"
Jane shrugs. "Books are always open over there. And surprisingly, they've been letting women in for decades now. So… if I do let them cut my lip, he says it works out for him: he's got one of his own to run things here, and Tom and Mario have an excuse to, well-"
"To hand things over to you, because you'll be made," Maura finishes for her wife. "Matri di diu, Jane. Jesus Christ."
Jane searches Maura's eyes in the dark. "You're my right hand. My other half. I don't move unless you tell me to. So I need to know what you think about this."
Maura places her hand on Santa Lucia against Jane's chest, and weaves the gold chain around her finger, watches it glisten on their skin in the moonlight coming through their window. "I think… I think you would be stupid not to do this. But it scares me, Jane. It makes me scared for you."
"I know," Jane murmurs. "I'm scared, too. But if this happens, and I go down, I would give everything over to you. And I know you could run this thing for decades. I know that if, god forbid, somethin' happens to me as things stand now, your dad would take care of you. The kids would be taken care of. But if I do this, you would be more than taken care of. You'd be the head of the whole damn thing."
Maura nods mutely. How could she say no? She imagines how heavy the crown would be on her head, and it pales in comparison to the potential weight of their pockets. "When would you go?"
"Not sure," says Jane. "Soon, I'd imagine."
A/N: This chapter is like super mega important. Also, when Jane says "let them cut my lip," she refers to an older Sicilian mafia initiation ritual of cutting the lip to bleed onto a paper with a skull likeness on it. I'm not sure what they do now, but I always liked the imagery of that one, so we'll roll with it.