After Lorenzo's funeral, Tom and Mario DiVincenzo embark on a business expansion spree both in Boston and Providence, in true Patriarca fashion. They buy up condemned property for practically nothing, use their contacts in the unions to build up apartments, hotels, and other small businesses, all that will supplement their income and solidify their status as the undisputed Kings of New England.

To Jane, it all seems a little too conspicuous, like it's all happening a little too fast, but she says nothing because she gets paid to run for them, not to run things for them. If they wanted advice, they'd ask their consiglieri, a few more bookish men that temper the DiVincenzos' brash nature with numbers and logic.

So, she keeps her mouth shut when she is summoned to a DiVincenzo mainstay, Desiderio. The club has now been in business about 12 years, and remains a constant source of revenue for its owners. The brothers call all big meetings there, and so she knows that whatever they have in store for her and the other three captains, it's consequential.

Maura had let her take the S-Class to the club at eleven on a Monday, on the condition that Jane brings it back in time for the kids to be picked up from school. Jane agrees, figures that three and a half hours is plenty of time, even if the kids are at two different sites. If she cuts it too close, she'll swing by and pick them up herself on the way home. Maura doesn't like to drive Jane's giant Range Rover, but this promise convinces her to do so, just for the day.

It is these things on Jane's mind, family minutia and chores to be completed, when she strides up to Desiderio's side entrance. Bobby Genovese stands there, checking something on his phone, when he sees her. "Hey Jane," he says, putting the phone back. "How're you, huh?"

"Good, Bobby. Doin' real good," she replies. Her hands are in her pockets and she rocks on her heels. "You?"

"Oh I'm good," Bobby answers. "They keep me busy here, you know. Barely have time to run to the gym and back."

Jane laughs. Bobby is a notoriously single, notoriously vain Italian with muscles sculpted by God. He's big and he's sweet and he is obsessed with working out. "Damn shame," she teases.

His ears turn red. "Yeah, well. We all do what we have to. What about Maura, the kids? How're they doin'?"

"Maura's on some council for heart surgery? I don't know. She picks up per diem shifts at the hospital when she wants and they can't get enough of her. Havin' her hand in that pot… it's just another potential positive. She's somethin' else," Jane gushes about her wife, and Bobby leans against the wall so he can listen with interest. There are rumors about his being gay that he never addresses, but that Jane believes when he cares so much about her marriage and gives no fucks about anyone else's.

"You picked a good one," he gushes right along with her.

"I think she kinda picked me. But I know. Anyway, kids are great - Cristina's in all the social clubs at St. John's and Cicciu's tryin' his hand at little league," says Jane.

"Oh yeah? How's that goin'?" Bobby asks.

"Awful. He has really bad hand-eye coordination," Jane says through a chuckle. "And he trips over his own feet. But smart as a whip, Bobby. Like, a genius."

"Well I'm glad to hear things are goin' so well for ya," Bobby pushes back against the wall so he can stand up straight again. "You here for that meeting with Tom and Mario?"

"Yeah," Jane answers. She straightens her coat and nods to the door. Bobby opens it for her. "Thanks."

"No problem, Jane. See you around," he says, and then he closes the door behind her.

Jane has made this walk a thousand times over the past decade or so: more by memory than by sight, she takes the first door to the left, and enters the bullpen office area of Desiderio's back end. There are three desks, one for Tom, one for Mario, and one for their bookkeeper who is a capo himself, Dickie Fiorentini. He's the guy that Jane reported to when she first started her crew at 25. He's plucked her and Frankie out of countless hairy situations.

There's a long table in the middle of the room, and that's where the bosses, as well as Carlo Talucci, sit and drink. Mario, tall and thin, unlike his brother, stands and throws his arms out when he sees Jane. "Janie!" he bellows, and she can tell that he's buzzed. Not drunk, at least not enough to curb his intellect, but he looks happy. She goes to him.

"Mario, hey," she says, hugging him tightly. They kiss each other's cheeks and when Mario pulls away, he pats the back of the seat next to him.

"Come sit," he says. "Dickie's in the can. I'll pour you a drink."

She obeys, and then he slips a glass of wine in front of her. Wine is not her favorite, unless she's having it with dinner and bread she can stick into it, but she accepts the gift from him with a smile. She drinks, sets the glass back on the table, and then greets the other two men with her. "Hey Tom, Carlo, how's it goin'?"

Tom smiles brightly. "Good, Jane. Real good. Happy you're here," he says, and she suspects he is more drunk on profit and power than on the wine that his brother has been pouring. More than anything, Tom loves money, and money therefore makes him the happiest. She wonders what venture tickles him now.

Carlo is more solemn. He shuffles in his seat like he is unsure of his surroundings. His fists are balled into the pockets of his leather jacket, and he tosses his eyes between the three others at the table every couple of minutes. His knee bounces, too. "Doin' good, Janie. You?"

"Good, thanks," she keeps her answer short with him, because she is suddenly unsure how much she wants him to know. He doesn't seem interested anyway.

Just as the toilet flushes and Dickie swings open the door from the bathroom, another man, probably in his early fifties, comes waltzing in from outside. He's in an Adidas tracksuit and has slicked back gray hair, and wears a gold pinky ring on each hand. He is boisterous, and he comes in and squeezes Carlo's shoulders.

Carlo jumps and Jane can't help her laugh. The man, Alfie Filipelli, laughs, too, and soon the DiVincenzo brothers do. "Tone it down, Carlo, I ain't the FBI!" Alfie says, pulling a folding chair away from the table and sitting in it, spreading his legs as if this were his home. Alfie is the fourth present capo, the third official one since Jane is not made, and his presence means that the meeting can begin.

"I know the four of you got shit to do," Mario says, taking his spot at the head of the table. "So I won't keep you long."

"Heard that one before," Alfie quips, and gets a few laughs. Mario is the most long-winded in the room.

"Alfie, would you shut the fuck up?" Mario says, smirking as he does. "But we need to talk about some things that are going to be shifting around now that those apartments in Back Bay are goin' up and we got in on that new minor league stadium contract."

Carlo whistles and Jane sits back, impressed. Neither of them thought that deal would come to pass. Now that it has, Jane imagines the brothers will spend most of their own time out there, where the revenue will be. That, and the apartments. Apartments are usually fronts for other things, and pretty lucrative as well. "They approved that, huh?" she says, just to keep Mario rolling.

"They sure did, kid," he replies. "And that means you won't be seein' much of us while it's gettin' built. I'm envisioning a lotta trips down south to make sure everything goes smoothly, right Tom?"

Tom crosses his arms over his belly. "Oh yeah."

"Which means, we need to talk about my baby," Mario continues. "This place. Desiderio."

"What about it, Mario?" Alfie asks. He crosses his arms, too, leans forward, intrigued.

"Well, it's been a super-club ever since we've opened it," Mario explains. "We keep it clean, weed or cocaine only, sold by guys we trust. We keep it classy, with the burlesque girls, who really are the best of the best. And we keep it simple: VIP and bottle service, for high rollers in our ranks, and for athletes, too."

"Thanks for the business model, Mario," Carlo says sarcastically. "But what does all this mean?"

Mario sits down. He pulls a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and fishes around for a lighter. When he finds it, he puffs until the cigarette is lit, and takes a long drag. "It means I don't wanna see it go down the shitter just because I can't be here every day to take care of it."

Tom faces his underlings. "What he's tryin' to say is that we need someone to run it while we take care of these other… opportunities. It may turn into a long term gig if we keep getting contracts like these."

Jane looks at her fellow captains and wonders who it will be. All of them are made, so she knows it will be one of them and not her, but there are contingencies for each.

Dickie? He's already familiar with the books and has a desk on site. But, she imagines that the brothers will want him to go wherever they go, given how good he is with money. Still, he works out of Desiderio, knows the place like the back of his hand. That counts for something.

Alfie? She tries not to laugh at the thought. Alfie's the muscle-guy. His crew runs the more physical jobs, and they do the dirty work some of the guys are afraid to do. Alfie's good at it, too: he knows how to make people go missing and not be found, with minimal blowback on the family. But, for all his jocularity, he also has a terrible temper. That temper makes him impulsive, which does not bode well for running a club as lucrative as Desiderio. Dismantle any of the facets of its success, and Aflie'd risk ruining the whole thing. He should not and most likely will not be the choice.

But Carlo? That makes the most sense. Carlo is driven, and has the most diversified portfolio. He's run strip clubs in his time, while he was rising up in the ranks, and his dad had a few bars in town back in the day. Desiderio is basically like all the places where Carlo grew up, both as a man and as a mafioso. Carlo is also serious and disciplined with money. He won't blow someone's head off by the front bar for some perceived disrespect.

"Which is why we brought you here," Mario says. "It's time for one of you to take the reins. We thought about it a lot, you know? Do we hand it over, or do we split our time: one goes out to Worcester, one stays here and makes sure the cash cow stays afloat. In the end, we figured we got the pyramid for a reason, right? And I don't mind sharin' the wealth a little bit, if you can make sure the wealth keeps comin' in."

"So what's with the suspense?" Alfie comments. His body is lax compared to the coiled others in the room, as if he already knows it won't be him.

"We're pickin' you, Jane," Mario cuts the shit and looks right at her.

Jane blinks. "What?"

"You're gettin' the club. Startin' next week," Mario continues, a tiny, smug grin on his face. "You got guts, you got a good head on your shoulders, and you're settled. You got family, and kids. That tells us you're not goin' anywhere."

"I-" Jane sputters. She doesn't bring up that Carlo has kids and a wife, too. "Uh, shit, Mario. Thank you. I…"

"What? What the hell you mean you're giving it to Jane?!" Carlo Talucci explodes out of his chair. "She's not even one of us!"

Tom stands up, cutting an imposing figure with at least three inches on Carlo. "Not one of us? Jane's been down in the mud with you since you were kids. Jane's fucking killed for this family, Carlo."

Carlo tosses his chair and it clatters to the ground. "With all due respect, Tom, fuck off. She's not made! Nun cc'è omertà! What's stoppin' her from turnin' on us, rattin' us out if the deal is sweet enough?"

Jane has enough, watching him disparage her. She stands, too. She looks like she can hold her own, so Tom steps aside. "What stops me? Same thing that stops you, asshole. You really think a burning saint is the difference between me singing like a canary and total silence? I got as much loyalty as you."

Maura hears the doorbell even though she is vacuuming the dining room and Cicciu is blaring music upstairs. She walks into the hall and sees Jane getting up from the couch. "Don't you dare," she threatens. "Sit back down." She waits in the doorway until Jane obeys with only a little bit of grumbling, and then she resumes her walk, padding with her bare feet to the front door.

When she opens it, Colin stands before her. They look alike, in their unsure faces and their dark blue jeans. Colin wears a hoodie, Maura a plumb cashmere sweater, and they both start to speak at the same time. "Maura-"

"Colin-" they say over each other. Maura tries again, smiles bashfully. "Hi," she greets. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to see Jane," he answers, his eyebrow upturned like it's obvious. "I… Jesus, Maura. I'm so sorry."

Maura shakes her head to banish his apology. "Don't. It's not your fault. Come in, she's in front of the tv, where she should be." She steps away so that he can enter, and then she closes the front door and leads him to Jane.

"Yeah, Anthony. You find out anything, you let me know - as soon as you know," Jane is on the phone now, and she's up, pacing the floor with it up to her face. "I wanna know who didn't report for work yesterday mornin'," she says in code. She wants to know if any made men or their associates have been squawking about getting one over on her, or sullying her name in the streets. "Ok, thanks." She looks up, noticing Maura and Colin there for the first time. She twirls her hair around her finger and chews the inside of her cheek. "Uh, hey, Colin," she says, attempting a lax pretense.

Maura doesn't let her. "What did I just say to you?"

"C'mon, I been sittin' all day!" Jane pouts and stamps her foot.

"And that's for a reason," Maura says, immovable. "You really should have been on an IV. My compromise is that you be on bed rest for the next two days."

Colin squeezes his lips shut and puts his hands in his back pockets. "Looks like you're not doing too bad, huh?" he finally says once Jane and his sister break their glaring contest.

Jane sits grumpily. "Yeah I'm ok," she responds. "Thanks for comin'. I'm assumin' you're here to check up on me."

Colin laughs once, he can't help it. He looks at Maura and she rolls her eyes, taking the seat on the other end of the couch. He sits in one of their fancy recliners, and immediately rocks it. "I am," he says. His fingers begin a frenetic dance on the armrest, and Jane's eyes go to it. Of course she would notice; she notices everything about him, and has since they first met seventeen years prior. "Listen, Jane. I need to talk to you about something."

Jane taps her own toes, flat on the carpet below them. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

"Maura, I was keeping something from you when we met earlier this week," he says, wrapping an open hand around his fist. He looks down instead of at her.

"I surmised as much," Maura says, trying to stay as neutral as possible. "You weren't yourself."

"I… I was kind of between a rock and a hard place. Dad…. he came to me this weekend and told me that he had heard that Jane was talking to the authorities. He didn't want to spook you, so he wanted me to poke around, find out," Colin confesses.

Jane leans forward. Her elbows sit on her thighs and her pendant swings forward, out of her shirt. She glowers at him. "Someone told your dad I was a rat?" she asks quietly.

He nods. "I told him it couldn't be you. I trust you; I know there's no way. A rat doesn't find me a good lawyer to get me off with time served. A rat doesn't help my dad rake in so much cash he doesn't know what to do with it. But I dunno, Jane, he seemed unsure. Conflicted, or something."

Maura seethes in her own corner. "Who told him that?"

"I don't know," says Colin. "And I don't know if it was dad that tried to get you killed. But he thought you might be talking, and I just figured that you should be aware."

"Thanks, man," Jane says. Her face passes into something unknowable. She stands, and this time Maura does not stop her. Maura actually stands behind her, as Jane angles her body to shepherd Colin up from his seat and towards the door.

He does get up, and wipes his sweaty palms on the tops of his thighs. "Y-yeah, Jane. No problem. Feel better, ok?"

Jane doesn't reply. She just nods one time, and then they both follow him to the door. "I'll see you, Colin. Soon, ok?" Maura calls out from behind Jane's shoulder.

Colin watches her mood change in real time. He steps out into the brisk mid-day air. "Ok, Maura. Sounds good. Bye, Jane."

"Bye, Colin," Jane says, right before slamming the door. She turns around to stare at Maura. "You think that has to do with what Giovanni told you about Carlo smellin' a rat?"

Maura shakes her head in disbelief. "How did we suddenly end up on an island? Surrounded on all sides? My father?"

"Question is, who the fuck is chirpin' in their ear?" Jane says. "Nina's discreet and so am I, and most of the made men on the street benefit from the relationship between the two of us. So who's makin' shit up?"

"You think someone is pretending they don't know about your arrangement with Nina?" Maura asks, suddenly understanding.

"Yeah, I do," says Jane. "And I think they're using it as a reason for someone to take me out."

Cristina tucks her feet up under her legs on Mikey Talucci's couch after ten pm on a Saturday, all while his parents are out. She's got a history textbook in front of her on the middle cushion, and flashcards in her hands. "Ok, so tell me about the French-American quasi-war," She says. She scratches the bun on top of her head with her pen, and looks at Mikey through her chunky reading glasses.

He sits on the third cushion, with his own flashcards in his hand. He looks considerably more bored, however, and waves his knees as he rests his chin on his fist. "C'mon, T. It's ten o'clock. Fuck history; let's do somethin' fun."

"Ten more minutes," Cristina says to him. "We were supposed to be at the library or a coffee shop, but I let you talk me into coming here, alone. The least you could do is try."

He rolls his eyes, but answers her. "It was like a shadow war between the US and France because they weren't on the same page about these treaties they signed."

"That's a pretty good way to describe it," Cristina says, moving her pen to her lips and tapping on them. "Their navies fought in the Caribbean and on the East Coast. But, they never declared war against each other."

"It's crazy how history just repeats itself, in big ways and small ways," he says, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "Like this shadow war shit is a tactic that has been around for centuries and is still goin' on."

Cristina quirks her head. "What? What do you mean?"

"Well, this whole stalemate that my dad and your mom have goin' on, you know," he turns to her, tossing his cards to the coffee table, forgotten. She squints at him, unsure, but he isn't. "Like, they haven't beefed in public or to each other's faces or anything, and I don't know exactly what they're fightin' about, but it's big, T. Like, my dad pullin' a chess move big."

Cristina pales and starts to sweat. "A chess move? Mikey, you're not making any sense," she says. He shuts her book and shrugs, scooting closer to vie for her full attention.

"Yeah, like, boss moves. If you're stupid enough to fuck with his bag, he's gonna come for you," he postures.

She recoils. "You're talking about my ma. What do you mean, fucking with his bag? And why is he coming for her?"

"C'mon. Your ma's gotta know that comin' for the king is a mistake. He's got eyes and ears everywhere. She guessed wrong, takin' that club away from him," Mikey plows ahead.

"Mikey, I- I don't ask my parents what they do for work. But are you saying she deserved to get shot?" Cristina starts to cry. It's silent, she refuses to let him see her sob, but she is also angry. Her fists shake and her skin turns red. "Because it sounds like that's what the fuck you're saying."

"No. No, I'm just sayin', you gotta watch out when you mess with-"

It sounds nothing like an apology, so Cristina stands, cutting him off by shoving her things in her bag. "You know what? Don't worry about driving me home. I'm getting an Uber." She hops into her shoes, and then leaves him on the couch, preferring to wait for her ride outside.

Mikey throws his arms out to his sides. "T, what the hell? C'mon! What did I say?"

Maura lays in the dark in her bedroom, and checks the clock: 10:45 PM. She hasn't moved in an hour, with her head still on Jane's chest, her left leg draped over both of Jane's.

Jane alternates between wakefulness and snoring, but at this particular moment, she swipes her hand in large circles on Maura's back. "You ok?" she asks hoarsely.

"Yes," Maura whispers back, loath to wake Jane too much. "Why?"

"You're not usually so… mushy," says Jane. "You like your space when we sleep."

Maura sighs, turns her nose toward the smell of Jane and their laundry detergent, an addicting concoction that sits right over her chest, embedded in the fibers of her worn Red Sox tee. "I needed to hear your heartbeat," Maura confesses so quietly that Jane almost doesn't hear.

But Jane does, and wraps Maura up in her arms as best she can with her injured shoulder. She breathes in at the crown of Maura's head. "Hey oh. I'm here, Maura. I'm ok."

"I know," Maura acknowledges the truth in the statement. "I just… wanted irrefutable evidence."

"Ok," Jane accepts that. Now convinced, she drifts off into sleep again, leaving Maura alone with her thoughts.

Thoughts of who successfully turned Paddy Doyle against Jane Rizzoli, or at least tried to. She runs through every one of their shared associates, which are actually many. The problem is, she can't be sure, and she thrives, as she just stated, on irrefutable evidence. This means exhausting all possible answers until she arrives at the right one. Jane, however, is impulsive and livid, so half of her job will be reining Jane in until they are truly ready to strike. However they might do so.

So, Maura drifts off to sleep with plots filling her brain, scenarios that satisfy her need for revenge and maintain the status quo, at least for now.

She wakes when her bedroom door creaks open. Well, she wakes just after, opening her eyes to see a crack of light from the hallway. She feels the mattress dip behind her, and by the time she rouses herself into awareness, she smells her daughter's perfume, feels her daughter's arms snake around her midsection from behind. "Cristina?" she whispers, the Sicilian pronunciation her default, even though Cristina has mixed feelings about it. "What's wrong?"

Cristina doesn't answer for a long time, just squeezes tighter. If Maura had to guess, she's trying not to cry and doesn't want her voice to sound wet. Finally, the girl sighs. "I wanna be in the middle," is all that she says.

Maura, perplexed, moves nevertheless. "Alright," she says, patting Cristina's forearms so that she will release her. "Jane? Jane, wake up. Cristina wants in," she says at normal volume, shaking Jane's good shoulder.

Jane starts awake, snorting. "Shit," she breathes in deeply. "What?"

"Cristina wants to lay with us," Maura explains.

"Ok," Jane acquiesces, too delirious to complain or ask questions. She shifts until she's on her good side with a body-sized space between them.

Cristina climbs over awkwardly, shuffling until she settles with her face in Jane's. She pulls Maura's arm across her, holding her hand in a vicegrip. Neither of her parents bring up that she hasn't wanted to be in bed with them since she was nine.

"How'd you get home?" Jane asks, eyes closed even though she can feel her daughter staring at her.

"I got an Uber," Cristina confesses.

"By yourself?" Jane grouses.

Cristina doesn't care. "Yes. Ma?"

"What?" asks Jane. She refuses to be too mad, because something must have happened for them to be sandwiched in the king sized bed one right after the other. The most she manages is annoyed.

"I was at Mikey Talucci's house," Cristina says.

Jane's eyes blow open. "What?" she repeats, but this time she's flummoxed. "You were supposed to be out in a group. Keyword being out."

"We were studying, I swear," Cristina's heart rate skyrockets when Maura's hold on her tightens and she realizes she's left herself no escape. Part of her wonders if her subconscious did it on purpose. "But he started telling me that you and his dad are fighting. Are you fighting?"

Jane gulps. "You can't just be doin' that, kid. I need to know where you are," her voice is shaky and small. "At all times. The minute I don't, you're on your own and you don't know the danger you could be in."

"Am I? In danger? Because he was talking about how his dad was going to make you pay for some mistake and I felt… unsafe."

Jane stiffens. "A mistake?" She schools both her features and her tone so that she doesn't excite Cristina further. "He say what kinda mistake?"

"Something about a club? I don't know," Cristina tears up again. "It just sounded like he was saying you deserved to get shot. It was almost like…"

Jane shushes her with a kiss to her forehead. "Hush, baby. I know exactly what it sounded like. I'm gonna take care of it, ok? Me and Mommy are gonna take care of it. Just promise me you'll stay away from Mikey in the meantime."

"Ok," Cristina agrees because she knew before she even stepped foot in her parents' room that it was the right course of action. "I will."

"You're home now," Maura says behind her. "Get some sleep." Then she reaches for Jane in the darkness, pressing her hand into Jane's and grasping it tightly.

Carlo put out the hit.