Jack still stood in the door, his hand curled around the door frame as if he needed it to hold him upright. He felt dizzy with unshed tears. Miss Fisher was staring at the fire, clearly avoiding to look at him. He wanted to thank her for caring enough to try and warn him, despite everything, but the words wouldn't come. He also battled the urge to yell and scream about all the time they had wasted, never coming even within an inch of having a proper conversation. Maybe if they had tried harder... There was no point in pondering it. It was the truth - his mind was made up. And what was more, he had made a promise to Concetta. A sliver of happiness was surely due to her after everything she'd been through and he would attempt the rest of his life to be the husband she deserved.

Nevertheless it was the hardest thing he had ever done to move his feet towards the door and open it. He stood, brightly illuminated by the hall light, looking back at her form slumped in the armchair, a last stolen look at his Phryne, while his heart contracted painfully in his chest. Was it worth the sacrifice? He couldn't say. Either way, it was too late.

He slammed his hat onto his head and stepped out into the soft drizzle the storm had mellowed into. Gravel crunched softly underneath his feet as they carried him away. He was about to open the iron gate, when a loud bang tore through his ears. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd dove behind the hedge framing Miss Fisher's garden and pulled his pistol. His eyes tried to focus in the darkness, but after the long time in the flickering light, he couldn't manage to see anything but moving shadows. A man ran across the road towards him. Jack aimed and fired. The figure dove behind a car. Another bullet missed him by more than a meter. The Inspector became braver, left his cover to aim properly. Behind him he heard the door fly open. Another two shots missed their target.

"Jack?!"

"Stay inside," he yelled at the top of his lungs. The next bullet flew past him so close that he could feel the air move. Then the car roared into the night, the street too dark to make out even the registration. Jack fired another useless shot after them, then he stored his pistol away and attempted to catch his breath. Feet flew over the gravel. Moments later a warm hand touched his arm.

"Jack?"

"I'm fine," he brought out, still gasping for air.

"Come inside, Inspector," Mr Butler's calm voice came to his ear. He allowed himself to be reasoned back into Miss Fisher's house by its inhabitants.

"What happened?" Phryne asked when she had manoeuvred him onto the loveseat and made sure that the exchange hadn't left him with any unfortunate holes in his body.

"Someone shot at me as I was leaving," he said. Now that the adrenaline wore off, her hands were warm, her touch familiar. It was entirely too much to endure.

"Did you see who?" she asked, her eyes still wide with shock.

He shook his head.

"Two men, that's all I could make out. Your warning may have been more urgent even that you thought, Miss Fisher," he said, taking a deep gulp from the drink Mr Butler was offering him. He couldn't tell what it was and he didn't care much. His thoughts were racing. "May I use the telephone?"

Wordlessly she watched as he dialled, spoke to someone, obviously at the station.

"I have to go, Miss Fisher," he said. "Thank you."

"Jack?" she said again, touching his arm. He forced himself not to pull away.

"If you are right, and you usually are, Miss Fisher, Concetta might be in danger."

She nodded.

"I'm coming," she insisted after a beat.

"Would it have any effect if I'd asked you not to?" he asked with a thin smile.

"None at all." She was already donning her coat and hat. "You've been shot at, Jack. I won't leave you out of my sight."

He sighed theatrically at this, but opened the door for her all the same.

X

He stumbled down the hallway in darkness, not wishing to wake his mother. As he pushed in the door to his bedroom, he stopped. He sensed the breath more than he heard it. Alessandro spun, slamming the intruder against the cold wood and grabbing him by his lapels. A familiar breath escaped a pair of pained lungs. He loosened his grip.

"What do you want?" he asked. The smirk answering him was barely visible in the dim light falling through the window.

"I'd like to know what you're playing at, Sandro."

"Whatever are you talking about?" he asked, pushing past his brother into the small, dusty bedroom. Marco wrapped a hand around his wrist in an iron grip.

"Where is my book?" he hissed.

Alessandro carefully peeled the fingers from himself and took off his jacket.

"Somewhere where you won't find it."

There was a long pause.

"Verdi is probably gonna kill me," Marco said, his voice level, betraying no fear. "He's got a terrible temper."

"I've warned you not to play with fire. But you were never good at listening."

The brother's shared a lopsided smile.

"That I can't deny."

Alessandro pulled his brother into a tight, bone crushing hug.

"Be careful out there, will you?" he asked beside the other man's ear. Marco just shrugged.