New York 2:57 PM Local time

"Well if you would just let me fucking help you!" Agent Smith, Bob as he had affectionately been called for years sobbed in Billy's office. Tara handed him a tissue.

"Dad, you have..." A single large hand shot up from the desk and Tara silenced herself quickly. Billy shook his head.

"Not like this Bob. You gotta keep your head on straight. You're the one guy in the whole goddamned government I know I can trust. There's someone working for the FBN who is having us tailed. That person is giving information to our enemies and we don't know who it is. Some secretary. You want to help Bob? That's how you help. You keep your damned job and you find out who has been fucking up."

Bob looked at Billy then, tears still in his eyes. He could still feel the small protective hand on his back, assuring him that everything was going to be alright. Tara Mastrosimone reminded him exactly of her mother at that age. He looked across to his right and the young agent sitting there was silent as the grave. Bob couldn't hold it in, but this kid, the hothead who normally would blow up at the first sign of criminals? He was quiet.

Only after a few moments of silence did Elijah finally speak up.

"I have an idea of who it might be. The way the secretary pool is set up, it could be anyone at any given time, none of the secretary's work for specific agents, they just answer the phone and take in the info and pass it up the chain of command. Except one. Miss Sellers. She works only for one person, the director. She would have access to everything."

Elijah looked to Smith then who simply nodded.

"Billy, he didn't deserve this, and now you've got the government on your side. A Senator is dead, you'll win this one."

Billy nodded.

"Good, cause my wife is pregnant, so she better come home."

It was then that three voices in the room all shouted at the same time the one-word question. "WHAT?!"

And for the first time in his life, Billy thought his daughter might actually be angry with him.

Billy had reached out to a number of his contacts by the time dinner had rolled around. The children were all being handled by Oscar and his wife. Nobody was allowed to leave the house of course, but Gio and Mirella were her now, Malcom had joined them as well just the day before, the house was full to bursting. Except it wasn't.

Gavin had decided to take a shortcut home from the docks. He wasn't actually feeling ill, but he really didn't like to lie, especially to the foreman. Dad had wanted him home fast though, so he ducked through the park. It was a real nice day too, and he figured it wouldn't hurt to stop running for a hot dog real fast. He was hungry from working on the docks, and he had already made up the time he would lose by stopping to buy it after all.

Years since he had been given a job and a target. How the hell his contact knew where Billy Mastrosimone was going to be that day Jethro had no idea. Didn't matter though, what did matter was that he had him in his sights just then. A deep breath in. Hold it. Exhale, and the slightest jolt of the trigger let out the dooming toll that Jethro had made his living on for most of his life. It was not lost on him that this was the third man in this family he had a part in ending. He had a feeling it would not be the last either.

It was like a punch to the gut, but hotter and more sudden. He reached out and grabbed at whatever he could, anything that was near. His hand landed on the flat surface nearest him and he heard someone scream. Who it was he had no idea, all he knew was that he suddenly wasn't hungry for a hot dog any more as he stared up at the sky.

It had been two hours since Gavin was supposed to be home. He had called the foreman, and the man told him his son was on his way. No matter how long that walk took it was a maximum of one hour. One. He sent a bodyguard out to find him twenty minutes ago, and he made his way downstairs. Just as he hit half way down the front door burst open and three men were carrying his oldest son through the door and toward the basement.

"GAVIN! GAVIN NO!"

The world spun as Billy Mastrosimone fell. He wasn't sure how many stairs he managed to hit on the way down, but he knew the all too familiar feeling of being helpless at the bottom of a staircase, crying.

The second she heard the front door come open Tara knew. It was like a bath of ice water. Every fiber in her being had frozen up and she stared as men took her brother into the basement and her father lay at the bottom of the stairs seemingly unconscious. He was breathing, but his eyes were closed, and he wasn't saying anything. There was only one thing to do.

"OSCAR! Get the kids upstairs, now!"

Oscar simply nodded, and he and his wife started to usher people upstairs, and then Tara ran to her father.

"Dad? Dad, you gotta get up. You need to tell me what to do. I don't know what to do. I need you to wake up." It wasn't long before she realized she was begging him by pounding on his chest. She was hitting him as hard as she had ever seen her mother hit him and he was just standing in front of her staring out into the kitchen, not a word spoken. Not a single emotion on his face, but tears in his eyes all the same.

"What the fuck are we doing? You let him get SHOT! How could you let him go out there?!" She continued to pound away at her father, and he, the rock, took everything she threw at him. It wasn't until after she had collapsed into his arms that he finally spoke.

"He's going to be fine. He's not dead. I've been shot before too don't forget. Now your brother and I have something in common." He was so relaxed, so confident, so sure. Tara wasn't certain she could believe him, but she WANTED to. She saw Gavin though, she saw all the blood. She wondered if any of the other kids had too.

The house had finally quieted down some.  Gavin was going to live.  Tara had showered and changed her clothes after getting rid of her brother's blood-soaked articles of clothing for the doc who had been working on him all afternoon while she sat bedside - reading to him from his favorite book, Treasure Island. 

In all the time since she'd found her mother's journals, despite all the crazy horrible things she feared might happen to them, none of her nightmares measured up to the reality of watching someone pulling a needle and thread through her brother's skin to close a gaping wound. 

Gavin and she were the closest in age to each other, a mere year apart.  He'd been her best friend in childhood, her playmate and constant companion.  They weren't quite like Jack and Isabella - or their own namesakes - but they did have a special bond.  He alone loved the woods as she did and so many an afternoon they would go out into the woods and explore together... and when they'd stop beside the creek to rest, she would read to him.  He would just lay there in a beam of sun, listening.  Silent.  Unmoving. 

Gavin was silent now.  He could not move.  Tara couldn't look away from his ashen colored body as the doctor worked.  She just kept thinking, what if the hitman had been better... what if he'd shot twice the way her mother's journal said she always did.

What if?

The answer was upstairs, of course, someone who lost someone he loved yesterday.  A little boy she only knew by name, a boy who had not said a word since arriving here... so far as she knew at least.  And so, after all was finally set to the right again, Tara pushed herself towards the closed door to the room at the top of the stairs and she knocked before peaking in.

"Can I come in?"  She asked before doing just that.  "I'm your cousin, Tara.  I thought maybe you might like a little company today?"

The boy, Malcolm Byrne, was sitting in a chair by the corner and looking out the window. His face was set in an exhausted expression, and it was obvious from the redness on his face that he'd been crying. 

"I thought maybe you might like a little company today?"

The boy stared at her for a long moment, then nodded.

Tara walked over and sat on the bed.  "I think it's going to rain today.  It was so sunny yesterday.  Normally I'd be at school, but it's probably going to be a while before I go back."

She paused and looked at the sad boy and tried to pinpoint what he was looking at.

"Speaking of school... you're in elementary but you gotta be getting closer to middle school, right?  Fourth grade maybe?"

Malcolm's eyes widened slightly at the mention of school. It was obvious he hadn't thought of that yet. He listened to Tara's question with some focus, at least, rather than looking out the window.

"Speaking of school... you're in elementary but you gotta be getting closer to middle school, right?  Fourth grade maybe?"

Malcolm held up three fingers.

Tara shook her head.  "Wow.  Well, I guess you can't expect I'd know a thing like that, being that I didn't get a chance to go to a normal school.  I grew up in the forest and the nearest town was a very long walk from where we lived.  So, my mom taught us out of books at home.  I sometimes wonder if I missed out on something pretty neat?"

She looked at him hoping he might feel the need to tell her about something which he had an area of expertise on, something about his life that didn't immediately connect to his parents. 

Malcolm looked at least slightly interested at the concept of growing up in the forest, but any curiosity or excitement he showed was like a single ray of light in a dark thunderstorm. He didn't offer Tara anything in terms of clues or communication, so she simply stood wracking her brain to think of what else she could say to try to help the boy. Surprisingly, he broke the silence; his voice seemed dry from lack of use.

"Books?"

Tara smiled brightly.  "Oh yes!  My father would go to the city every month or two and come back with a new book for me.  My favorite presents in all the world are books.  I stories and poems, non-fiction that tells me about places I've never been to and people I've never met.  Having grown up in such an isolated place I hadn't even seen a city until I was nearly a grown-up."

She sighed.  "You know, I was just reading to my brother.  He loves it when I read to him.  We're reading a book called Treasure Island ... have you heard of it?"

Malcolm listened intently, and he seemed to stop and think when he was asked if he knew about that book.

He nodded after a few moments' consideration, but he did so hesitantly. 

Tara stood up and smiling said, "A moment."  

True to her word she returned with the well-loved book.  "You clearly don't want to talk, but neither of us wants to be alone right now.  So... I'm going to settle in here on this bed and we'll just spend some time together."

Tara put the pillows behind her and kicked off her shoes.  Sitting atop the blankets she made sure to leave room for the boy, should he find her reading made him tired and he wished to rest.  She did not think he'd done much of that in the last two days.

Tara began to read...

"Squire Trelawney, Dr. Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island, from the beginning to the end, keeping nothing back but the bearings of the island, and that only because there is still treasure not yet lifted..."

Books, in her opinion and the opinions of those she'd most loved through their own stories, had a power that was akin to magic.  It took one to places they had never been, it prepared them for things they hoped they would never experience, and sometimes ... in the case of illiterate twenty-somethings who did not believe they could love or (she hoped) broken-hearted children; it could begin the slow process of healing the damage of an all-too cruel world.

Billy's alarm went off and his eyes shot open as he reached out and smacked the bells. He looked over to Tara and Malcom who was now stirring.

"Sorry buddy, go back to sleep."

He kissed him on the forehead and then nodded to Tara as he made his way to the bathroom to shower.

Fifteen minutes later he made his way into the kitchen to make breakfast and Tara came down shortly after. He poured her a cup of coffee, and put a short stack of pancakes and eggs, over easy like she liked them, in front of her. He sat down with his own stack and no eggs.

"I've got a few phone calls to make, going to check up on all of our operatives today. Also going to be sending a package out to a few people, if they get it, then they will know, and if they never get it, even better." He nodded as he shoveled food into his mouth and washed it down with some coffee. He was ravenous, and not just for the pancakes, no. Today he was going to do everything he could to end this.

After breakfast, Tara went to shower, and he went to his office. He picked up the phone and dialed. "Yes, I need EliBowman straight away." He hung up and then pulled out a small box of cigars. He looked them over, the Black "M" glistening on the box, and stamped into the leaves of each cigar would make it very clear who these were coming from. Satisfied he nodded before wrapping them up in yesterdays newspaper.

Then he picked up the phone again and dialed a new number. Three rings and then finally an answer. "Buongiorno senatore!.. No, ovviamente non è troppo presto per me... Bene, perché ho bisogno di un favore e me lo devi... Perché è così che funziona, senatore... No. Assicurati solo che ci sia una scorta pronta a portare un piccolo gruppo di prigionieri a Milano. Si Grazie."

That would take care of keeping Aurora and the girls safe... The girls? He looked to the picture on his desk of Tara. He shrugged. There was no time to dwell on the fact that he had just lumped Orianna in with his own children. There was more to be done.

Malcolm must have fallen asleep. He didn't remember it, but how else could he be waking up? He had bad thoughts all the time. Looking outside and seeing the car explode. Seeing... everything before Uncle Anton could drag him inside. Gunshots. 

The boy sighed- and shuddered.

Billy_Mastrosimone had already gone downstairs. He'd kissed Malcolm's head the way dad used to. For a minute, he thought it was dad. And then he remembered all over again. Uncle Billy was a criminal, but he was nice. Aunt Rora wasn't here. She was killing people. That probably meant she was not nice.

Tara was nice, though. He was going to go sleep in her bed, but he heard her shower turn on.

He'd just stay where he was to make sure he wasn't in the way. He was pretty sure that Uncle Billy and Aunt Rora were going to let him stay forever, but he didn't remember all the way. 

But when he spelled pancakes, he walked downstairs. Uncle Billy gave him a couple without even asking. Malcolm smiled- then he felt guilty about the smile and felt worse than ever.

He ate his pancakes.

Malcolm looked at the other two kids. Well, little one kid and one really big kid. 

"Um, yes please. I'll have some more pancakes. And, uh, sure. I'll look at a cowboy."

Malcolm nodded, thinking about going to the movies with his parents, but trying to be friendly.

"Um. Sure. I read a couple of those before. I'll take care of them, if you lend them to me."

Malcolm ate his pancake quickly, listening to the brother and sister's back and forth verbal exchange. When he was done, he brought his plate to the sink and turned back to the siblings.

"Uh, thank you. Very much. For the pancake and the book. I just- I think I need to go lie down, actually. I'll see you around later, right?"

He smiled hopefully before returning to his room.

The messenger from Billy had found Eli Bowman in a less than ideal state. He'd still been sleeping off the last dregs of a hangover well earned the night before, blissfully unaware of the cuts and bruises that still remained to mark the occasion.

The first knock had been answered with a resounding, "Go fuck yourself."

The second knock had been more charitable after the mention of the Mastrosimone household. It had merely met with Eli's worn, unshaven face in the slowly opening door and his scratchy voice croaking out, "Jesus, it's not like someone got shot is it?"

The look on the messenger spoke volumes about that sentiment causing Eli to shut down his mouth and start his brain.

"Two minutes and I'm out."

Turning back into the room he rapidly threw on a presentable set of clothes that would still allow movement to fight before grabbing his filled gun holster, his hunting knife, and a small satchel of supplies in case he didn't get a chance to come home for a spell.

----

The Mastrosimone house was the sort of place he would have said in the old days belonged to a puffed up aristocrat with more money than manhood. But he'd traded blows with the man of the house and seen enough of the wife that the notion was put to bed with a vengeance. That and the guns bristling at every place the eye could turn tended to make the place seem more fort that home.

Eli kept his mouth shut as he moved with his escort and checked in with security at the gate and the door. Whatever had happened here had put the whole damn place on edge and he could feel himself getting restless with every step closer to the office. He knocked on the door and called out, not wanting to interrupt whatever might be keeping the big man occupied.

"Boss, It's Eli Bowman. I hear you wanted to see me."