"You sure this is where ya meant to end up, sweetheart?"

I'm standing at the bottom of Giuseppe "Papa Joe" Yakavetta's driveway, gaping at the sight before me. There is a wrought iron fence that seems to run the length of the property in either direction, meeting on either side of the driveway at two impressive stone columns that support an iron gate. I imagine the gate is typically shut and locked, but tonight it hangs wide open.

"Uh...yeah, sorry. Thanks for the lift. Here's the fare and tip."

"You...want me to wait around for you? Ya got a lift back to town?"

I appreciate that he's concerned, but I have no idea what's going to happen next. It'd attract way more attention than I need right now for a cab to just be sitting on the road next to the house. Assuming it hasn't already attracted attention. And I should be able to get a ride back into town with the guys, but...what if…

"I've got it from here, thanks. Have a good night."

As the driver pulls away into the darkness, I slip through the gate and into the shadows next to the driveway, hoping very hard that Yakavetta doesn't have any sort of video surveillance that would alert him to my presence.

This is way too much like a movie.

Or a fairytale, I think as I freeze in place, staring in shock at the castle that has come into view as I climb the driveway. The enormous stone structure stretches up several stories and out in a few different directions, and I can't help but be impressed that the Boston PD was able to get as much surveillance information on it as they have.

And either the grounds are really quiet, or I just can't hear anything else over the drumming of my heart.

There are a few cars parked along the driveway that I manage to stay fairly hidden behind as I continue to creep up to the house. My stomach cramps hard enough that I have to stop and catch my breath before continuing on.

How the hell I'm supposed to find the guys on a property this huge is beyond me. Despite the nausea and pain and lightheadedness, I force myself to think as clearly as I can. What would they do?

I know my guys. They wouldn't go in the front door; Connor's plan would never allow for something so mundane and obvious. For lack of any better ideas presenting themselves, I decide to follow the branch of driveway that splits off and winds around to the side of the building where there is an empty, covered carport and a side entrance into the house itself.

An entrance whose door is hanging wide open. That's two things so far that should probably be securely shut but are very much not. And there's no telling why they're hanging open, anything could have happened inside, and the boys could be-

Okay, stop. Breathe. Focus. Think.

So, maybe they're already here? Is this the way they went in? Should I keep looking around for another entrance? I listen hard for several seconds, but I can't hear anything, not from the house or the grounds. Having lived in Southie for the last several years, the absolute quiet stillness of the night is unnerving, and my already deafening heartbeat kicks the tempo up a few notches. I don't know what I'm listening for, but whatever it is I don't hear it.

No sounds from the house, no movement in any of the lit up windows that I can see, and a doorway hanging open. I don't want to waste time searching the entire grounds and still not be able to find them. This is the only clue I have so far to where something might be happening in the house.

I guess I'm going in.

I freeze suddenly as I set my foot on the edge of the driveway. My chest tightens with excruciating suddenness, and my throat constricts, cutting off my air supply. For what seems like a full minute, I can't pull in any air. I am about to literally do the dumbest thing I've ever done, and my body and brain are in full revolt against me taking even one more step towards the house.

But I don't see what other choice I could make. Not going in will definitely result in Rocco and possibly one or both of the twins dying. Going in will possibly result in me dying, but I still might be able to save them.

First, though, I have to figure out how to breathe again.

Several minutes of frozen panic eventually thaw into a barely controlled breathing regimen. In, count to three. Out, count to three. Repeat until muscles obey mental commands again. With trembling fingers, I just manage to unzip the pocket on my jacket my pocket and pull out the stun gun. A tiny voice in my head that sounds an awful lot like one of the twins reminds me to switch off the safety. I know I won't be much use against someone with an actual gun, but if I can sneak up on them I might have a chance if I'm ready.

I force my quaking leg muscles into submission, taking a few stumbling steps forward before I finally seem to have control over them again. I creep hesitantly across the driveway to the open door. The house is lit up, so I have no trouble seeing inside, but that also means I'm going to be terribly easy to spot. I crouch as low as I can while still being able to move forward and slip through the open doorway. My sneakers slap quietly on the black and white tile of the entryway, and despite my extreme state of distraction, I have to marvel for a moment at the richness of the decor around me.

Everything is wood paneling, tile, and antiques, like I'm in some British manor house or a museum. I went on a fieldtrip once in elementary school to an old mansion built back in Colonial times by one of the wealthy British families that came over back in the day; it had been restored to all its sumptuous splendor and was open as a museum for tours. At the time, I'd never seen anything as expensive or intimidatingly impressive, in terms of housing.

This place makes that mansion look like something off of skid row.

Shoving the thought from my mind, I take in as much of my surroundings as I can, looking for any sign that the guys are nearby. There's an open door to my right and a hallway that leads off to my left. Straight in front of me is what looks like a sitting area. As I start to step forward into the checkered entryway, I glance down and see a couple of dark red splotches on the tile. I look in front of me, then to my left, and spot a couple more dark red drips going in that direction. Or coming from that direction. I turn and look back out the open doorway and onto the steps, and sure enough, there are a few drips there that I didn't notice in my distraction as I was coming in.

Okay...okay, so...someone was hurt but alive, and they left. Or hurt, but alive when they came in. I crouch down, very tentatively sticking the tip of my finger in one of the tacky droplets. The blood is sticky and almost pasty, like halfway dried paint. So, that must mean…

I don't even know what that means. I don't know how fast blood dries. I don't know whose blood this is. I have no fucking clue why I just stuck my finger in a spot of blood on the floor, as if I'm some sort of crime scene expert. All I can do is keep looking. I have to find them.

Hesitantly, my breath coming in shallow wheezes that I desperately try to quiet, I shuffle forward until I can peek beyond the entryway. I peer forward into the sitting area and look to my right, only to do an immediately double-take.

I think...I think there are two bodies in the corner.

My eyes slam shut, and I reflexively gulp hard against the abrupt need to vomit. Luckily, I haven't eaten anything since lunch, so it's easier to fight the nausea.

I force my eyes open and look back to the pair. There is a woman in a short black dress and high heels, her dark blonde hair a wild tangle around her head, sprawled face down on the floor. Above her, a man sits in a wingback chair, staring straight ahead with his throat-

Oh, God.

I bite my lip hard, dragging my eyes away from the man's bloody, sliced throat and backtrack quickly to the open door I bypassed. A couple of steps lead down into a dark room, and I really don't want to check it out, but since it's right here, I might as well glance in the room to make sure none of the guys are in there...in a dark room...right next to two dead bodies.

Knock it off. Get your shit together.

I didn't think to bring a flashlight, so I creep quietly down the steps and peer around the corner cautiously, trying to make out something in the low light. As my eyes adjust, I realize the shape on the floor is another man lying on his back. In the dark, the pool of liquid under him is black, but I don't feel the urge to turn on the light and find out exactly what's wrong with him. Besides, he isn't one of mine.

I stumble quickly back up the short flight of steps and start forward, my eyes flicking to a fancy curving staircase that leads upstairs. A staircase that unsurprisingly has yet another dead body sprawled next to the bottom step. His arms and legs are flung wide, his face a mask of shock with his wide-open dead eyes locked on the ceiling. Dark red spreads out over his chest from the hole in his shirt, and I once more find myself fighting hard against my stomach's instinctive reaction to the situation.

I don't know what to do, I can't...the smell here is…

Okay, breathe. Look for the blood splatter. Someone most likely got out. Where did they come from? That's all I've got to go on, so I have to...to ignore the slaughter house and keep looking.

I glance back down at the floor, swaying slightly, and see another, larger splash of blood that leads off to my left. I take a couple of unsteady steps in that direction, listening with all my might and keeping my eyes glued to the floor for more signs of the blood trail. On my left, there's a staircase going down underneath the one that leads up, and I spy a few more dark red stains on the top step and landing next to me.

Okay, going down. That makes sense. Because the layers of hell get worse as you go down, right?

I don't know how I make it down the steps. My knees are jelly, my feet are nerveless, and I can barely hold on to the stun gun gripped in my deadened fingers. I find myself in a wide expanse of gray paneling and cinder blocks, and the concrete floors have drains every few feet. The glaring lights overhead are bright, uncovered bulbs that light up every corner of the room. There are some shelves and something on the wall at the far end of the room that I don't quite take in as my attention is arrested by the continuing trail of blood. The dark red spatter continues across the room and to the left. A green door on the corner of the room opens inward, and the trail leads straight into (or out of) that room.

I shove my sleeves up past my elbows and jerk on the neck of my shirt, suddenly feeling way too hot and constricted. I never wear turtlenecks, I should've just gotten a sweater or something, I wasn't thinking when I left my apartment. I should've taken time to plan this better, to read through the file more, see if there was any information on-

I have to go in there before my head explodes.

I straighten up slowly. I haven't heard a single sound since I entered the house, and with the harsh lighting of the basement and general lack of furnishings, it's not like I can hide down here. One faltering step followed by another and another, then I turn and face the open doorway.

The stun gun slips from my hand and hits the concrete floor with a resounding crack. My lips work frantically as I feel my head begin to shake back and forth, trying with everything in me to deny what sits right in front of my eyes.

"No...no, no, no...no…. Oh, God...Rocco…"

Maybe...maybe he's not...he could just be unconscious...from blood loss, and…

There's hole in his chest, just as I saw it. His face is impossibly white in the few places where his skin is even visible, his head tipped back and his eyes closed under two shining pennies. And the blood. The blood is just…

Everywhere.

He sits in a chair, his hands bound behind him, and a tiny voice in my head says I should probably get his hands loose so he can be more comfortable, because that position can't feel good. His ankles are cuffed to the legs of the chair, making his angle of recline that much more extreme, and I just know his neck will be stiff, and...and…

His chest is so still He's so still. He shouldn't be so still. It's Rocco, he can't hold still for anything. Even in his sleep, he tosses or snores or rolls until he falls off of the futon and-

"Rocco?"

I almost look around for the stricken child who must've spoken, because I don't know how that sound could have come from me. I let out an involuntary, strangled moan as a wave of agony washes over me, trying its damndest to drown me where I stand.

"Rocco, please, please just-"

But I know he doesn't hear me. I knew when I saw him from the doorway. I knew when I got out of the cab. I knew before I left my apartment that I'd be too late, but I hoped. I hoped so goddamn hard, and it didn't...I didn't...I couldn't...

It's too quiet. Every sniffle, every whimper or cry I make echoes off the stark walls and bounces back at me ten times louder. Even my steps sound off like thunder as I stumble toward my friend. I raise a quaking hand and brush my fingers down the side of his face, careless of the sticky blood streaked there. His skin is cold and tacky, his hair stuck together in thick, dark red ropes, and his beard is matted with the drying sanguine mess. I can't even imagine how horrible his last moments were if this is how he was left.

"God, Rocco...why did you come here? Why couldn't you just listen to me?"

I want to shake him awake, want to slap him until he opens his eyes, want to hear an answer from his stiff, dead mouth, want to find a way to force life and sense back into him at the same time. But since I'm the realist of my fucked up little family, I know my friend has been dead for a while now and there's no bringing him back.

I drop to my knees at his feet, staring up at the lifeless shell of my best friend. I can't reconcile the childish, vibrant man who just yesterday gave me a tour of his mother's house with this empty, silent corpse. This ruined horror in front of me isn't the man who bought me a brand new alarm clock for Christmas. This isn't the friend who took me for Italian pastries every week just because he wanted someone normal and sympathetic to talk to. This isn't the man who kept a cheating, druggie whore of a girlfriend because he was afraid of what would happen to her if he kicked her out, the man who was terrified he was going to end up as vile and heartless as the monsters he worked for, the man who went to work for monsters just so he could support his widowed mother.

Because this man is dead. And Rocco can't be dead. He...I can't...

I don't know how much noise I'm making in the throes of grief and denial, but suddenly I become aware of the shuffling of approaching footsteps echoing across the basement from the other side of the green door.

My head snaps up, and I scan frantically for the stun gun. It's across the room, back in the doorway, and I don't know how close the person I'm hearing is. I don't have time to get it, so I scramble as quietly as I can behind my friend's body, curling up and pulling my knees into my chest so I hopefully won't be visible from the door.

The second I think I'm hidden I look up to see another dead body staring at me from the wall. The man is lying on his stomach with what looks like a broken handcuff sticking from his back, but his head is turned towards me, his mouth hanging open and his lifeless eyes boring right into mine. I twist my head away from him only to come face to face with Rocco's newly ruined right hand, currently missing the other finger he'd lost in my dream. I only just clamp my mouth shut against the wash of bile that surges up my throat. Even with clapping both hands over my mouth, I can't quite stifle the moan that escapes my numb lips just as the shuffling footsteps enter the room.

Author's Note: I will have internet, but I will not have access to writing space and privacy for the next few weeks. Leaving town, will be back around the middle of the first week of January. If you celebrate, I hope your celebration is peaceful and joyous. If you don't celebrate, I hope you stay fed and either warm or cool as your situation requires. Take care, and I'll see you guys in a bit. Please take a moment to let me know what you thought of the chapter. Thanks.