A/N

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Anton nodded slightly. "Any chance of convincing him to help you? Or no? I know he still carries a torch." He put the cards carefully back in their box.

"Does the entire criminal world know about that? Jesus, at some point it starts to get embarrassing," she muttered, then shook her head. "I don't want to risk it. Despite what I told Luciano, we actually didn't part on the best of terms the last we saw each other. Sure, he might still come and step right into Luciano's trap, but I'm here to save my husband. Vincent would probably rather see him wither away and die so he can take his 'rightful' place. No. I don't want to rely on Armetti to get out of here." She looked at Anton, then, her eyebrows raised slightly. "However... Could you get a message to Moriarty? If you can inform them that I'm doing my best to fix this, if you can get Moriarty to order Armetti to delay his coming here... Maybe we'll have enough time to get what we need here and get out before Luciano decides he'd rather have me dead than alive."

Anton hesitated. "I... Can try. But this risk would be significant. If Luciano caught on, that's both of us dead."

She rubbed her eyes, trying to think. Was it worth it? She valued Anton's life more than she valued the life of a random goon - he had once done her a great service, and she wouldn't be here without that. But Sebastian's life was on the line, too. She sighed, dropping her hand from her face. "If there's a decent chance, we have to take it. We're on a strict timer as it is, Anton. Be as careful as possible sending the message. Go out for food - to a gas station, perhaps - buy a burner. Don't send the message here. We can minimize this risk, at the very least."

He sighed through his nose - a long-suffering noise - but didn't object. "You always were getting me into trouble. Alright. I'll let you know when it's done."

"Okay," she nodded. "I'll try to get in Luciano's good graces. Oh, and Anton? When I said bring me a weapon, this was not what I had in mind," she added, giving one last glance around the slightly-humming room before heading back the way they had came.

"No, I imagine it was more something like this," he agreed, digging around in a pocket before passing her a tiny switchblade. It was slim and light, only three inches long- six when opened- but deadly and perfect for tucking into a bra or shoe. "Just be careful not to get caught."

She nodded, tucking it into her bra with a little maneuvering of her assets. "They've already patted me down, and they give me plastic silverware. They shouldn't be looking for it. Thanks, Anton. Now let's get the fuck out of here."

He chuckled, but nodded, and led the way.

The walk back took a few years off of their lives, but in the end they made it with little difficulty. They worked together to set the ladder quietly against the wall again, and Anton motioned her up. "Go on. I'll take the ladder down behind you. Be sure to lock the trunk again."

She would have nodded, but it was so dark he likely wouldn't see much of it, so she whispered, "Of course. Thanks again. Keep in touch, will you?" And made her way carefully up the ladder and up into her room. She locked the chest behind her, and, after a quick look around the room to make sure nothing changed in her absence, she crawled back into bed, exhausted.

The knock came crisp and loud the next morning. The sun was up, filtering through the curtains, and the day was already warm.

"Ms. Harrison?" It was a woman's voice. Lorna had been sitting on the edge of the bed, absently combing her fingers through her hair, and she raised her eyebrows slightly at this event. This was different.

"I'm decent, if that's what you're checking for," she called back, slightly sarcastically. She was staying in a room with bars on the window. She was a prisoner, and it was bizarre not to treat her as one.

The door opened, and an older woman with a kind face and salt-and-pepper hair stepped through the door, shutting it behind her. She was wearing a simple blue dress, and was comfortably plump, in the sort of way that suggested a fondness of cooking. She carried a stack of clothes. "Mr. Luciano would like you to join him for breakfast, dear. I've brought you some clean clothes."

Lorna's eyebrows, already slightly raised, stayed that way, her eyes tracking the woman as she walked in and falling to the clothes in her hands as she mentioned them. Luciano wanted her to join him for breakfast? That was, typically, not the behavior of a man planning to have her killed. Maybe Jim would have done it, but Luciano - while frightening in his own right - was definitely no Moriarty. Lorna finally dropped her brows and managed a slight smile, standing from the bed and accepting the clothes. A silk button-up shirt and pinstripe slacks that appeared to be high-waisted. If Luciano had picked them out, he had good taste. "Thank you," she said, her smile widening. It wouldn't hurt to make friends with another amenable person in the house. "I'll change and meet you in the hall?"

"Of course," she said with a pleasant smile. "If you need anything, just ask. I'll be waiting for you outside." She left without protest.

Lorna smiled until the woman closed the door behind her and then quickly got undressed. She put the slacks on first, and then dug her hands into the pockets, assessing the roominess of them. Would she be able to fit her little knife in there, unnoticed? Probably, she decided, but it wasn't worth it. She plucked the knife from her bra and swiftly hid it in her pillowcase, praying that no one would change her sheets while she was gone, and then put on the silk button-up. She'd been right to forego the knife - this shirt probably would have given away the bump. She tucked in the shirt, and, now suitably dressed, walked to the door and knocked. "I'm done!"

The door opened, and the woman was waiting, with one guard. She smiled at Lorna. "You look perfect. Come along, this way. Breakfast will be on the balcony."

She headed down the hallway in the opposite direction from where Lorna had been brought the day before.

Lorna followed with a grateful smile at the compliment, looking around a little as they went. This was probably the more residential side of the house - something she'd never seen from Luciano. This was such a sudden shift in tone for him. He'd definitely made a decision, but she wasn't sure what that decision was. Hopefully he wasn't giving her a last meal, like the Bond villain she'd compared him to.

They walked for another minute or so, and stopped at a set of glass double-doors. The woman opened one, and motioned Lorna out onto a large balcony with a view that spanned across miles and miles of surrounding countryside. There was a full breakfast laid out on a large table, with platters heaped with a little of everything. Luciano was already waiting, and rose as she walked out. "Lorna. I'm glad you could join me."

Lorna smiled a little as she stepped out onto the balcony, ignoring the view for the moment to keep her eyes focused on Luciano. "I'm glad I was invited," she replied with a tilting of her head, the smile widening slightly for a moment, and her gaze moved to the table, where the smile turned more into a smirk. "You always order this variety, or did none of the intel about me suggest my favorite breakfast food?"

He laughed, and motioned for her to sit. "Always? No. But on Sundays, I indulge. Please, help yourself to whatever you like." He took his own seat, and began filling his plate.

She sank into the seat across from him and wasn't shy in following suit - she'd been fed relatively well during her short stay here so far, but fuck, sometimes it felt good to really stuff yourself. She grabbed bacon, an egg, toast and raspberry jam, and a heaping helping of pretty much every fruit offered on the table. "So," she said, as she sat back with her plate and plucked a grape off its stem. "Am I allowed to ask what the occasion is?"

"The occasion," he said, looking up from where he was buttering a piece of toast, "Is Sunday. As I said. We're going to be working together, it seems, so we may as well try to make the best of it. Don't you think?"

She hummed an affirmative around a bite of strawberry. "Sure. I guess I just expected getting to the point where we're having breakfast together might take a little more... effort, or time, or both. Vincent was a bit of an outlier in how easy it is to get to know your mob boss," she smirked in amusement.

Luciano shrugged. "I would say we do know each other, wouldn't you? You did try to kill me, after all. That binds people." His smile was enigmatic. "As for Armetti... He's an outlier in a lot of ways, from what I understand, but he got a few things right."

She snorted mildly. "If he'd gotten more things right, I wouldn't be here, helping you go after him. But I'm curious - what do you think he got right?"

"You, for one thing." He took a bit of toast, considering her. "You've made quite an item of yourself. You've got a rare set of skills. He's an idiot to let you walk away."

She gave him a tight sort of smile. "He loved me, so he let me go. A weakness I was happy to take advantage of. And, had he not, I would have used my skills on him and walked away anyways. I think maybe he knew me well enough to foresee his own fate, had he tried to force me to stay."

He laughed at that, taking a sip of juice and nodding. "A wiser decision than I thought, then. Perhaps I should instead say that I can't believe he let it get to that point. What was the breaking point? The two of you have been dynamic for years. Why the split?"

She decided to keep it as close to the truth as possible. It could be risky, but it also would keep her from admitting that Armetti's child-killing ways had been what had set her off. Luciano wouldn't care about that. "It was a lot of things, really, over the years. But all of it I could bear, for the most part, until things really changed. Moriarty initiated a merger, and I met Moran, Moriarty's second. We had an affair, and I briefly understood what it was like to give a shit about the man I was sleeping with. But then Moran and Armetti fought - Moran crippled him. Suffered his own injury, but from what I hear it's healed better than Vincent's. Either way, Moriarty put a stop to the relationship. He didn't want his second compromised over a woman not even technically in his network, and I could no longer tolerate Vince." She sighed, taking a sip of water from the small glass on the table in front of her. "I resent him for ruining perhaps my only shot at something... Fulfilling. And l'll see him in the ground over it. Especially for a chance to work in a good network like yours."

Antony sat back, an eyebrow raised, and chuckled. "You caught the eye of Moriarty's butcher? Now there's a hell of a story..." He shook his head. "From what I've heard, the man's heartless, even for our sort."

"He is," she shrugged. Her voice was casual, but her face held the old longing of something precious lost. "For everyone but me. For a little while, at least. I don't know how he feels now. I never held any delusions that he would risk Moriarty killing him to be with me - that was never on the table - but the end still hurt. Either way, I couldn't tell you how I ever caught his attention to begin with. I've told him this a thousand times, and I'll tell you, too: he's unpredictable. But it's no longer truly my business. Armetti saw to that, in his own infuriating way."

The mobster shook his head, sipping his juice and then setting it aside. "That's a shame. It sounds like you had something great set up for yourself. No wonder you're angry."

She gave a tight, grim smile. "Would have been nice, certainly. A transfer to Moriarty's network probably could have been arranged in time - and you know how it is. If you can't make your own network, might as well be part of one of the best there is. I could have moved back to London, made a new life for myself. But," she shrugged, and sipped her water again. "Life has a funny way of moving forward."

"Indeed it does," he agreed. "Will I have issues with you if you cross Moran in the future?"

She met his gaze with a grim sort of finality. "What we had is over. He made that clear. I'll do what I have to."

He nodded crisply. "Good. I'd expect nothing less, but I have to ask all the same." He pushed his plate away, and a waiting maid stepped forward to clear it. "Coffee? Something stronger?" he offered.

"Coffee, please. With a dash of something strong in it," she requested, smiling at the maid, and shrugging a little. "Might as well take you up on it as long as it's being offered."

He nodded his head in approval, glancing at the waiting attendant. "Due caffè con Strega, per favore," he asked gently. She nodded, and left quickly. He turned his attention back to Lorna. "Would you like to see the grounds later?"

She gave a slightly surprised but pleased smile. "I'd love to. Always had a thing for these old places," she said, extending a finger to wave vaguely around at the walls and over the balcony. "I think they're beautiful places to hide away."

"I think much the same," he agreed. "That's why I chose this as my residence. I will never understand the crime lords who wish to operate out of the city. Certainly there is convenience, but little beauty, and so much risk..."

"Security is a nightmare in the cities, as I understand it. Never wanted to be involved with the process though, personally," she snorted. "Security is a lot of stress and a lot of boredom and just not enough getting your hands properly dirty. Paperwork? Programming? I'd rather have my knife in someone's gut, thanks. Much more exciting. Helps me stay fit, too."

He laughed at that. "In that, you and I differ," he said, inclining his head to the maid in thanks as she returned with their coffees. "I hire people to do that sort of thing for me, when I can. People, it seems, like you."

Lorna smiled at the maid and took a sip of boozy coffee before answering, giving a playful one-shouldered shrug. "Not everyone has the drive for it. It's why I 'won' at our first encounter, perhaps. I am... Violently enthusiastic about death, shall we say."

"Something I have never possessed, though I can appreciate the trait," he agreed, tasting his own drink and then reaching out for creamer and adding a splash. "Perhaps that is why. You certainly have a talent."

"Wouldn't be here still if I didn't," she chuckled, a little matter-of-factly. "I've had my fair share of close calls anyways."

He nodded. "I noticed a few more scars than I remembered. Inevitable in this life, I suppose."

She let go of her mug to extend her right arm out a little, twisting it in the sunlight to expose the scattered remains of what had once been terrible scars, the shadows of what had been erased only truly noticeable in the right light. "I'm relatively unscathed, these days," she said calmly, pondering her arm for a moment before leaning back in her chair and undoing the first two buttons of her blouse, pulling open her shirt just enough to expose the great rift of a scar that traveled down her chest, the only truly gnarly ridge of flesh left on her. "I wiped the slate as clean as I could a while back, but shit just keeps on happening." She looked down at the heart surgery scar for a moment more, then buttoned up again. "Hardly anything will match the one I had taken off my face. Really, you're seeing me at close to the best I've been in the past five years or so."

He shook his head, tsking. "Who would ruin a face like that? It sounds like you have a fair few stories I should get caught up on." He took a long sip of his coffee, and stood. "Come, let's take these with us. The sun is warm and the vineyard is lovely this time of day."

She nodded and stood, smacking her lips a little at the alcohol aftertaste. "I'm an open book for the most part. I find honesty refreshing after my job."

"I don't blame you," he agreed, offering his arm. Once she took it, he headed for a set of stairs that led down to the garden below. "The face, then. Who made that idiotic mistake?"

That was an answer she wasn't sure she wanted to give. "A vengeful captor. He devised as many fresh hells and punishments on me as he could manage. He got sloppy. I killed him, and escaped," she said, with a calm smile and a calm voice, but distant, hard eyes. "He was responsible for about half of what I used to be covered with, but the one over my face," she lifted her free hand and traced the phantom line where the scar used to mark, "Was my least favorite. Its sole purpose was to shame me, I think. I hated to think he'd gotten the last word on the matter."

He nodded slightly. "It's a well-crafted revenge, I'll give him that. My compliments to whoever removed it, however, if it was as bad as you say. I can barely see it."

"Was the best that money could buy," she agreed, sipping her coffee as they stepped out from the stairwell into the sunny garden. "But I doubt it's the last they've seen of me."

"I should hope it is, but I understand the uncertainty," Antony replied. "Though undoubtedly you'll want to at least get rid of the surgery scar," he amended. "Smoking finally catch up to you? You seem young for heart failure."

She shook her head a little. "No," she sighed, lifting her face a little into the breeze, enjoying being outside in the sun after so long being stuffed away indoors. First on Euros' island, then Mycroft's holding rooms, then here. "Another scar from a captor, though inadvertent, I suppose. During one of those pesky periods of captivity I was under the knife more often than I cared to be. And during one of those instances, the bastard stuck a capsule in my chest cavity set to go off after a certain amount of time without his signal. Parasites, of some kind. This," she tapped her sternum, where the scar was hidden under her blouse. "Was the result of getting it out. It had a failsafe, too - was meant to kill me if it was removed. Instead it crippled the hand of the doctor attempting to remove it." She shrugged a little, as if this couldn't be avoided. "I'm alive and well, though. I don't know if I'll go get the scar removed before or after I collect some others. Guess it will depend on how much free time I have," she finished, shrugging again carelessly.

He nodded. "I'll be happy to contribute to its removal," he offered. "Just let me know when you want to take the time. I don't want it affecting your work, and I'm sure you aren't fond of it."

"No, I'm not fond of it," she snorted, eyes tracking a small bird as it hopped from branch to branch in a tree nearby. "The recovery isn't immediate, though, so I'll have to go during a slow time of year." Her eyes left the bird as it fluttered away, returning to the man next to her. "Do you fund all your grifters' scar-removal needs, or did I really make that much of a name for myself without noticing?"

"You haven't noticed?" he asked with a small laugh. "You are known, my dear, believe me, if not by name. Your signature has made you the talk of the town. Though everyone has been wondering where you went the last few years. Rumors were circulating about your death."

Her eyebrows rose a little in surprise. She truly hadn't known that the crime community outside of Armetti's talked about her to any extent. Her name not being involved was likely the mark of Jim's excellent clean-up team, both the physical and data teams, but to think she had made some sort of impression... It was strange. "I have a signature?" She said first, and then chuckled, shaking her head. "I guess I was out of circulation for a while. Well, not dead, as you can see. Not yet."

"If you know how to look." He stopped by a bench, motioning to it with a questioning look. "The method obviously varied widely, as did the victim, but there was always an element of..." He trailed off, searching for the right phrase. "Of artfully repressed brutality. Beauty and chaos. It was interesting to watch, to say the least."

Lorna sank down onto the bench with a vaguely amused sort of smile. "Now you're just flattering me. Though I have to wonder how many radars I thought I was flying under when I clearly wasn't," she added, with a tick of her head in mild irritation at herself. "I'm not even thirty-five. I'm going to wear out my ability to show my face anywhere."

Antony shook his head, sitting. "If we knew for certain it was you, I wouldn't have said signature." He leaned against the tree behind the bench, which acted as a natural backrest. "There's many guesses as to who the artist was, though I'll thank you for confirming mine."

She sighed a little into her coffee, then said, "I'd prefer no one had been right, personally. And I might like that list of other potentials so I can invest in their well-being from afar. I'd rather the herd protect me than peek out above it and get sniped."

He laughed then, a genuine, full laugh that began into his coffee cup and forced him to withdraw without drinking. "A refreshing stance to say the least. Thank you."

She smirked at his laugh. "I believe in keeping myself safe, however unconventionally. I'm sure you'll see more surprising decisions from me before something takes out one of us or forces us to part ways."

"I sincerely hope nothing forces us apart," Luciano said, sobering a bit and sipping his coffee. "Judging from our current ploy with Armetti, something tells me it wouldn't end well for me."

She gave him something akin to the shark smiles she so associated with Moran, though an edge of playfulness was still there to keep Luciano from taking the threat too seriously before she needed him to. "You're a smart one, signore," she told him, still smiling, and patted his knee twice. "But I haven't needed to blow every bridge behind me up in spectacular fashion. A couple of my former bosses were smart enough to know when to peacefully part ways."

"Moriarty, for example," he said, glancing her way. "I'm rather surprised about that one, to be honest. You know his name, and you have a past with his bodyguard. I'm shocked you're still breathing."

She nodded. "Good example. I suspect Moran's influence may have given me leeway I normally wouldn't have gotten. That, and he risks losing Armetti's entire operation if he kills me and Armetti finds out about it. Add in that I really only know Armetti's secrets, and not Moriarty's..." She shrugged. "I'm sure he considered killing me, and maybe he still will someday, when he thinks the cards are right. Until then, I'm going to have to operate as if it's fine, or I could never go anywhere."

"That's awfully brazen of you, then, turning over your best poker chip to me," Luciano said, tilting his head slightly. "A friendship gift? Or something else?"

"You've dealt with Moriarty. That means you're a big enough player to take Armetti's place," Lorna's smile became less playful, and more sharp. "as soon as we knock him the fuck out of the way."

Luciano seemed to ease slightly, his ego stroked, and nodded a little. "I suppose we'll just have to deal with Armetti when he arrives, then. I'm looking forward to it." He leaned back against the tree again, content, and sipped his coffee, eyes on the orchard. Harrison chuckled quietly and fell into silence beside him, sipping her coffee with an air of contentment.

They stayed like that for a long time, but eventually he sighed, considering his empty coffee mug, and stood. "Regrettably I have things to attend to. But please, enjoy the rest of your day. I do have to ask you not try to leave- you will not get far- but beyond that, feel free to explore."

She made a pleasantly surprised expression. "Oh, thank you. Believe me, I noticed the cameras. I won't go anywhere naughty." She winked.

He laughed, standing. "Knowing you, I doubt that. But we'll see." He began walking toward the house, leaving her in the orchard. Lorna watched him go, and then leaned back and finished her coffee, thinking.

A/N

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