Christmas classics blare from Angela's retro record player in her living room, just as the Rizzoli family bursts through the front door. Cristina and Franciscu, high on excitement and maybe a little bit on the cookies Jane had snuck them just before they left the house, bolt from Maura's side, headed straight for the kitchen where they know Angela and TJ will be. "Nanna!" they cry out, high-pitched and happy, weaving past adult legs on their way, not caring who they bump.
"Hey! Slow down!" Jane shouts after them. Her arms are laden with a casserole dish, various gifts, and Maura's purse. She's not quite sure how that one happened, since Maura has only a tupperware full of homemade biscotti in her hands. "You're gonna bowl someone right over!"
"If they do, I would just like to reiterate that, genetically, they're yours," Maura teases, whispering in Jane's ear just before she walks past and smiles broadly at Alessandra Talucci.
"Oh Jane, let 'em be kids," Alessandra says just as she takes Maura into her arms. They are equally as glamorous in their differing shades of red, Maura's with a thin, patent leather belt at the middle, Alessandra's a shimmering half-sleeve dress that looks painted on.
Jane blushes at having been admonished, but smiles handsomely at Alessandra anyway. "A'right, a'right," she gripes. "But I ain't payin' nobody's hospital bills."
Alessandra finishes running a long, thin hand through her dark-brown hair so she can use it to cover her laugh. "Put that food down so I can hug you," she orders.
Alessandra is by far Jane and Maura's favorite Talucci. Jane says it's because she married in and isn't one by blood that she's so likeable. Maura thinks that it's because she's a little bit in love with Jane, and therefore extra kind, extra vulnerable. When they first met, Maura had burned with envy at Alessandra's obvious, yet unrequited, affections- but then, Jane gave Maura two children and their own kingdom, and Alessandra married Carlo. That alone, to Maura, had deserved her pity, and eventually, her understanding. "Please," Maura reiterates now, following Jane, "so I can take your jacket upstairs." Her own coat already rests on her arm.
Jane, after she drops the gifts by the tree, is the first in the kitchen, and heaves a dramatic sigh when she finally places their dish on the counter.
Angela is at the other end of the L-shape, having a glass of wine with her best friend, Carla Talucci, Carlo's mother. "Oh my god, are those the lobster arancini?" she says by way of greeting, coming over to hug Jane with one arm and several loud smooches to her face. It isn't Christmas Eve; Angela's famous party is the week before, but seafood always abounds anyway.
"Yes, of course," Maura answers from behind Jane. She accepts Angela's affection more easily than Jane does, because it's warmer than Hope's ever was. In fact, Angela's hug for her is softer than it was for Jane, the kiss more gentle. Maura breathes a sigh of relief into it, the relief of coming home. "Did the kids knock you over on your way in here?" she asks, nodding to the children sitting at the side table with their cousins and the Talucci children, looking at some toy Cicciu carried here in his small backpack.
Angela turns to Carla before answering. "Carla, you gotta try these; you're gonna die. I teach her arancini one time, and she comes up with this," she pops the top on the dish and inhales with gusto. Carla raises an uninterested brow, but Angela pays it no mind. "Meanwhile Janie can barely boil water. The kids are fine, baby."
Jane rolls her eyes, in too good of a mood to offer up a reply that would start a tiff with her mother. Maura's hands brush against her neck, starting to remove her jacket, so she does the rest of the work and shimmies out of it.
"Hopefully they'll keep my kids occupied for the rest of the night," says Alessandra. She watches her mother-in-law appraise Maura, sees Carla hope that she'll find something out of place. Everyone in the room knows that she won't, given that Maura is forever flawless in public, always put together. But Carla wants to, and that's the danger in this - she doesn't think two women should be married, and she doesn't think that the Italians should marry the Irish. Those are the first two strikes against the Rizzoli union, the third being that Maura is married to Jane, a woman that currently, her son hates. And therefore, Carla hates Jane, too. Alessandra does the opposite, so she commiserates with Maura, because they are both in enemy territory whenever Carla is in the room. She steps forward, using her lithe body as a shield between Carla and Maura, despite Carla and her big hair being across the kitchen.
Before anyone else can speak, the door to the back porch swings open and then slams shut, and suddenly Carlo Talucci is with them. He smells of nicotine and wine, and the winter evening. He puts his empty glass on the subway tile of the counter, and the glass pings loudly. "Hey there," he slurs, reaching for the bottle by his mother's arm. She doesn't stop him. "If it isn't Janie the Hotshot. How're things over at the new club, huh?"
Jane walks in front of both Alessandra and Maura. Usually, Carlo is a harmless drunk. But tonight, he is angry. "Just fine, Carlo. Though it's not really your business."
"No, no it's not," he says, stepping closer. "But the thing is, is it shoulda been."
Angela bravely enters the fray, taking her place at the island in her kitchen. "I know Carla and I have told you kids that we don't talk business during family time. Especially during Christmas."
"I think we really should make an exception tonight," Carlo says.
Jane grows hard, stalks toward him in a way that Maura has seen hundreds of times, Alessandra thousands. Since they were kids. "This is my Ma's house," Jane growls. "Disrespect her in it one more time and we're gonna have problems."
"Oh, we already got problems," Carlo replies, just as amped. "Because you're takin' money outta my kids pocket. Outta my ma's pocket-"
Before Jane can strike, Alessandra puts her hands on Carlo's shoulders. "C'mon, Carlo, let's put the game on," she says to him. She tugs on the front of his shirt tightly, roughly.
He opens his mouth to resist, but the fire in her eyes, the one that promises retribution if he goes further, stops him. In his altered state, he ambles toward the living room, where Frankie and Tommy watch the Celtics Saturday night game. He gives Jane a glare first, though, and tries to shoulder check her. Alessandra yanks him away so that it doesn't connect, and rubs her hand against Jane's shoulder instead. Her look for Jane is full of contrition as they leave the room.
Maura watches the exchange with pity, though her proverbial hackles are raised in anger and awareness. Any more from Carlo, and she would have liked to take matters into her own hands. "Jane?" she calls instead, scratching at the hairline on the base of Jane's neck, less for affection and more for a stress-check. Jane is still fuming; her spine is rigid. "Help me out with these coats."
Jane looks between Angela and Carla, Carla who has still said nothing, but gives Jane some smug look of satisfaction. Then, Jane obeys. She turns out of the kitchen and follows Maura upstairs.
"Those kids have been goin' at it since they could walk," Angela comments to Carla, retaking her spot across from her with a hearty gulp of wine. She reads Carla, too, how Carla has grown colder in the last few years, with an exponential freeze-out in the past week or so.
"They're not kids, anymore, Ange," Carla says with something that sounds to Angela equally like exhaustion and contempt.
"I know that. But in a way, they'll always be kids to me," Angela asserts anyway.
"They'll always be our children, sure," Carla replies. "But at a certain point it stops being squabbles and starts bein' somethin' else."
Angela raises her brow. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that my son may have a point," Carla says haughtily behind the rim of her glass. "Actually, I think he has a pretty good one. Their business is all about money. How much they can make and how quickly before their time is done. To take that away from him…"
Angela doesn't let her continue. "Carla, you and I have never talked about what they do, nor what their fathers did. Not once, ever. Anthony and Frank wanted it that way, so that we could have deniability and live a semi-normal life. So why are you bringin' it up now?"
"Anthony's gone, and so that means I depend on Carlo now. He's a good son; he takes care of me. And if he's telling me that Jane is pulling money outta his bag, then that means my future's in jeopardy."
Angela makes a fist that she hides behind the cabinets. "You think Jane would let you starve? Go hungry, if god forbid, somethin' happened to him? If I went to her for anything, she would give it to me. She'd put you in a palace, Carla, all because it made me happy. And out of respect to your son. Because even with that stunt he just pulled in my kitchen, she respects him. So I'm only gonna say this once, and then we're never gonna talk about their business ever again: Tom and Mario have been so good to our kids, and they saw it fit to give that club to Jane. That doesn't mean she took it- it means they are trusting her with it. And it doesn't mean that Carlo's money goes up in smoke. He didn't get money from that place before and he doesn't now. So don't come into my house, during the holidays, and try to tell me that there's war between us."
Carla puts her hands up in surrender. "Ok, Ange. You made your point. We're here to enjoy each other's company."
To Angela, it rings hollow, so she stirs the pasta on the stove one last time, to check that it's ready and to avoid looking Carla in the face.
The children, after a night of stuffing themselves with baccalĂ spaghetti, arancini, and all manner of sweets, as well as more gifts than they know what to do with, have fallen about the living room. They all sleep, some on couches, some on the carpet itself, while their parents and other adults stuff goodies into cars and pick up after themselves.
Maura leaves her own children for the kitchen, content to let Jane fuss over them and arrange their things by the door. She steps into Angela's cleaning routine wordlessly, the both of them assuming long-standing roles with automaticity. Maura takes her place at the sink, content to tackle the large stack of dirty pots and pans on the side of it, making the water extra hot to banish as many germs as possible.
Angela comes up behind her, presses a soapy hand to the side of her head, and uses it to hold Maura close while she places one long, sloppy kiss to her temple. Maura has long discarded her discomfort with the dampness on her hair, because it has happened so often and it means that someone loves her. "Everyone loved your arancini," Angela says, "as usual."
Maura smirks to herself. "Which means they loved yours," she quips, because she follows Angela's process mostly without deviating - though the lobster is an inspired Maura touch.
Angela chuckles. "That's true, I guess," she replies. "But I know you bring that extra somethin'. Just like you do with Jane."
Maura pauses, because Angela doesn't usually sound so solemn, especially during Christmastime. "Mamma," she follows up with something unusual of her own, something she doesn't call Angela very often, only during very happy or very serious times. "What's wrong?"
Angela leans her backside against the lip of the counter so that she can face Maura. "Listen, honey," she starts, then darts her eyes around to make sure they are alone. And, of course they are - no one wants to be part of clean up. "I need you to promise me something."
"Anything," Maura says. She means it, given the way that Angela cares for her children, and for her wife.
"Protect my daughter from that man, Maura," Angela whispers, and they both know who she means: Carlo, who has passed out in front of NBA postgame analysis, and harbors clear resentment for Jane. "Don't let her go to war with him."
"I-" Maura is about to hedge, and Angela can see it. She grabs Maura's hand and forces their eyes to meet.
"Because if they go to war, she'll ruin him. And then, the whole balance of power will be thrown off and her life will be in danger. You know it," she argues.
Maura looks down because she does know this. "Ok," she says. "I promise to do what I can. But the whole family, except for Alessandra, seems intent on riling her."
"Fuck Carla," Angela says. "She's my best friend and she always will be, but fuck her. She thinks that because of who her husband was she's afforded certain rights, a certain standing in the world. You saw her all over Tom and Mario tonight; you know she's hoping for a ticket. Because deep down, she knows her son isn't cut out for the top. But you? You and Janie are. And that's why they hate you."
Jane refuses to show Carlo Talucci, Milano, or the fucker who shot her at Carlo's behest any fear. That's why she parks her car right out front, the new Maserati she drove off the lot as a present to herself for surviving getting shot. It's also why she struts out of it in her best and most expensive suit, an Armani that shows off her long legs and contrasts the loose-fitting silk shirt underneath its jacket. She wears her pea coat over that, looking like money if it were a person.
It's also midday, when the streets are full of people, Bostonians and tourists alike, and she doesn't care. She strides right through the front door, and nods to the nervous-looking girl up front. The girl smiles when Jane smiles, and gets to work on Jane's espresso straight away - a little shocked to see her alive, and figuring that meant she would want her coffee quick.
Jane, however, is content to wait. When Maura asked if she was up to this meeting with Teresa, one that had been on the calendar since before she got shot, she had said of course. How better to find out if Teresa had a hand in the hit than to have coffee with her? Jane considered herself a master interrogator, and so did most of the other made men around them. If Teresa had something to hide, Jane would tease it out.
So, when Jane's name is called out and her drink is left at the counter, she takes it, and finds a seat near a window. She positions herself to watch the door, and keeps her coat on in the heated air so that her shoulder holster stays hidden. Lesson learned. Shortly after her second sip, Teresa appears, and Giovanni Gilberti is with her. Even better, thinks Jane when he opens the door for Teresa, because he has trouble keeping his mouth shut on a good day.
They order, wait for their drinks at the bar. Once they have them in hand, they both walk over to Jane's table. Teresa is first, and surprisingly, she sets her drink down and pulls Jane into a bear hug. "Oh my god, Jane, thank god you're ok," she says into Jane's hair.
Jane, stunned for a moment, freezes, and then hugs her back. "Yeah, I'm good," she responds. "Thank you. Hey, G."
"H-hey Janie," he says, nodding but not looking at her before he sits down. Jane knows guilt when she sees it, and tries not to laugh. Then he'd definitely know that she knew all about his and Maura's little tryst.
"I'm so sorry that shit happened to you," Teresa says, sitting down, too. She pats Jane's wrist, the one holding the handle of her espresso cup. "And I can't fuckin' believe it." Jane sees that she is genuine, can't detect a lie in her voice. Teresa's eyes are glossy and she appears truly upset. Giovanni fidgets uncharacteristically with the wrapper of the straw of his iced coffee. Jane watches his fingers twirl and pull, more like a member of the Rizzoli family than his own.
"Yeah well. You captain a crew long enough, things like this can come with the territory," Jane lies. Giovanni crosses his arms on the table and sniffs, and Teresa leans forward, again touching Jane's arm.
"Still, it's fucked up," she says. "I know we've had our differences. Between business, and Frankie, and even this thing with the club, maybe more than our fair share. But you and me are in the same boat, when it all comes down to it, you know? We're women in a man's world just trying to make a way for our kids." She glances at Gio quickly, as if afraid to offend him, then deciding she doesn't care.
"That's true," Jane concedes. It is then she decides that Teresa does not know who shot her. Teresa was not involved in the plot. "Speakin' of the club, how are things goin'? You and Frankie workin' together alright?"
Teresa shrugs and laughs. "It's a lot like co-parenting, so I guess we have practice," she replies. "He's helpin' out, picking up the slack with Dad gone. Things are lookin' up for the first time in a few months, I gotta admit." She slides an envelope across the table to Jane, full of her cut of this month's earnings.
"That's real good to hear," Jane says, though Frankie reports to her exactly how Desiderio is doing. He could have given her the cash, too, but Jane likes the deniability that Teresa provides her brother. She stuffs the money in her coat's breast pocket. "What about you, Gio? How's life?"
Giovanni sits up straight. "Uh, well. Uh, things are-are good. Money's really comin' in at the docks. Just keepin' to myself, tryin' to stay outta trouble."
Jane quirks an eyebrow at that. "Ok then. That's good to hear. You not over there today?"
"N-nah," Giovanni sputters. "Teresa's got a meetin' with some of Alfie's guys after this, so I said I'd help her out."
"Yeah, those guys are real rowdy. Best not to risk it," says Jane. Giovanni is cagey, and averse. She wants to get him alone, but that's not going to happen now. So, she stands. "A'right, well, we both got places to be," she says, "so I won't keep you."
Teresa stands, too, and holds her hand out. Jane shakes it and then pulls her into a friendly half-hug. "Take care of yourself, Jane," Teresa pleads. Before things can get too emotional, though, she says, "Lola'd kill me if anything happened to you."
Jane chuckles softly. It's the warmest she's felt for Teresa in a long while, maybe ever. It's weird, so she goes over to Giovanni. "Take care, G," she says. She grabs his hand and shakes it firmly, slapping his bicep in a show of goodwill.
That goodwill evaporates when he winces and recoils.
Rat-tat-tat - Jane recalls the bang of gunfire and how that bang changed to sick squish when one of her bullets grazed her shooter. She narrows her gaze in confusion and recognition at once. His eyes grow wide and he runs his now free hand over his hair. "You a'right?" Jane asks.
"Yeah!" Giovanni nearly shouts, his voice high. Then he clears his throat. "Yeah, Janie. Just got my flu shot yesterday. That's all."
Jane nods. "Oh ok. Glad you're bein' healthy. Maura's been on me to get mine," she says, smiling broadly at him. "Alright, see you 'round." She waves to both of them on her way out the door.
She dials Maura as soon as she reaches the car.
Jane, in a quiet mood all night, rises from the table, her empty plate in hand, still dressed from work. On her way to the sink, she kisses Cristina's head, then Cicciu's, taking both of their plates, too. "Go find somethin' to do," she tells them.
The command is kind, but it is still a command, one that Jane gives rarely. So, they get up, too and file out of the dining room. Maura sees Jane's eyes, and surmises that she'll need a drink. They both will. She puts her plate on top of the pile that Jane has, and then pulls a vintage from her wine rack, along with two glasses. She sets it all on the island, and removes the cork from the bottle as she hears dishes clatter into the sink. The wine breathes as Jane turns the water on and rinses away food particles.
Once Jane finishes placing it all in the dishwasher, she shuts it with her hip, and moves wordlessly beside Maura at the kitchen island.
Maura smiles softly, drags fingertips under Jane's chin, and pours the wine into the two glasses. "Here you go," she says, handing one to Jane.
Jane accepts and takes a large gulp, looking a lot like her mother when she does so. "Thanks. And thanks for dinner. Sorry I was late."
"You made it," Maura says with a shrug, "that's what counts."
"Not really," Jane counters. "Not when there are vegetables that need to be chopped."
"I'll make you chop extra tomorrow night," says Maura, unfazed and unaffected. "Stop beating yourself up."
"Hmm," is all that Jane says.
"Would you like to talk about it?" Maura tries.
"I want to know if Carlo asked Giovanni, or if he volunteered," Jane responds. "I know it doesn't matter, because he made Giovanni think my relationship with Nina was something it isn't, all so he could convince him of my guilt. Same thing with your pop. My guess is he wanted to see if either of them would take me out on their own first, hedge his bets without putting out the hit. But I want to know how much agency Giovanni had, here."
"You're right," says Maura. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that Giovanni pulled the trigger."
"And now I have to pull the trigger on him," Jane says. "So to speak."
Maura sets her glass down, and plucks Jane's from her hand, setting that down, too. She pulls Jane close, until Jane puts hands on her waist. Maura wraps her arms around Jane's shoulders, and asks for a kiss in the way she sways them. Jane obliges her. "Let me do this for you," Maura breathes out against Jane's lips. They taste intoxicating together, with the grape mingling on their tongues. Then she pulls back again. "Let me see this all the way through. I already have a plan to meet him. We made it before he..."
Jane stiffens. "Maura, you've never - I can't. I can't ask that of you," she says, knocking their foreheads together.
"You're not asking me," Maura says. "I'm asking you. You don't think I know how? That I would know exactly what to do?"
Jane sighs. "That I don't doubt. But it's different in practice than it is in theory. I don't want to subject you to all the shit that comes with it."
Maura opens her eyes to find Jane's. "I can handle it. Let me handle it. Just don't banish me to Sicily when it's all said and done, and everything will be fine."
Jane musters a half-laugh at the joke, and then she begins to imagine it - what Maura would do, how she would make Giovanni pay, and how it would be all for her. She grows hot, suddenly supremely attracted to the woman in her grasp. "Ok," she says.
"Yeah? Ok?" Maura asks, wanting to make sure.
"Yeah," Jane confirms. "Do it. And let me worry about Carlo."