Prologue: Sainthood.

The brothers sat across from each other, accompanied by their aging father. Their words were inaudible from this distance, but it could be assumed that they were deep in discussion about their next hit. The Saints of South Boston had much work to do.

Eve stood across from the window, gazing down from a building-top. The Saints were becoming quite a pain as far as the Irish mob was concerned. The O'Reilly's were not amused and it was beginning to cause discomfort for Eve. Unfortunately, if they weren't happy, neither was she. Agonizing, but true.

A thick Irish accent poured over the crackle and pop static of her walkie-talkie. "Eve, we've got shit to do. Get the Hell home before Da blows a gasket." A sigh escaped her lips as she hit the button simply replying with one word. "Aye." The mysterious woman disappeared in to the night, leaving the Saints to their business.