Chapter Three: Gang War

"Word, what do we got?" Ed asked, striding to join his team leader.

"A mess," Wordy summed up, frustration twisting and one hand running through short brunet strands. "All the neighbors will say is that Troy's people poked their noses where they didn't belong."

The officers turned, Ed's eyebrows hiking when he spied the men they'd come to arrest; both were dangling by their ankles from a handy streetlight. "The neighbors have any ideas about who did that?"

The big constable snorted. "You're joking, right? We're in Elias's territory; none of these people are gonna talk to us."

Ed swallowed bitterness – had it really been only five weeks since he'd gotten his Sergeant's stripes? Had it really only been five weeks since the city's trust in her protectors began to nosedive? "I hear you, Word. Have Jules and Lou give it a go any way – maybe we'll get someone who's willing to talk." Someone who hadn't bought into Carl Elias's ingratiation tactics and propaganda about cops.

"Copy," Wordy agreed, gray eyes solemn. "Makes you wonder which one of them's worse."

"Castor Troy," Ed replied without hesitation. "Before we got this call, Holleran told me his crew cornered two more unis."

Wordy swore, expression turning bleak. "They alive?"

"Barely." The Sergeant shook his head. "Word, we gotta get this guy. At least Elias hasn't killed any cops."

"He beat that Guns 'n' Gangs rookie half to death," Wordy countered. "Raf swears he didn't do anything wrong and…"

"And he'd only been under two days," Ed finished, rubbing at his bald palate. "I know; Roy and Giles debriefed him, Wordy. Roy said he was hiding something, though."

"Hiding something?" the brunet echoed, confused. "Why would he do that?"

Ed shook his head, just as bewildered. "Roy just told me he clammed up when he heard his last name."

Wordy frowned, but said nothing for a minute. Then he huffed and turned back to their two subjects, eyeing the dangling, semiconscious men balefully. "Okay, I'll get Jules and Lou on interviews. Then I'll check with Spike; he might have a ladder so we can get those guys down."

"Copy that," Ed murmured.

"So what's the argument tonight, Eddie?"

Sarcasm rang and Ed closed his eyes, wishing he hadn't just heard the sound of a bottle opening in the background, the soft hiss announcing Greg's latest instrument of self-destruction. The slurring was gone, but all that meant was that his friend was holding his alcohol better.

"No argument, Greg, just wanted to check in on you."

"A likely story," Greg sneered, audibly swallowing down the poison that had taken Ed's best friend away. "You, ah, you like the job so far? Nice, cushy promotion, eh?"

Swear words ached to be let loose, to strike at Greg just as Greg was hitting him, but Ed clamped down. "We miss you, Boss."

It was even the truth; Ed had lost count of how many time Wordy had started to utter, 'Sarge', before cutting himself off, searing loss in gray eyes. He'd lost count of how many times he'd ghosted into the briefing room, only to find…no one. Sam and Jules were fighting like cats and dogs; Spike and Lou hadn't pulled a single prank since that day. And the kids… The anguish, the agony in their eyes… The questions, wondering what, on Earth, had they done wrong? Why hadn't they been good enough for Greg? Why hadn't he been willing to fight for them?

"Yeah, well, you'd better get used to this." Rough and angry, nothing like the Greg he knew.

"Why, Greg, why?" Ed blurted, pain radiating, echoing down the line.

He heard Greg pause, heard the bottle land on a nearby surface. For a moment, his friend's voice shook. "It's better this way, Ed. Safer."

"Better?" His free fist curled. "How the heck is this better, Greg? How is you, halfway down a bottle, better? Huh?"

"Well," Greg drawled, the shaking gone. "You did tell me to put myself first for once." Another generous gulp in the background. "I'm just taking your advice, Eddie."

"I didn't mean…"

"No, I'm sure you didn't," Greg agreed. "Be careful what you wish for, eh?"

Ed swallowed a growl, wrestling against the rising lava in his soul. "Stop it, Greg. I'm not giving up."

"Oh, you'll give up," his friend countered, the cheerful note in his tone at odds with the words themselves. "Everyone does, sooner or later."

"Not. Me." Give up on one of the best friends he'd ever had? Greg was out of his mind.

Greg chuckled, a dark, knowing chuckle. "Well, Eddie, I'd love to chat some more, but I'd better get my stash squirreled away before some nosy biddy comes looking for it. Tootles."

The phone clicked, leaving Ed staring at it in disbelief. That…that hadn't even sounded like Greg. Convulsively, the Auror gulped. Was Greg…was Greg under the Imperius?

Elias growled, but forced himself to calm down as he paced sideways. Anthony didn't deserve his temper – or the damage he could do if he so chose. Especially not in a sparring match. Brown narrowed, judging his opponent, then the mob boss moved, closing with Anthony, hooking one foot behind the other man's ankle, and driving him down into the mat. One forearm pressed against the lean man's neck, then Elias backed off.

Anthony scowled and pushed himself up. "You're holding back, Boss." Accusation rang.

Of course he was. Had for a very long time, ever since he'd found out what he was capable of if he didn't hold back. The crime lord had learned how to be the best, because when he hadn't been the best, he'd suffered for it. The scars on his palms gave testament to that day – the day he'd discovered why he had to be the best, why being anything less was unacceptable.

His second shifted, but Elias raised a hand, shaking his head and turning away. "No more, Anthony. Not today." Too close, too raw; he couldn't risk it.

"You know, holding back's gonna get you killed one of these days, Boss." Acid, flung with razor precision, all the worse because he'd heard those words before.

"No, Anthony," he snapped, whipping back around, eyes blazing. "Not holding back will get you killed!"

The raven froze, gawping at him.

Old pain trawled across the mob boss's face and he wearily turned away again, heading to the small refrigerator he kept right next to the sparring mat. Numb, he opened the door, yanking out a water bottle; one shoulder knocked the door close while he tore off the cap and drained the contents in three gulps. Why did he keep the tiny bottles around anyway…not nearly enough liquid for a conversation like this.

"Boss?" Wary caution, so like those first few days.

Elias hung his head. "My first crew, Anthony; we were doing a small job on the city's south side. Nothing much, should've been an easy in and out."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anthony nod.

"Tony was my tech guy – he'd handle the security so all the rest of us had to worry about was the actual heist." Elias paused, crushing the pint-sized water bottle, jaw tightening. "That job – it was so small that Scott told me to just stay with Tony. We were almost done when it happened." Plastic creaked in protest, the abused bottle objecting to its treatment. "Tony and I got jumped; they smashed his head into his computer, so he was down." He stopped, flexing his hands, not even noticing when the bottle fell to the ground. "The other one…he got a garrote around my throat."

His second inhaled, but Elias hardly heard, lost in memory.

Pain and fear and determination. The crime lord turned his hands over, staring down at the straight line across his palms. "I pushed, Anthony; all I could see was Tony, lying there with blood on his face. It was…slow." Nerves screaming, blood dripping down his hands – brown narrowed. "I yelled for Scott, but he didn't hear me."

"What…" Anthony stopped, cleared his throat. "What'd you do to them, Boss?"

A mirthless smile. "I broke every bone in the first guy's right arm. The second guy, I punched him into a table and he fractured his skull." A pause, accented by old regret. "The last guy…he knocked me onto that table and I kicked him in the chest, hard as I could. Broke his sternum and all his rib bones; he coded on the way to the hospital."

Utter silence; Elias flicked a glance at his second, unsurprised by the man's blank shock.

"After that, Anthony, I learned. I learned what I could do, I learned how to do it – and then I learned how to never do it again." Brown hardened. "When I fight, Anthony, I know what I can do, how far I can go, and if I kill, it's because that's exactly what I intend, not because some guy has me on the ropes and I'm fighting for my life." Fists clenched. "I hate waste, Anthony, and that was a waste. As good as those guys were, I could've used them. I could have made them my assets. Instead, I killed one of them and the other two hate my guts."

Anthony swallowed convulsively. "Yes, Boss." He hesitated, then asked, "What happened to your crew?"

Ah, that was the question, wasn't it? Calmer, Elias opened the refrigerator again and retrieved another bottle. He cracked it open and sipped, enjoying the feel of the water cascading down his throat. "They're still around, Anthony, but we had to part ways. More my fault than theirs, I'm afraid." He considered a moment longer, than shook the memories away. "Any word from our fishers, Anthony?"

Anthony straightened. "Yes, Boss."

Surprise shone. "So soon?" He'd expected the first to take much longer…

"Yeah, Boss. Seems our upstart has ticked off a faction within the cops."

"A faction, eh? What kind of faction, Anthony?" Elias turned to see his second smile, a slow, triumphant smile that pulled at the scar on his face.

"The kind that enjoys a donation or three, Boss," Anthony explained. "They call themselves the Ra-Kacharz."

Elias chuckled, low and dark. "Sounds perfect."

"No."

Ed slumped in momentary relief, then pinned Revan with an 'explain, now' glare.

The young Unspeakable-turned-Auror huffed, running a hand through his hair, the movement nearly identical to Giles' nervous tick. "Parker might be a Squib-born, but Wild Magic doesn't like mind-control spells. Heck, mine probably burned through whatever was keeping my memory locked up."

The Sergeant nodded, thoughtful. "So…if someone tried to use the Imperius on a Wild Mage…?"

"Don't know," Revan admitted. "It might work at first, especially if you catch the victim off guard, but the magic itself would start fighting. Wouldn't even be conscious, it's automatic."

"Like breathing," Ed murmured, earning an approving grin from the former Unspeakable. "So…this is all Greg?" Disappointment and shattered hopes coursed through Ed's chest, knifing heart and lungs alike.

Revan's gaze dimmed. "That would be correct, Sergeant Lane. I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's not your fault, Revan." The words were automatic, the nod of thanks stiff as Ed fought, once again, to understand why.

Why, Greg, why? Why did you leave us, why would you go back to that?

"They want to meet the Boss?" Anthony growled incredulously.

"Unacceptable," Elias rapped out, jaw clenched and eyes hard behind his wire frames. "I have no interest in their concept of mutually assured destruction."

His men turned to him, all of them, even Anthony, confused and surprised.

The mob boss shook his head. "My name is common knowledge," he reminded his subordinates. "But no one outside this organization knows what I look like."

Anthony's expression cleared. "Anonymity," he murmured.

"Precisely." Turning to the chiefs, Elias leaned forward, bracing his hands on the meeting table. Ice formed each word, backed by the crime lord's trademark calm. "Inform our…Ra-Kacharz…that an in person meeting with myself is out of the question until they earn my trust." Unspoken was the unlikelihood of such an event. Brown flicked sideways. "Anthony, have some of our neighborhood helpers start sounding out their helpees on the topic of police factions."

"Yes, Boss."

"The rest of you, pump your contacts for the same. I was expecting this stage of our operation to take much longer." He paused, letting his words hang, then drove forward into his point. "If these cops are already aligned with the upstart…"

The chiefs traded wary glances, unnerved by the plot their boss was spinning. One of them cleared his throat. "You…you think the upstart would… use… the cops against us?"

Elias smirked. "Why not?" he inquired in a rather innocent tone. "That's what I'm planning to do."

The uproar was immediate, all of the chiefs as well as Anthony objecting to using the cops against their competition. It was unthinkable, the height of dishonor, and utterly unworthy of any self-respecting mob boss.

"Boss, you do this and no one will trust you," Anthony blurted, dismay twisting his expression. "Going to the cops? We'll be rats, snitches."

"And worse, sir," one of the chiefs offered. "It could backfire on us."

Scarface nodded emphatically; he'd been part of a gang that had tried what Elias proposed. At first, it had been everything they could want. The cops had done all the enforcing, all the grunt work, harassing and even arresting their competition. Oh, they'd gotten a hefty cut, but the gang had had more than enough dough to go around in those carefree days. Happy with the donations flowing in, none of the pigs had complained – indeed, some of them had proposed new ventures to their cosseted criminal overlords. Business – and life – had been very good.

Then… Scarface ground his teeth to remember it. One of the pigs had gotten greedy and sloppy and shaken down the wrong man. Before the pig could blink, he'd found himself on the wrong side of an Internal Affairs investigation. The cop had promptly rolled, ratting out every last one of his colleagues for a better deal. Caught off guard and completely dependent on their cops, the gang had gone down, too; Anthony had barely escaped the fiasco with his freedom intact.

"Once a cop, always a cop," he spat, missing an odd flicker in his boss's eyes.

"Very true, Anthony," Elias murmured, almost to himself.

Around him, the protests picked up speed and steam, all of his men intent on keeping any cops – crooked or otherwise – away from their business and especially away from any efforts to eliminate the competition. Past failures, both local and international, were cited vigorously in an effort to dissuade the mob boss from treading the same well-worn paths as his predecessors, most of whom were dead or in jail.

"Enough!" Dead silence fell. Elias's expression held no trace of pity, no sign that he would yield to his subordinates' concerns. "I do not propose this lightly, gentlemen. Nor do I intend to use this tactic against all our opponents. Just one."

"But why, sir," Anthony asked. "We can beat him; we don't need cops for that."

For a long moment, Elias did not respond, his gaze going distant with old pain. Without speaking, he turned away from the table, pacing to the window. " 'Why', Anthony?" he asked, staring out at the sunshine, voice trembling and cracking. Then he turned back, expression contorting. "Because our foe does not play by the rules of the old game. Family is off-limits, it always has been. So long as family isn't involved with the business, they are sacrosanct. Untouchable."

Silent horror filled the air, all of them knowing where their boss was going, even if they didn't know the details.

"I was a young man when Castor Troy first made his mark on this city; I watched with glee as he set the cops back on their heels. I laughed when he made examples of their graduating cadets." Elias shook his head in disgust. "Then he shot a detective's three-year-old son."

Gasps ran around the room.

The crime lord trembled, but not with fear. Fury. "He hasn't stopped either," Elias spat, stalking back to the table. "A week ago, the retired judge who oversaw his trial was found murdered. Along with his wife, his daughter, their son-in-law, and two infant grandchildren." Rage boiled. "I want this man stopped. I may be a criminal, but this is my city and I'll be damned if I let Castor Troy destroy it. Even if I have to work with cops to do it. Even we have rules, lines we won't cross. He's crossed them and I mean to see him pay." Burning hazel shifted around the table, meeting their eyes. "Who will fight beside me?"

Anthony tossed his head high, a smirk curving his jaw. "I will, Boss." Slowly, the other chiefs murmured assent.

"Good," Elias rumbled, pushing off the table. "Get the map out, Anthony. We have work to do…"

The war started, as most wars do, with a single shot. A shot fired, ironically enough, by Constable Sam Braddock when Team One executed a high-risk warrant on one of Castor Troy's top lieutenants, Dietrich Hassler.

As the call dissolved into chaos, Ed spared a moment to be both grateful and furious at Team Two. On the one hand, trying to contain and arrest all of Hassler's men would've been a nightmare with only a six-man team. On the other… The Sergeant had a fleeting wish that they'd had someone to coordinate between the teams and prevent the inevitable jostling and fighting for command between the SRU Sergeants. Someone who might've been able to keep Team Two from blowing Team One's entry and forcing Sam into cover fire for his pinned teammates – naturally, Team Two had promptly disappeared into the sprawling, massive warehouse, leaving Team One in the lurch.

"Lou, on your left!" Wordy yelled, dragging Ed back to their current situation.

"Sam, Jules, talk to me," Ed ordered, crouching behind a handy wall for cover.

"They're not interested in going quietly, Ed," Jules reported. "Looks like they're passing out more weapons."

Ed bit back a host of swear words; spray 'n' pray guns, he'd bet his annual salary on it. Wonderful. "Word, we got the shields?"

"We got 'em, Boss," Wordy replied. "Lou." Ed watched in relief as his team leader passed a shield over to the less-lethal specialist, keeping one for himself.

"All right," the Sergeant breathed. "Spike, you and I handle the flex cuffs."

"Copy." Fierce. Determined.

"Arrow formation," Wordy put in. "Slow and steady, guys; those rounds will crack body armor."

"Sam, Jules, cover us!" Ed ordered. "Watch your shots, but see if you can keep their heads down."

"Got it," Sam acknowledged grimly.

Slowly, painfully, the four officers inched forward, sheltered on either side by the shields Wordy and Lou kept up. Any gap, any faltering of their slim protection, meant their deaths, but that was just part of the job; all of them knew and accepted the risks. Minutes ticked by as the team foraged through the hail of gunfire, each step another chance on dangerous, enemy-held territory.

"Ed!" Jules called. "Team Two is hitting them from behind."

"Wait, what?" Ed blurted, then the pieces clicked together. Fury scorched through his veins, almost a living thing in his chest as the gunfire hitting his team slowed. Livid, the Sergeant watched as Team Two handled every takedown, every arrest, hardly even glancing at their Team One coworkers. None of the team spoke; they knew just as well as their leader what had happened.

Once the subjects were secured and on their way to jail, Ed closed with his Team Two opposite. "What did you think you were doing?" he roared. "We had a plan, Roenick!"

Sergeant Roenick smirked. "And you played your part perfectly, Lane." So saying, he sauntered away, ignoring his counterpart's incredulous outrage.

"Not a half-bad plan, Ed."

Still staring after Roenick, Ed countered, "Except for the part where we were in the line of fire, Word."

Sheepish, Wordy nodded, moving up next to his friend. "Hey, I'm not saying I like it, but at least it worked."

"Greg never would've done it."

The team leader stiffened. "Parker's not here anymore, Ed. You are."

And that, the Sergeant knew, was that. Wordy was still angry at their former boss, too angry for Ed to use him as a sounding board for ideas or brainstorming. Truth be told, Ed was still angry, too, but more and more, something wasn't right; it didn't fit.

And perhaps it was high time that Sergeant Ed Lane investigated the links and the Wild Magic behind them. He had no idea if they were the answer to Greg's behavior, but it was a place to start and he was sick and tired of waiting for his friend to just 'get better'.

"Well," Elias inquired casually.

Anthony smirked. "Timmons got in touch; Frost was arrested yesterday."

"Excellent," Elias purred. "And Niebaum?"

"Already taken care of," his second promised. "He won't be able to get any more of Troy's gang off."

"Very good work, Anthony," the mob boss praised, smiling at his subordinate's automatic preen. Moving to his planning table, Elias waved the other man closer. "Our chiefs can worry about our pet," his lip curled, "Ra-Kacharz." Tapping his map, the crime lord indicated the locations of their organization's buildings, as well as their headquarters. "I've arranged for five new buildings, Anthony. We'll need them soon."

"Boss?" Confusion and uncertainty rang, reinforced by the raven's perplexed expression.

Furrows carved lines in Elias's face. "Troy won't take our latest strategy lying down, Anthony. Back in the day, he terrorized the cops, he didn't use them. I doubt he's changed much."

"He had guys on the inside," the other pointed out, earning a conciliatory head tilt.

"Yes, but think about it, Anthony," Elias urged. "The men we just had arrested, what positions did they hold?"

The younger man frowned, gaze going distant. "Niebaum was IA," he murmured. "Frost was one of the Academy higher ups…"

"Precisely," Elias concurred. "Neither of them could have affected us and our business, not directly." Brown eyes caught fire as he stared at his map. "I suspect Troy was planning on resuming his annual attacks on the Academy and its graduates. What better way to re-establish his stranglehold on the city than to insure that every new cop on the street lives in fear of him?" One hand spread, indicating Troy's territory. "It would not be a direct attack against us, Anthony, but in time…"

Anthony nodded understanding. Living in fear of Troy, the cops would naturally turn their attention to other mob bosses, attempting to salvage their reputation in the city. And with cronies in such high positions among the pigs, Troy would have little trouble influencing events more directly if he so chose – a threat that would always be there, waiting and lurking. "Us using the cops, that's gonna make him mad?"

"To say the least, Anthony. We need to be ready for him. Escape plans, escape tunnels. Fallback positions."

"War."

"Yes," Elias murmured. "I leave this in your capable hands, Anthony. I need to prepare the endgame."

"You got it, Boss."

Ed waited impatiently for Greg to answer his phone, ignoring the tiny mocking voice in the back of his mind that insisted he was just wasting his time. He wasn't giving up. Not ever, but definitely not when he had a plan. Well…kind of.

"Come on, Greg, pick up," he hissed under his breath, glaring at the notebook in front of him.

The phone clicked on, but it took another minute before the other man fumbled the device up. "H'll'?"

Mentally, Ed groaned; Greg was already three sheets to the wind. "Hey, Greg."

"H'y, Edd'e," Greg slurred and Ed sat up straight, lightning flashing through his spine.

"Greg, how long have you been up?" he demanded; he'd heard Greg slur like this before – it had been at the tail end of a ten day shift where they'd spent more time on the move than usual, hardly getting a moment to eat, let alone rest.

His friend snorted. "Oh, y'u kn'w m'," he managed. "L'ts t' dr'nk, n't 'nough t'me."

Yeah. And he had a pet Velociraptor in his basement. "Greg," Ed chided, rubbing his head. "Don't be an idiot. If you need sleep, I can call tomorrow." He didn't want to, but if Greg had been up long enough to start slurring – without alcohol – then he darn well needed a bed, not eager theories from his former team leader.

For a moment, Greg didn't respond. Then he sighed heavily. "No, Eddie," he said, speaking slowly in an effort to deter the slur. "I can talk now."

Ed didn't press the issue – the last thing he needed was the little-known, but infamous Parker stubborn streak. And Greg wondered where his kids got it… Leaning forward, the sniper skimmed his page of notes and opted to stick to the high points. "All right, Greg, I had a chat with Revan about this whole…Wild Magic thing."

"Oh?" Slow, uncertainty mixed with a slight optimism. "What did he have to say?"

"I didn't give him any details," Ed promised, catching his friend's unspoken worry. "I just asked him for anything the Unspeakables had been able to figure out about Wild Magic in general."

"He have anything for you?" Interest rang, though the exhaustion was peeking through as well.

"Most of it, we already know," Lane admitted. "But there was something he said that caught my attention." He paused, letting the other absorb his words, then said, "Greg, he told me that sometimes, when Wild Magic acts on its own, it manipulates the wielder just as much as it manipulates others."

"That's not exactly comforting, Eddie," Greg drawled.

Ed hadn't much liked the sound of that, either. Still, he shook his head, wishing he and his friend were face-to-face. "Greg, listen to me; I think that's what's happening here. You know you have to take care of yourself if you're going to help us, but as soon as Sam told you Wordy was down, you were off like a shot; you didn't even think about whether you had enough magic left or if trying to save Wordy was gonna be one step too far emotionally. And…" He hesitated, then blurted, "And you were gonna take the suspension, but then you didn't. Come on, Greg; if you were just gonna bury yourself in a bottle, why didn't you take the suspension?"

Silence. But it was a considering silence, not a drunken one. Then, softly, as though Greg was afraid of being overheard, he whispered, "You think the magic is pushing me into putting all of you first? Making your welfare more important than my own? Trying…trying to keep all of us together, no matter what?"

"Yeah, Greg, I think it is. I think it was hiding how you were doing from us, too. Keeping us from realizing you needed help."

"But why?" Greg protested.

Before Ed could respond, he heard noise in the background. Yelling, shouting, the sound of a door slamming. "Greg, what's going on?" he demanded.

"Oh, w'nd'rf'l," Greg groused, the slur reappearing as his words sped up. "S'rr', Edd'e; 'nsp'ct'on."

The dial tone sounded, cutting off anything Ed might've said. The Sergeant scowled at his phone, unhappy with the fresh reminder of his friend's downward spiral. Ignoring the insistent chill up his back, the officer huffed and headed for bed.

Scarface was talking to one of his 'cop' chiefs when they heard noise from outside the room. Shouts, splintering wood, pounding footsteps. Before the men could react, the door caved in, bullets heralding the remainder of the night.

The mobster dove for cover, hauling the chief with him. Once in cover, he turned, only to gag and resist the urge to hurl at the utter wreck of the other man's head. Swallowing hard, he retrieved the dead man's piece and thrust the body out of hiding, watching grimly as a hail of gunfire impacted the limp form. When the initial attack slowed, he stood up and stepped forward, each shot taking the enemy down. A table was nearby, but Scarface was able to kill all of his ambushers before they realized they'd been had.

Turning away from their bodies, he let out a half hysterical bark of laughter and slapped the building's intercom, connected directly to the PA system. "Fall back!" he roared. "Execute Raladin!"

Sound from outside the room forced Anthony to duck back; with a growl, he swept down, snatching the dead chief's phone. The screen was cracked and flickering, but Scarface ignored that as he opened up a contact listed simply as 'Reese'. His thumb tapped the call button while he skidded down a set of newly installed – and hidden – stairs.

Two rings later, a sleepy, annoyed voice demanded, "What is it?"

"Hellman's dead," Scarface announced without preamble. "I'm giving you an address; get your guys here."

Reese swore. "What about your people?"

A smirk curled the mobster's jaw. "Once a cop, always a cop, huh?"

"Listen, you louse, I hate that scum – he killed a real good friend of mine," the cop spat. "I'd sell my soul to the devil if that's what it takes. So you'd better not die on me until he's dead, capiche?"

"Nice to know you care," Scarface jeered, rounding another landing; the door below creaked open, two men peeking inside. The mobster hung up, crouching down to keep from being spotted if the pair looked up. The newcomers' clothes were spattered with blood, but then, so were his.

"You go first," one of them hissed.

"No way," the other snapped. "Did you see what they did to Andrew?"

"Yeah and that's why you're going first."

"I ain't goin' down there."

"You want me to tell the Boss you chickened out – again?"

The second man's eyes bulged. "No, please," he begged. "He'll kill my sister!"

"Then go!"

Dark eyes narrowed. Not his guys – the boss would thrash anyone who even thought about attacking their families. And doing it himself – yeah…anyone who suggested that was in for a real short trip with a sudden stop. Scarface rose, hurling the phone in his hand down at the landing below; it shattered as it hit the ground, drawing attention upwards. Gunshots followed, dropping Troy's men before they could react.

Threat dealt with, the mobster strolled down the stairs and past the bodies, snatching the broken phone from the ground. It wouldn't do for the cops to find Reese's number on a criminal's cell phone. Pity about the building, though – while not as good as their headquarters, it had been a rather nice spot…

All over Toronto, battle raged as Castor Troy's gang openly attacked Elias's buildings and personnel, sparking shootouts and several prolonged, running battles. Law enforcement and EMS converged on the scenes, finding little more than the bodies left behind and signs of a hasty evacuation. At one building, they got lucky enough to cut off Troy's people, arresting some of the slow ones – the fast ones had gone for their guns with fatal results.

Inside the building, they located several well hidden stairways, leading down into an underground network of tunnels – maintenance, water, and sewer. Aside from the bodies, there was no sign of Elias's people. One cop, a stout man with dark, extremely curly hair, and brown eyes was the first man inside an office at the top of the building, locating several bodies. When he saw what was left of the only body outside the pileup at the door, he swore – viciously, muttering something under his breath as he turned and left.

What a mess. Elias hefted a tear-stricken toddler in one arm and a sobbing preschooler in the other. Both had been separated from their parents in the hasty evacuation from one of the buildings his organization had been using. He'd sent a low-level runner to try and find the missing parents, but until then…he was literally the only person he could spare to watch the children. Troy's counterattack had been widespread and brutal, challenging his crew to their upmost and leaving far too many dead.

"Shhh…" he whispered, rocking both children. "That's it, cry it out… I'm here." Soft, he began to hum, the semblance of a lullaby mixed with a soothing undertone. Ignoring the stares from his men, he carried the youngsters towards a makeshift staging area.

"Boss!"

Turning, he frowned at Anthony, indicating the crying children clinging to him. His second slid to a halt, gawping at him; one eyebrow hiked in amusement at the flabbergasted expression. "Report," he ordered, keeping his voice low and resuming the humming.

Anthony edged closer, eyeing the little ones before saying, "You, ah, you sure, Boss?"

The mob boss nodded without speaking; the children were starting to calm down as the humming penetrated their awareness, relaxing into his hold.

"Hellman's dead," Anthony murmured. "I called his contact, got them rolling to that building. They managed to hit three of our main hideouts – cops are swarming over all of 'em now."

"How many casualties?" The words stayed low, the sentence itself rising and falling like the lullaby Elias was humming.

"About a dozen so far, Boss, but not everyone's checked in yet." Anthony huffed, rubbing at his hair. "I can ask around, see if anyone is missing two toddlers."

A confirming tilt of the head; the toddler yawned, snuggling into Elias's button-down shirt while the other child shook her head, determinedly staying awake despite the soothing hum vibrating through her.

Before he left, Anthony smirked. "Didn't know you liked kids, Boss."

Elias twitched a smirk of his own. "I'm full of surprises, Anthony." Then he tilted his chin. "Go; I've got these two."

Not a word was said as the mob boss paced in the staging area, effortlessly maintaining his grip on the two children while rocking and humming every so often to keep them asleep. The chiefs, wary of inciting Elias's temper, kept their reports short and their voices low, earning approving nods from the crime lord. There was, after all, no need to alarm the young ones any further.

When his phone buzzed, one chief offered to pull the device off Elias's belt and read the message; after a second of consideration, he inclined his chin in permission. The man cautiously detached the phone and read the message. "Scarface, Boss," he murmured. "He found 'em."

"Excellent. No return message; just put it back."

"Yes, Boss."

"Lizzy!" a worn, bedraggled woman cried, flying up to Elias and pulling the toddler from one arm.

"Mama!"

The other girl woke up, crying at the noise; the woman gasped. "Jane!"

Elias passed the preschooler over without prompting, a smile lighting up his face at the sight of the mother embracing both children, squeezing them tightly and murmuring orders to never scare her like that again. Behind them, their father, one of his street chiefs, hurried to join his family, mouthing thanks in his boss's direction.

Elias moved around the mother, pausing by his chief long enough to squeeze the man's shoulder. "Take good care of them, Bennet."

"Yes, sir; always, sir." Gratitude shone. "Thank you, sir."

"Mistuh Eli?" little Jane lisped, drawing the mob boss back.

He crouched down to her level, gaze and expression turning warm. "Yes, Miss Jane?"

"T'ank you for song."

A chuckle tickled, but he held it back. "You're quite welcome." Leaning forward, he added, "You and your sister were a pleasure; it was no trouble at all."

The blonde girl beamed.

Brown turned serious and Elias tipped Jane's chin up. "But next time, Miss Jane, you and your sister must stay close to your parents, understand? We don't want the bad men to hurt you."

"Yes, Mistuh Eli," Jane agreed.

"Boss?"

Elias held his position a moment longer, then nodded to Jane and rose, stepping back as he did so. Once Bennet and his wife had taken the exhausted youngsters to their temporary room, the mob boss turned to Anthony. "Talk to me."

"We're secure for now. I've got a couple runners still rounding up the stragglers, but it could've been a whole lot worse, Boss."

"True." Elias frowned, propping hands on hips. "The new buildings aren't quite ready yet."

"No, sir."

"All right, we'll have to make do for another few days." Behind wire rims, the crime lord's expression hardened. "Drills, Anthony. We have to do better next time."

"You think they'll hit us again?"

"What do you think?"

Anthony's face twisted. "You got it, Boss. And I'll make sure we've got something in place to keep the littles from getting lost."

Elias inclined his head. He had no intention of letting Castor Troy's men have any of his people, even the youngest of them. "Go," he ordered.

His second hurried away, leaving Elias to contemplate the busy, chaotic scene in his headquarters' lower levels. The mob boss grimaced, feeling the pull of exhaustion. The sooner all of this was over, the better.

Author note: In another Friday update from Ace Data Recovery, "The engineer has finished imaging your drive, and your case has been passed to Data Processing (DP), which is where another engineer will go through the files and repair any corruption or errors there may be as well as clean out any junk files that might've been produced."

I confess, I'd entertained hopes that I would have my data back by now, but at least things are moving forward. I am very much hoping that by this Friday, I will have my data back; I can only maintain a 'holding pattern' with some of my files for so long. Plus keeping track of all the independent updates so I can merge them back into my September 3rd files.

I think I'm going to have to wait for all my data to know if they were able to save the most precious of my files. So the prayers are ongoing, along with the praise that the Lord has enabled them to get as far as they have.

I hope everyone enjoyed today's chapter and I will 'see' you all on Friday.