The ride home was unabashedly quiet. Jimmy was scared to speak as his boss sat sideways in the passenger's seat, eyes on Veronica who lay in a ball across the back. Marco couldn't stop thinking about how this wasn't exactly how he had pictured himself getting her in the backseat. A light thought in the midst of this otherwise somber night.

He had used all his self control to stay outside with her, protecting her as his men fought the Manhattan gang. He was mad at himself, most of all for being so stupid. Philly couldn't protect anything unless it was smothered in garlic and tomato sauce. Veronica wasn't safe with anyone but him. He knew that now, and cursed himself for thinking any different.

He spent the time, leaning against the blue convertible and listening nervously as punches were thrown, gun shots fired, chains rattled and people screamed and made other animalistic noises. He didn't like being on the outside like this. He was their leader, he should be in there, helping kill the men who hurt his girl, but he couldn't bring himself to leave her. Jimmy was right, he had gone soft.

The Vipers had won, but at a cost. Three of their men died in that warehouse, left to stew with what little was left of the Manhattan gang, waiting for cops to come discover the bodies. They couldn't have that. When they were sure the fight was over and they were victorious, they torched the garage and everything inside.

"I hope Philly is dead when we get home. If he isn't, he's gonna be." Marco muttered as they pulled up in front of his house. He flicked his cigarette into the street and slammed the door behind him, leaning over the car into the backseat and grasping at Veronica. She squeaked when his skin brushed hers. "Come on now, kitten. We're home." He cradled her in his arms as he carried her over the threshold and into the ransacked house. Marco could only imagine the atrocities that occurred here tonight, that he had allowed to take place.

Philly was still unconscious on the floor, drooling on the shag carpet. "Make sure he's dead." Marco spat.

"Boss?" Jimmy questioned.

"Get him out of my sight!" Marco yelled, causing Veronica to flinch. He looked to her, sympathetically, deciding to carry her to the bedroom. He saw the mess they had made of his bedroom and it sickened him. "We're gonna get you cleaned up." He cooed, soothingly, even for him. He carried her into the bathroom and set her down on the toilet, drawing her a bath. "Take your time, alright? I'm gonna help Jimmy clean this place up. I'll be just outside." He brushed her cheek, holding her gaze to his. She nodded feebly.

He closed the door behind him, picking up the bedroom the best he could, stripping the sheets and grabbing all the discarded clothing and carrying it to the kitchen, throwing it all in the washing machine. "The fuck can we do with this window?" He yelled to Jimmy, who he assumed was struggling to get Philly to his bedroom.

The drug addict cleared the corner and stared at the gaping whole in the wall. "Trash bag?" He shrugged.

"Don't just stand there, fucking help me!" Marco barked, digging for the box of bags under the sink. "Find me tape!" He ordered, waiting rather impatiently for the man to uncover the tape and help him cover the breezy opening. "Clean up the fucking glass." Marco muttered instead of a 'thank you.' He took another bag and started throwing away anything that looked like trash.

"Hey, Marco." Jimmy muttered, watching his boss intently as he grabbed up trash left and right.

"What?"

"She's alright, you know. You saved her."

"I fucking know that! You think I'm fucking stupid?"

"No, it's just… I don't think you're weak. You did the right thing."

Marco stared at his minion. He couldn't decide whether to hug him or hurt him. He settled for walking to the living room and shutting off the television before he straightened up the couch cushions and picked up a few beer bottles. He looked around, satisfied with how he'd cleaned up. He needed to check on Veronica.

He found her in a wet ball on the floor of his bedroom. She had managed to get dressed, though it didn't look like she had even bothered to use a towel to clean herself up. "Baby, what are you doing?"

"The sheets are gone." She choked out in a whisper.

"Be right back." He muttered, walking out to the closet and finding clean sheets. He made the bed quickly, methodically. She watched his every movement. He sighed when he finished, content with how he had managed to fix things so quickly. He turned to her, then, bending over and lifted her fragile form, laying her down on the clean sheet and lying beside her, holding her back firm against his chest, not letting go. "They didn't –" He began, biting his tongue, rethinking the question. "They didn't hurt you, did they?"

She shook her head gently, placing her delicate hand over his on her stomach. "I didn't mean for them to… I thought you'd be safe with Philly." He kissed the bare skin of her shoulder. She didn't seem to react. "I'll fix everything. You'll see."

"Just say it." She whimpered. "Just say it, and I'll forgive you."

He looked at the back of her head, wondering what she meant, connecting the dots in silence. "I… I am. I'm sorry." He had hoped the words came out as sincerely as he meant them to. He couldn't remember the last time he had said them. He wasn't completely sure he ever did. But he did know that he meant them now, more than ever. He leaned into her necked, breathing against her damp skin, breathing her in.

She just nodded, clutching his hand more tightly, allowing him to love her. She knew it was true, even if he never said it. She knew it because she had felt it too.