A/N: This flashbacks is two weeks before present day.
"What?!" Giovanni leans close to Maura and sloshes a little bit of his whisky sour on her when a dancer bumps him from behind. The club music blares from all around, making it nearly impossible to hear one another on the floor.
Maura rolls her eyes when his are on her breasts, and she shakes the alcohol off of her hand. Then she sips her vodka cranberry, the one she asked the bartender to water down when she went to get them more drinks. She makes sure to swipe her tongue over the straw before closing her pink lips around it. "I said, let's go to VIP," she says, "it's more private."
Giovanni pulls back, and he licks his own lips. "I'd love to," he shouts, "but I think you gotta have reservations."
Maura pulls him closer by the gold pepper chain around his neck. "Can't you get us in?" she asks. She moves her hand from his neck to his trim beard, dragging her fingertips through it. "You're a made man."
Giovanni gulps. He pulls her in close by the waist, staring down at their connection and how they sway together to the music, mesmerized by how effortlessly she winds her hips. She pulls him in, too, and stretches her neck to nip at his eyebrow. She soothes the bite with her tongue, something that has made Jane like puddy in her hands a thousand times. It melts Giovanni now, and he tries to kiss her mouth. She ducks, looks at him behind hooded eyelids, and nods her head toward the VIP area of the club. "A'right," he says finally. "Gimme a minute."
He leaves, and she pulls her phone out of her pocket for a quick text to Jane. He's close to telling me everything we want to know, she types.
You must've put the magic on him, Jane replies, Remember I said no below the belt stuff. A winking emoji accompanies it.
I'm offended you think I would have to go that far to get him to talk. He's getting us into VIP now; I have to go. I love you. Maura fires off one last message, and puts her phone back just in time to smile at Giovanni walking towards her through the throng of people.
"I got us in!" He yells, exhilaration on his face and in his crooked grin. "It looks wicked awesome in there; let's go!"
Maura laughs at his excitement, but it reads as excitement of her own. She takes the hand that he offers her and then he is pulling her among the crowd toward the velvet rope of the exclusive section. The bouncer nods to him, and then to Maura, and they step through. "I was right," Maura says. "It is much quieter here."
The song they had just moved to is a dull throb here, instead of the all-consuming beat of the dance floor. Giovanni takes a corner table, one facing away from the action, and bids her sit next to him. "We can talk without screamin' now," he says to her.
She sits, as close as she can to him, places her hand high up on his thigh. "We can," she replies. When the server walks by, she orders him another drink. "I'm having more fun tonight than I have in a long time," she whispers into his ear.
He smirks. "Hard to get out with kids?"
Maura shakes her head and lowers it, hoping to pass off the heat on her skin from her previous exertion as a blush. "Not impossible, especially now that they're sixteen and thirteen. Jane just… hasn't taken me out in awhile. I don't think I've even been through the financial district in at least a few years."
"Well that's a damn shame," Giovanni says, tracing circles on the outside of her knee, looking down to his chest when she places her hand against it. "I'd take ya out every weekend if you wanted."
"That's sweet of you," she says, her teeth exposed in a pretty smirk. "You're sweet to me."
"You deserve it. You deserve the world, Maura. And if Jane's not givin' it to you, then she's makin' a huge mistake," Giovanni downs the last of his new cocktail and then orders them shots. He gulps his in one go, and she tosses hers in the planter next to them when he isn't looking. "If you give me a chance, I can," he says after sucking on a lime.
"Aren't you already?" She asks him, gesturing to their surroundings. There are others around them in conversations just like this, huddled together in secrecy. Maura thinks she even recognizes one of those Sox fellows that Jane likes so much. She makes a note to tell her once she returns home. "Our dinner at Pisa the other night was… enchanting. And when you said you'd protect me from whoever is talking to the authorities, I - I appreciated that. I can't tell you how much." She kisses him just under his right eye, rubs her thumb over his lips so that he doesn't kiss her in return, not just yet.
"I meant out in the open," he pants, and she can smell the tequila on his breath. She hates tequila. "If you were my girl, just mine, I'd-"
Maura puts a finger to his mouth. "All in good time, G," she says to him. Then she checks her watch and gasps. "Oh my god, it is so late. I have to get home."
Giovanni whines. "Already?"
Maura nods. "Jane will start to wonder," she tells him. "Walk me outside?"
"I can drive you," he slurs.
"No, don't be silly," Maura says. They both stand, and he wobbles, just once. "You can't be seen near my house. Especially not with me."
He concedes it by frowning and nodding. "Yeah, that's true. I'll call you an Uber, then."
He does, and she takes him by the hand and leads him all the way to the back door. They end up in a relatively quiet alleyway, and he nearly stumbles, pulling Maura close to keep himself from falling over. He is close to her, face inches from her own, and she remembers Jane's words: no below the belt stuff. She smiles to herself, and pulls him in.
She kisses him, shoving her tongue past his lips, pushing him into the brick wall behind them. He groans with pleasure and grabs onto her ass. Just as he starts to knead, she bites him hard. He cries out, moves his hands higher, and then she smiles again. At the show of dominance, he grows hard against her and leans in for another. She obliges and pulls his shirt roughly out of its tuck when she notices her car coming up the street.
"Maura?" Giovanni moans, and she pretends not to register it. "Maura, your ride's here," he says, the disappointment on his face obvious.
She sighs. "Oh, it is. Let's pick this up soon, shall we? I don't think I can wait much longer."
"Yeah, yeah. What about the Riverton? They got a suite we can have a nice getaway in," says Giovanni.
It's perfect. That's the hotel right next to Jane's Waterfront Lofts project. "Yes. Yes, let's do it. The 29th? Jane is away on business."
"The 29th," he confirms, opening the door of the vehicle for her. "You got it. I'd - I'd do anything to make you happy."
She waves at him, shutting herself in. The next morning, he attempts to gun Jane down in the street.
Maura checks the application of her lip gloss in the rearview mirror of the S-Class one last time. She uses her pinky to dot just a little more, and then rubs her lips together. It's flawless now. She fluffs her hair away from the collar of the trench coat she wears, all black and Jane's, and centers her diamond pendant in the middle of her chest.
She steps out of her car and into the parking garage. Her heels clack and it reverberates against the concrete below, bouncing off of the columns and rippling out to the exit. She looks down, cinches the tie of her coat tighter around her waist, and checks her hosiery for runs. She sees none. Once she pulls the duffel bag from the backseat, she engages the lock, and strides confidently to the elevator that will take her to the hotel lobby. She boards it alone, and presses the door close button before anyone else can join her. She appraises her muddled reflection in the polished metal of the elevator doors: she can make out the contours of her smokey eye, the intentional muss of her hair, the flex of her calves in her designer heels.
She is irresistible.
Jane had watched her get ready at home, had told her as much. Not with words, per se, but with her hands roaming every inch of her skin, with her lips all over Maura's neck, her chest, her mouth. Lip gloss had to be reapplied three times. Maura, in the safety of Jane's arms, had, for an instant, wanted to call the whole thing off. Reschedule for another night, let them fall into bed instead.
But, she couldn't risk Giovanni fleeing. From what Jane had said about his behavior at Milano, he could very well run. She wonders if he is even in the suite now, and reminds herself that she had just gotten off the phone with him to confirm. He had sounded lax, even happy to be seeing her so soon. He had said he was in room 1430, and that he left a key for her at the counter. She doesn't think that he would have the wherewithal to concoct a lie so elaborate, so she smooths her hands over the front of Jane's coat.
Ding.
She disembarks, and her heels sound the same signal of her arrival that they had in the garage. In the soft yellow lighting of The Riverton's lobby, her skin glows golden, shining under each chandelier she passes. The young boy behind the counter stands at attention when she approaches, ready to do anything she asks when she folds her hands in front of him. Her fingers tap against the marble. "I believe a key has been left for me. Room 1430?"
He doesn't even ask for ID. "Yes, of course. Here you go," he says, holding the keycard out to her, his hand trembling. She takes it from him and smiles kindly.
"Thank you… Nelson," she says, glancing down at the nametag clipped to his vest. She crosses the room to another set of elevators, the ones that go up to the suites and need a keycard to operate. She shrugs the duffel closer to her shoulder and waves the key once the elevator door opens to her. She presses the number 14, and waits again.
The halls on this floor are much more discreet, by design. She walks onto the carpet, the only guest out and about, and even if she weren't, it would be impossible to hear her coming. All the better. She makes a right turn toward the last row of rooms. 1430 awaits her at the very end of the hall, and she pauses her walk to collect her thoughts. She speaks to her heart rate, tells it to calm, and it does. 90 beats per minute reduces to 75, slows to her runner's 58.
She thinks of using her key, but puts it away and knocks instead.
When he opens it, he is in his ribbed undershirt and slacks, his suspenders already down and draped against his backside. "Hey, you," he says, genuinely pleased. The first thing that she notices is the angry bruise with a red scab running through it on his bicep, but when he leans forward, she captures his lips in a kiss hello.
"Hi," she says. "Let me in?"
He steps aside, motions her to a living area with a sofa and two chairs where he has already lit candles and laid some rose petals on the floor. It would have been a sweet gesture, if Maura were into romantic stereotypes, and if he hadn't tried to murder her wife. She injects a sway into her walk, throws her head back behind her shoulder to make sure he is looking.
And oh, he is. She is the only thing that he can see, and she would have it no other way. "I thought we could sit for a little bit," he says just as she approaches the couch, spotless and white. "Catch up."
"Excellent plan," Maura purrs. "I brought us something to enjoy." She sits, sets the duffel next to her, and pulls out a bottle of Dom Perignon, and a tupperware of frozen strawberries.
He smirks. "I got glasses for that, hang on." He saunters over to the kitchenette and pulls out two flutes, taking them over to her. He sits, too, and puts his hand over the legging on her knee. "You look so hot tonight," he breathes, close enough to her face that she can smell the alcohol that he has already consumed this evening.
"Thank you," she demurs, "you don't look so bad yourself." She pops the champagne with precision, and pours it into the glasses, having already placed a strawberry in each.
He runs his fingers through his pretty hair, as if he knows how pretty it is. "To us," he holds his glass up, awaiting her clink.
She gives him one just before she sips. "To you," she replies, "for bringing us here."
"I told ya I'd take care of ya." He sips, too, and then leans back into the sofa cushions, stretching his arm over the top. His fingertips play with the collar of Jane's coat.
She licks the residual dry sweetness off of her lips. "Would you like to see what's underneath?" she asks him, pulling at the hem of the coat to entice him.
He is thoroughly enticed. He moves his hand up her thigh to cover her own where it rests, and then he looks her in the eye. His smile is gone, and he seems intent. "Yeah," he whispers. "Yeah, I would."
She lets him kiss her, and lets his hands wander because they are still on the outside of her clothes. After a few minutes, she pulls away, breathless. "Well, then, I have something I want you to do for me first."
His smirk returns. "Oh yeah? What's that?" She turns around so that she can rummage through her bag. "Watcha got in there?"
She takes as long as she possibly can until she can feel the impatience wafting off of him. Then she produces black, fuzzy handcuffs. "These," she answers smugly.
"Oh shit," he chuckles, eyes wild and ready. He puts his glass down and rubs his palms over his pants. "You wanna take this to the bedroom?"
"No, I thought we could…. start out here," she teases. She points at one of the wood-back chairs just across from them. "Sit for me?"
He shoots up. "Hell yeah," he agrees, and marches over to the chair. He moves it so that it's right in front of her, and then he sits. "Do whatever you want with me."
"I plan to," she quips. She stands, too, and the sway returns. She drags her hand across his chest, but ultimately ends up kneeling behind him, pulling his wrists back gently and securing them behind his back.
He is trapped, and when she glances down at his lap, she can see that he quite likes it. "Where you goin'?" he asks when she walks back toward the sofa.
She faces him, and slowly pulls the tie away from her waist. "You have to see all of me to get the full effect." She undoes it completely, lets the coat fall heavily from her shoulders to her elbows to expose a black, lacy push-up bra, sheer at the nipple. Then, she drops it completely, to reveal her matching thong, and the garter belt holding up her stockings.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Giovanni chokes out, straining against his cuffs before remembering he is restrained. "That for me?"
"Yes," she says, because it is the truth. Then she turns back to her back, removing a rider's crop and a black leather leash. "And we're going to have some fun." She inspects the crop, turning it in front of herself, making sure that it's what she needs.
"You bein' into this shit makes you ten times hotter," he calls from behind her, having picked up on the fact that he was momentarily forgotten.
But at the sound of his voice, grating on her ears, she remembers him. She stalks toward him, and then rips open his tank. Not angrily, not with aggression, but with calm intentionality. She drags the crop from his belly to his chest, caresses his face with it. "I'm glad I could give you this then," she says cryptically. "Let you enjoy yourself one last time."
"What?" he asks, confused, mind clouded with lust.
Maura crawls into his lap, and smiles down at him, the leash hanging over her shoulder. She brushes the healing wound on his arm with the crop, softly. "This… is from when you tried to murder my wife," she says, voice even and quiet. "This is Jane's mark on you."
He pales. She knows. "Maura-"
"Ah," she hushes him by hanging the leash around his neck. She drops the rider's crop to their side and pushes up on her knees in the chair so that her breasts are in his face. He lifts his head up to get away, but she has him completely at her mercy. "This was all a ruse," she says, and he whimpers. "Didn't you find it at all odd that we ran into each other at Pisa? Or that I pursued you so doggedly? I played you for information."
"You said - you said that you and Janie were-" he stutters.
She cuts him off. "On the rocks? Breaking up? Again, a ruse to get close to you. I have to say I never imagined, though, that you would try to kill her. Did Carlo ask you, or did you volunteer?"
Giovanni thinks he sees a way out, so he tells the truth. "He told me to, Maura! He picked me! And you know that when your boss calls on you, you can't just look away. But I swear to God I thought you wanted to leave her- you said you wanted to be with me!" His eyes widen in fear. "We were gettin' to know each other!"
She pulls each side of the leash to form a noose around his neck, with a pensive look on her face. "You know what she would say to you? If she were here?" she snatches his face close to her own by the jaw, and breathes into his wide-open mouth. "No new friends, Gio."
"Maura, don't-"
She ignores him. Then, she pulls on the leash, as hard as she can. She counts the seconds until he loses consciousness, and then continues her hold until he is done convulsing. When she dismounts, his head droops lifelessly to the top of chest. She removes her accoutrements from the body, puts her trench back on, and zips everything else away in her duffel.
She walks over to the bedroom, turns on the television, and then pulls up the checkout screen. Finally, she pulls out her phone and dials a number that Jane gave her. "Anthony," she says when the other line picks up, "it's done. Clean up, will you? And then check him out. Meet me at the car and I'll give you the key."
In the car on her way home, and with specific, forensic, anatomic instructions given to young Anthony, Maura contemplates her evening. She wills guilt or shame to come as the streetlights illuminate her face, but only accomplishment and the need to see Jane arise in her.
She feels more on even footing with Jane now, knowing firsthand what it is like to take a life. She supposes she is also not fazed because of the several lives lost to her on the operating table. Death, after all, is not new to her. But she knows, deep down, that these are all ancillary reasons for her calm.
She has balanced a scale.
She has drained the life of the person who tried to upend her family. She watched it leave him, content to do so, because he deserved it for what he had done.
She waits at traffic lights and takes turns as though nothing out of the ordinary has occurred, because to her, despite its newness, it is not out of the ordinary. It is part of her family's business: Jane, Frankie, Tommy, her father, and Colin have all done it, and she feels communion with them for having done it too.
So, when she parks the S-Class in front of her home and walks up the steps to open the front door, she does so with pride.
A whoosh of conditioned air welcomes her, heat to guard against the chill outside, and she deposits her purse on the side table. She plucks her phone out of it and climbs the stairs after kicking off her heels, holding them under her curled fingers so as not to wake her children. She walks down the hall, the light under the closed door of her bedroom beckoning her like a siren.
She pushes the door open, and there is Jane, still in her clothes for the day, but removing her watch at the dresser. Maura looks into the mirror, and locks eyes with Jane's reflection.
"You alright?" Jane asks, serious and kind, frozen mid-motion with her wrist up and her other fingers on the clasp of the watch.
"More than alright," Maura answers honestly. She shuts the door behind her, then clicks the lock shut. She takes two steps forward, deposits her phone on Jane's nightstand, and removes her coat for the second time that night.
Jane reanimates, puts her watch on the stand. "He got to see you in that, huh? I'm glad he's dead," she growls.
"He did," Maura replies, stalking closer. She puts her hands on Jane's back and rubs the black tee in wide circles. Then, she pulls it out of its tuck. "But he didn't get to see me out of it."
Jane turns, and Maura's arms follow, looping around her shoulders. They kiss, lips pressing together as Jane splays hands on Maura's bare back. "You sure you're good?" Jane breathes, just before snapping the clasp of Maura's bra open.
"I'd do anything for you," Maura sighs back. "I've wanted to kill him from the moment I knew he shot at you."
"Me too," Jane says, grinning darkly. "But I figured I could let you have this one, since you put in all the work."
"I did," replies Maura. She lets her bra flutter to the ground and groans when Jane's hands cover her breasts.
They kiss again. Jane's hands move to Maura's hips, and at the signal, Maura jumps into her arms. She tugs Jane's shirt up so that the wet heat radiating from her thong will run directly into Jane's abdomen. It does, and Jane huffs in impatience.
Still, Jane lowers Maura gently onto the bed, letting Maura remove her shirt. Maura frowns when she sees the bandage still over Jane's sutures, ones that she will have to remove herself tomorrow. Jane yanks Maura to the edge of the bed to jostle her thoughts, and then kneels between her open legs.
Maura points a toe right against Jane's shoulder, and Jane's eyes travel from the foot by her head, up its leg, to the garter belt still around Maura's waist. She reaches up and unclips it, removing it, dragging it slowly down so that the hosiery will go with it. When Maura is in just her underwear, Jane looks up again.
Maura runs a finger under her chin. "You look like you belong down there," she flirts.
"I do belong down here," Jane returns. She hooks her fingers into Maura's thong and shimmies that down, too, until it's flung to some forgotten corner of the room. Maura is naked and open in front of her, and the smell of it gives her an anticipatory shiver. "On my knees," Jane continues, "in front of you."
"Hmm," Maura hums. She likes the sound of that. She splays her legs even wider, commanding without words.
Jane slithers forward, using her hand to push Maura's belly back down to the bed so that she lays flat on her back. Then, Jane drops her tongue out of her mouth, and makes sure Maura is looking at her when she takes one long, flat, wet swipe from the bottom of Maura's sex to the top.
Maura moans into the bedroom air.
The next morning, Beacon Hill is quiet save for the chirping of a few birds when Maura pulls up to her parents' home. The morning is crisp, and she is glad she's brought one of her warmer jackets, because she shivers when she steps out of her heated car. She shrugs it over a simple black blouse, tucked into pink trousers, and the strip of skin between the cuff and her flats is cold. She pulls her set of keys out, because the sooner she can step inside their brownstone, the warmer she'll be.
She pushes in, and the smell of breakfast draws her. Her mother has made Irish oats, one of her father's favorites, and Maura admits to herself, one of hers, too. The steel-cut process makes the oats heartier, and they retain the flavor of the maple and cinnamon that Hope adds even better. It's truly a New England masterpiece. She sees her mother in the kitchen, in scrubs and in the middle of plopping a heaping spoonful into a bowl for Paddy, who sits at the dining room table reading The Globe.
"I thought that might be you," says Hope when she spots Maura. "Would you like some breakfast?"
Maura equivocates because accepting food might temper the look of stern anger she has entered with, but in the end decides she is too hungry to refuse. "Yes," she says simply.
Hope regards her with mirthful confusion. "Everything alright?"
"Everything's fine," Maura says. She takes the two bowls in her hand and walks to the table. "I need to talk to Dad."
"Ok," Hope is content to accept that answer because she is running late. "I have to get to the hospital for a scheduled delivery, but you two stay, enjoy. I'll see you later."
Maura takes her mother's kiss on the cheek, the same one Hope gives Paddy, and then Hope is out the door.
Just like that.
Paddy spoons his oatmeal, letting it cool before he takes his first bite. "What'd you need, sweetheart?" he asks distractedly, like he has a million times over the course of her life. He looks so fatherly there, with his nose in the paper and his polo shirt tucked into his slacks like he is about to go to work. He probably is.
This angers Maura even more. "I need to talk to you about Jane," she says.
Paddy puts down the sports section. "What about Jane?" he asks carefully.
"Specifically the fact that you suspect that she is talking to the federal government," Maura replies.
"Maura," Paddy says. He wipes his mouth with his napkin even though he hasn't started eating yet. "I had a source tell me that she was. I didn't take him at his word, but I needed to make absolutely sure it wasn't true."
"Carlo," Maura spits his name out like rancid wine. "Carlo is your source."
"Yes," Paddy admits. "He was. And like I said, I didn't take him at his word."
"But you suspected her anyway!" Maura shouts. "He lied to you, knowing that Jane's contact at the Bureau protects his entire family, all for the gamble that you might be hot-headed enough to murder her! And do you know what the worst part of that was? That you sent my brother to pump me for information. My brother."
"Don't forget that your brother is also my son. And I wasn't privy to the side deal this agent has with the Italians. So yeah, I had Colin be the point person on this. The more I can keep business in our family, the more I can control our future," Paddy shoots back. That Nina is dirty is news to him, but he does well in looking stoic, unsurprised.
All Maura hears is the accusation, the insinuation that she is not part of that family. "Tell me when I have ever denied you. Or my family," she commands him. "Tell me a time when you couldn't trust me to tell you what you needed to know."
Paddy waves her off. "It's different. You're different than Colin, and you know it."
"What's that supposed to mean?" She has barely touched her breakfast, and suddenly, she's not so hungry anymore.
"You know what it means," Paddy says. "It means you belong to the Italians." When she looks ready to strike, he puts his hands up. "It's not an indictment, Maura, it's just an observation. A fact. You belong to them now."
Maura sits, thinking better of lunging over the table to throttle her father. She takes a deep breath in, then out. "No," she starts quietly, "the Italians are about to belong to me. As a matter of fact, that's why I'm here. They're going to belong to Jane, too, because you're going to organize that meeting with Mariu, the one Carlo told you not to. For this weekend."
"Maura, I need time to-" Paddy begins.
Maura doesn't care. "You're going to set it up with him, and you're going to send Jane as your envoy. And as penance for thinking she's a rat, you're going to pay for the both of us to fly there Friday night. On Kieran's jet."
"Alright, alright," Paddy relinquishes his hold outs. "I'll call him." Maura is glad, because she would have found another way to get herself and Jane to the island, but this works best. Paddy will be their cover. Her work done, she rises, food uneaten. She walks out, figuring that clearing her spot on the table can be another thing he does to show his contrition.