A/N: The hugest thanks ever must be given to my butt-kickin' beta, GoddessLaughs. The marathon brainstorming sessions should be paying off in just a few chapters. Also, thanks to everyone who has ever taken the time to review. When I hit the brick wall that is writer's block, you're kind or constructive words help push me along!
This is the longest chapter to date...enjoy! And as always, please review.
14
Luciana finished wiping down the kitchen counter, and spun in a slow circle surveying her work. She had spent the last hour cleaning up the kitchen and living room, and the results were definitely an improvement. A little bleach and a lot of elbow grease had given new hope to the kitchen, which no longer resembled the losing side of a high school cafeteria food fight.
She had been less successful in her battle with the living room, however. No amount scrubbing could improve the dingy furniture and dismal paint job, but at least it was clean, if unattractive.
While cleaning had been productive, it was not her objective for the day. She had gone into see Ramon about her first week's paycheck and now she had two hundred and fifty dollars burning the proverbial hole in her pocket. She had rushed home from the theatre intent on bullying a MacManus into taking her shopping, only to find the apartment deserted.
After checking all the usual spots - fridge, counter, bathroom mirror, her pillow - for a note and not finding one, she had flung herself onto the couch in a huff. She was ridiculously disappointed; after all, she could always shop tomorrow, but she had been surviving on her few meager items of clothing and MacManus hand-me-downs for longer than any woman should have to.
While she was lying there pouting and wishing she had grabbed the remote before becoming horizontal, Luciana couldn't help but notice what an absolute pigsty the apartment was.
One of her duties in Vic's home was keeping the entire house spotless. He didn't tolerate any type dirt in his home (himself not withstanding, she though ironically). Dust on the mantle would send him into a rage. He'd cracked one of her ribs for the grievous infraction of water spots on the bathroom mirror.
Connor and Murphy, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy living in filth or they were, at the very least, oblivious to it. She had been enjoying not having any domestic responsibility foisted upon her, but today she determined that she was not a slob by nature.
She lay on the couch, in the stillness of the empty apartment, for as long as she could stand. Finally, her need for cleanliness overcame her desire to distance herself from all things Vic and she bolted off the couch, headed to the kitchen and rummaged under the sink looking for some type of cleaning supplies.
Coming up empty handed, Luciana cursed her own stupidity. Why did she think that two men who barely managed to bathe on a regular basis would own anything that resembled a cleaning supply? Finally, she remembered the bleach from her trip to the laundry mat. With that and a sink full of piping hot water, she had attacked the kitchen with enthusiasm.
Just as she was debating on whether or not to tackle to bathroom, she heard keys jangling in the lock.
Connor came barreling into the apartment, coming to an abrupt halt as he glanced around the living room in surprise. Murphy, who was balancing a canister of coffee on top of a case of Guinness, didn't notice his brother was no longer moving toward the kitchen and smacked into his back, sending the coffee can clattering across the floor.
"Get the fuck outta the way, Conn!" Murphy said, abandoning the coffee and pushing past his brother towards the kitchen. Thunking the beer onto the countertop, he took a look around the kitchen and then looked to her and Connor. "What the hell happened in here?"
Before she could answer, Connor sniffed the air. "Did ye…clean?" He said, his voice rising with incredulity.
"Yes." She replied, crossing her arms. "I cleaned. Why is that so shocking?"
"It's not shocking." Murphy said, running a finger along the counter.
"It's fucking wonderful!" Connor finished for him. As he headed into the kitchen, he dropped a kiss on her curls, a gesture that she had come to associate with taller MacManus.
The twins were both physically affectionate, especially with each other; always ready with playful punch on the arm or a fond ruffling of the hair. Every shift in emotion was accompanied by some sort of contact.
She had also noticed it when they were around the boys at McGinty's or Ramon at the theatre. They were always ready with a handshake and a smile, eliciting a similar response in return.
And, while Murphy was still somewhat reserved around her, only tossing an arm over her shoulders when he forgot himself, she had stopped being surprised at the easy closeness that was Connor's trademark.
There was something reassuring in the undemanding contact, a feeling that had been missing from her life from too long. It was how she remembered life with Rocco before circumstances had put hundreds of miles between them. The simple affection that signified family. Each touch chipped away at her reserve, filling the void left by her brother's death and the violence she had suffered at Vic's hands.
In the week since the incident at the theatre, the three of them had fallen into a comfortable routine, finding each other's boundaries and learning to live together. The boys had broken one of the cardinal, if unspoken, rules: leaving without a note. She was preparing to pounce on them for this slight and for delaying her shopping trip, when Murphy beat her to it.
"Sorry we took off on ye." He said, looking rather sheepish. "We were out of supplies."
"Beer and coffee caused you to rush out so quick you didn't have time to jot down a note?"
The mix of scorn and incredulity in her voice had the desired effect on Murphy, who now looked like a puppy that just had its nose smacked with a rolled up newspaper.
"Actually, it was an emergency." Connor said, opening the brown paper bag he had carried in and dumping three cartons of cigarettes onto the counter. "We were outta smokes."
"There is no way that took you over an hour!" She said accusingly, her eyes bouncing from one guilty looking twin to the other.
Murphy cracked first. "They didn't have any Guinness at the store so we had-OW!" The last bit was caused by Connor's elbow connecting hard with his ribs.
"Ye fuckin' wanker! We had a plan." Connor rolled his eyes and shook his head in dismay. "All ye had to do was stick ta the fuckin' plan."
Luciana did her very best to keep the glare from slipping off her face. If she had the boys on their heels, she had a much better chance of convincing them that they should take her shopping. She cleared her throat, which was a clear invitation for Connor to continue.
"We stopped down ta the pub. Doc sold us a fuckin' case."
"And a few beers before you came home too, I'll wager." She said, allowing herself a satisfied smile when he nodded his assent.
"So what kind of shite do we have ta do ta make it up to ye?" Murphy asked, not looking too thrilled about what her answer might be. No doubt the smell of bleach was forcing him to think the worst…more cleaning.
Luciana gave them both her most evil grin. "Well, since you ask…"
--- -
His hands working as his mind wandered, Cillian cleaned and oiled the pistol that lay before him on the table. As he polished the metal to a gleaming shine, he thought about the client that he was expecting to see today.
In the last year, Connor and Murphy MacManus had become two of his most frequent customers. They would occasionally come in looking for a new gun or most recently a car, but as often as not they brought him merchandise to be used as credit on their account. Guns, jewelry, watches, credit cards, even the occasional passport all made their way to Emerald Isle Imports all courtesy of the brothers MacManus.
He never asked any questions about why they needed his unique services, but he was no fool. He couldn't miss the headlines in the papers that always seemed to correspond with a visit from the twins.
At first, Cillian hadn't put it all together. That massive hit on the Russians had been all over the news, but never in a million years did he think the two jokers who had been in his shop that morning had ought to do with it. It wasn't until after the hit on the Yakavetta boss that he realized what he was dealing with.
The descriptions in the paper had made his blood run cold: Three men, Irish accents, black turtlenecks and coats. Cillian knew those men; he had sold them the guns they used to gun down a man in a fucking federal courthouse.
Suddenly the puzzle pieces snapped together forming a very clear and very alarming picture in Cillian's mind.
When he had first come to the States, he had made some very precise plans in case he ever needed to leave the country in a hurry. Arrangements with a shady cargo company down at the harbor (the very same company that had transported Liam MacManus back to Ireland, as a matter of fact) and a small villa just outside of Rio de Janeiro were ready for him come the day of his retirement, forced or voluntary. When Cillian got out of the business, he intended to get all the way out.
The day of Papa Joe's death he ran a very thorough systems check, just in case.
As the weeks passed and no federal agents came bursting through his door, he began to relax. When the MacManus brothers came to call again, he didn't even bat an eye. As much as Murphy annoyed him – a loose cannon, if he'd ever fucking seen one – and Connor disturbed him – he has the coldest eyes – Cillian was a professional. He never let on that he knew they were the notorious Saints and they never gave him further cause to worry.
Cillian slid the gun into leather case and reached for its twin to begin the process again. These guns had to be one of the strangest requests he'd ever had. People came to him when they needed something vitally important that no one else could get, not, as was the case with the two firearms before him, for gifts.
However, when Connor MacManus had shown up with his hair-brained request, Cillian hadn't dared to say no.
The request, although very odd, had been simple enough. Connor wanted two .45 caliber Colt Model 1911 handguns, stainless steel, with black grips. That, in itself, was not unusual. It was what he asked next that made Cillian cock an eyebrow in skeptical astonishment.
"Ye want me to what?" He had asked the taller MacManus incredulously.
"Ye heard me. Aequitas and Vertias. Can ye do it or not?" Connor had replied with utter seriousness.
Cillian nodded his head. As with so many things, he knew a guy who knew a guy. "I'll take care of it, but it'll take a few weeks."
"I don't care what it fuckin' costs." Connor had said. "But I need them in a week."
Cillian remembered the look in Connor's eyes when he had gotten narky with Murphy over the car, and he gave a quick nod. "Done."
As he finished polishing the Colt, he fervently hoped that it met Connor's expectations. He did not want to be responsible for ruining Murphy MacManus' birthday gift.
--- -
Watching Murphy from across the crowded department store, Luciana couldn't help but feel sorry for the guy.
It had been quite a trick, convincing him to take her shopping in the first place. Her original plan had been to drag them both along on her expedition, but Connor had begged off, claiming he had a prior appointment with someone called Cillian and rushed out the door. Murphy's loud curses had followed him halfway down the block.
Murphy had tried very, very hard to get out of his predicament, but, when she got sick of listening to him and threatened to go alone without the first clue as to how to get around Boston unaided, his sense of chivalry had won out and he had grudgingly agreed to escort her.
Duty may have convinced him to go, but he was not at all happy about being manipulated into a trip to the mall. Not one bit.
All the way there, he complained. He bitched while she got ready. He complained on the subway. He pouted when they arrived. He seemed intent on letting her know, in no uncertain terms, that he did not want to be shopping anywhere other than the convenience store on the corner that sold whiskey, beer and cigarettes.
Since he was acting like a child, Luciana decided to use an appropriate counter measure.
"I'll make you a deal." She said, whirling to face him, after he had let out his fifth disgruntled sigh since they had entered the mall. "If you shut up and let me shop, we can go to McGinty's when were done."
"Where do ye think I'm fuckin' goin' after this?" He snorted. "I'll have ta do somethin' ta recover from this shite."
Then she said the magic words. "Yes, but if you attempt to be civil, or at the very least silent, while we're here, the drinks are on me."
He cocked an eyebrow at her, before giving another sigh. This one was less peeved and more resigned in nature.
"All right, woman. Let's make this fuckin' ordeal go as quickly as fuckin' possible."
"You know what, Murphy? I have a name. One day maybe you'll remember to use it." She snapped, then looking at the plethora of stores that were waiting to take her money she perked up. Linking her arm through his, she'd asked. "Where should we go first?"
"The fuckin' bar." He had muttered under his breath, which she deliberately ignored.
Now, as she browsed through the sale racks trying to make the most of her paycheck, she felt a twinge of guilt watching the blush spread up Murphy's face. Things had been going swimmingly (if dragging a petulant MacManus through a crowded shopping mall could be referred to as going swimmingly), until they arrived at her favorite clothing chain and Murphy decided to talk.
He had attracted more than a few sidelong glances before that. With the combination of the brooding expression plastered across his face and his uniform of jeans, black turtleneck and black coat, he absolutely oozed "Bad Boy". He was currently trying unsuccessfully to look inconspicuous, leaning against the wall next to a rack of coats.
When he opened his mouth and that damned Irish accent reached the ears of the girls that stood between them, she knew he was done for.
Although she would die before admitting it, listening to the twins talk could make her weak in the knees. If it still had that effect on her after seeing them at their worst, she could only imagine what kind of a swathe he could cut through these unsuspecting females if he chose.
Unfortunately for Murphy, the gaggle of sixteen year old cheerleaders decided to cut a swathe through each other to get to him.
As soon as he called out to her, "Are ye done yet? Ye've been at this for a fuckin' hour already!" she saw the heads snap in his direction. Elbows dug into sides and whispers were exchanged in the rapid fire manner of girls talking about boys.
Murphy seemed unaware of the attention suddenly being paid to him, but it didn't last long. Suddenly the girls became very interested in the winter coats despite the fact that they all seemed to have coats stuffed under their arms. The boldest of the group tried on a coat and twirled around in front of Murphy, her blonde ponytail flaring out behind her.
"So what do you think?" The girl asked Murphy, her voice a mockery of every sultry purr she had ever heard on television. "Does it become me?"
Murphy sputtered and reddened, her intent not lost on him, while her friends giggled.
Who would have thought that the key to rattle the unflappable Murphy MacManus was a pack of teenage girls?
"Lovely." Was all he managed to spit out, before he pushed past her and the rest of the cheerleading squad, and made his way over to where Luciana stood grinning. When Murphy saw the smirk on her face, he offered her an irritated, "Fuck you."
She tried to smooth her features into a blank mask, she really did, but when she saw the almost fearful look he cast over his shoulder she just couldn't help herself and burst out laughing.
Suave, slick Murphy MacManus had found his kryptonite. In the face of danger he was calm and decisive, but confronted with some rather determined high school girls, he fell apart.
Taking pity on him, she grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the dressing room.
Entering the empty fitting rooms, she sat Murphy down in the chair in front of the tri-fold mirrors.
"Let me try this stuff on and we can get out of here, okay?" She said, laughter hiding just behind her words.
"Just hurry the fuck up." He sighed and reached into his pocket for his lighter, which he began flicking open and shut. "I need a fucking smoke."
She had just pulled an ill-fitting purple sweater over her head when she heard some commotion outside of the stall. The telltale giggles alerted her that the teenagers had discovered Murphy's hiding spot.
Luciana heard someone young and female asking Murphy if he had the time but his muttered response was unintelligible. She cracked the door open and peeked out. Murphy was biting determinedly at his thumb and looking anywhere but at the girl who was now asking him where he was from.
He looked up and spotted her watching him. He gave her a look that made it clear she would be paying for this later.
"Honey, can you come zip me up?" She called sweetly. Murphy jumped to his feet, heading her way while the girls rolled their eyes and gave up on the posturing.
Murphy pushed her out of the way and shut the dressing room door. He leaned against it and gave her a filthy look. "I'm not going back out there."
"So you don't like 'em young?" She teased.
"Young?!? They weren't even old enough ta fuckin' drive!" He shot back indignantly. "Are ye almost fuckin' done?"
"I've only got 2 more things to try on then we can leave this store." She said, grabbing his shoulder and turning him to face the wall. "Now turn around so I can change."
"I think the least you could do is let me watch." Murphy said over his shoulder, clearly recovering himself now that he was safely hidden from the Lolita wannabes.
"Keep dreaming." She said, laughing. "After this we only have one more stop and then you'll be up to your eyeballs in Guinness."
--- -
Murphy stopped and grabbed Luciana's arm. He had brought her to the mall, he put up with the pushy sales ladies and the obnoxious teenage girls, he had even schlepped her bags but he was sure as fuck not going into Victoria's Secret.
"No fuckin' way, no fuckin' how!" He said, shaking his head.
"Oh, don't be silly!" She said, looking at him like he had just sprouted a second head. "Do you really think I want your help picking out underwear? Sit on that bench and I'll be out in a jiff."
He sighed with relief and ignored her amused chuckle.
His eyes traveled over the scantily clad mannequins in the windows, and inspiration struck. Smiling, he called out. "Woman!"
She turned on her heel and gave him a very surly look, "Yeah?"
He pointed to the nearest mannequin which happened to be wearing some black lace contraption that appeared to be held together a ribbon and a prayer. "Ye should pick up one of those in red."
She gave the mannequin a once over, then turned and looked him up and down as well. After a thoughtful pause, she said, "No Murph. I think pink is more your color, but I doubt they'll have your size."
No response came immediately to mind, so he settled on a rude hand gesture, which served as nothing more than an impetus for further laughter. His irritation didn't last too long, however, when he remembered her offer. He hoped she didn't spend all her money because he was going to make her pay in Jack Daniels and Jim Beam.