IL DUCE'S POV:

I used the butt of my gun to knock out the man dressed as a woman, leaving him there in the middle of the floor.

I turned and followed the sounds of a woman in distress. The noises of panic led me to a room upstairs.

A man was standing with his back to me, struggling with the crying girl in his arms and getting his pants off.

She was mumbling something, choked sobs interrupting the three names she was repeating. "Connor… Rocco… Murphy…"

My eyes widened. But no, it couldn't be…

I pulled my knife out and reached around the man's shoulders, slicing a long line across his throat. He gurgled and dropped to the floor.

The young woman looked up, hazel eyes widening in fright. She had obviously gotten hit quite a few times by the man I had just killed. Bruises were scattered across her face and there was even a cut above her eyebrow.

"You," she said, pointing up at me. She sucked in a gasp and grasped at her bandaged ribs.

I grabbed her hand and helped her to sit on the bed. "I'm not here to hurt ya, lass." Perhaps now was also the time for an apology, since it was obvious she remembered the pain I had inflicted on her. "I'm sorry I shot ya."

"You'll be more sorry," she broke off, grunting in pain. "when Connor and Murphy get a hold of ya."

"Shh," I said, helping her to lay back on the bed. "Rest now, little dove. Yer goin' to need it."

She listened, leaning back and, seemingly hypnotized by my words, her eyelids fluttered closed. I left her in the room, confident that she would be fine on her own now that all the men in the house were taken out.

Connor and Murphy, eh? Could it really be… Was it my sons?

I made my way downstairs, pulling my guns out just in case, and entered the basement. I peeked in.

Inside I saw two men on their knees in front of another man, apparently dead, still chained to his seat. The one on the left was dark-haired, the other had lighter colored hair. Both were obviously very depressed. Their voices said as much.

They began to pray, catching my attention. It was them!

"And shepherds we shall be," they started, sounding utterly broken. "For Thee, my Lord, for Thee. Power hath descended forth from Thy ha-"

They cut off when they heard the un-cocking of my gun. They hesitated before simultaneously turning back to me, a gun each pointed at me.

I took slow steps toward them, the guns no longer in my hands. "That our feet may swiftly carry out Thy command. We will flow a river forth unto Thee."

Connor, the light-haired one, un-cocked his gun. Murphy seemed to be struggling with the idea that we could be related, given that he had probably vowed to kill me because of what I had done to his woman (I could tell they were together just by the way he had reacted to her every move during our showdown in the streets not so long ago).

"and teeming with souls shall it ever be."

They lowered their guns, looking curiously up at me.

I finished up the prayer in Latin, crossing myself in the process. I lowered my hands and placed one on each of their bloodied cheeks.

Boys. My boys.

MURPHY'S POV:

I didn't want to do it. But I knew I had to. Police all over Boston, hell probably all over the United States, were looking for us after what had happened with Yakavetta's trial. I had to see her one last time, though.

When I entered the room, she was still asleep.

She was brought into intensive care after our night in Yakavetta's home and still hadn't woken up. They were afraid she might be in a coma. With her three bullet wounds ripped open from the unhealthy amounts of movement she had been doing, a newly broken arm, and a face full of bruises to go with the cut on her forehead, she looked like hell.

And still, I couldn't stand walking away. I approached her bed slowly, knowing I would have to make it fast since what we had done at the trail was probably spreading around right now.

I slipped the folded up piece of paper into her hand and closed her fingers around it. With a single last kiss on her forehead, I left the room, and Kira, probably forever.

KIRA'S POV:

When I woke up, there was a piece of paper folded up in my hand.

"Someone left that for you the other day," the nurse explained. "You've been out for a week and a half. I guess it wasn't a coma, then. I'll go find some food for you. You need something in you." She nodded to me and left the room.

It was too soon after waking up for me to make sense of what she had been saying. I looked down at the note, blinking repeatedly to get my eyes a little less dry.

I unfolded it and began to read.

"Dear Kira,

I'm sorry I had to do this. Trust me, I didn't want to. Especially not with you asleep. But things are getting too hot in Boston for me and Connor.

I know you hate him and I thought I did for a while, too, but the man that shot you is my father. Noah MacManus.

By the time you're reading this, if you ever get the chance to, I will already have left the United States for Ireland with Conn and Da. We killed Yakavetta. He killed Rocco. I'm sorry, I know I'm pretty much leaving you with no one.

But I love you. Forever.

Murphy MacManus."

I clamped a hand to my mouth and tried to hold in a tremendous sob. On top of physically feeling like shit, Murphy MacManus, the only man I had ever loved, was now not even in the same country as me. And probably never would be again.

I stared dejectedly at his scrawled signature for a while until the nurse came back in with a tray of food. After she left, I didn't even touch it. I couldn't even think about food right now.

Later in the day, a knock came at my door.

"Come in," I called, conscious of the cracking of my voice.

A friendly looking man with gray-ing hair (though he didn't look like he was old enough to have that color hair) came in. He smiled at me and closed the door behind him before walking over to the chair beside my bed. There was a nametag on his shirt pocket that said "Detective Duffy".

"Detective Duffy?" I asked, trying to hide the letter from Murphy. If the cops found this, they could find him.

"Don't worry about hiding that," he said, pointing to my hand creeping behind my pillow. "Me and some other of our detectives helped the boys to trap Yakavetta in the court room when they killed him."

I lowered my hand. "So yer on our side? I-I mean… their side." It was going to be hard not referring to myself as part of the MacManus brothers. But how could I be when we were countries and seas away?

"Well, I uh, kinda promised Murphy I would make sure you were taken care of. I guess he forgot to mention how beautiful you are."

I felt my face heat up as I looked down at my hands. "So, Detective Duffy-"

"Please, call me Derrick."

I nodded. "Right, then. Derrick. Can ya tell me how long they plan to stay gone."

He sighed, looking like this was the last question he wanted to be answering. "As far as I know… Indefinitely."

I felt my heart sink, my stomach turn to ice. The food on the tray in front of me became even less appetizing.

"Well, umm, do you need anything?" he asked, seeming eager to help. He seemed friendly enough.

I shook my head. "No." Nothing he could give me.

"Well," he said, standing. "I'll be back to check on you tomorrow. I've made it my personal goal to make sure you end up okay. Murphy would have wanted you safe." He tagged that on at the end as if to make his "goal" seem less like he was hitting on me and more like he was looking out for a mutual friend.

And for some reason, I found it endearing. I felt the corner of my mouth pull upward, but it wasn't quite a smile. I wouldn't be able to smile like I had before in quite a while. "Thank you. Derrick."

He nodded and started backing up. "Right," he tripped over the leg of a chair, but caught himself before he could hit the floor, heading for the door quicker than before and with a bright red face. "See you tomorrow."

The door clicked shut behind him. I looked down into my hand at the crumpled piece of paper. "See you tomorrow."

THE END

And there we have it. The end to The Third Saint... at least the first one ;D Thank you guys for reading, favoriting, reviewing, and following! I 3 you all.