Her second trip to Brooklyn was nothing short of disastrous.

She didn't expect a completely warm welcome. She wasn't sure she deserved one. However, she did wish the visit had turned out somewhat differently. She knew she had done things in the past—and the present—that she was not and should never be proud of. But that did not give her brother the right to treat her as if she was not a part of the family. As if she had never existed.

He did not have to give back the money—it was a gift. It was supposed to be for him and her sisters. It was her way of apologizing for acting so selfishly. He did not have the right to judge her so harshly; he did not know what hall she had been through to be where she was today. He did not know how much Nucky had saved her. He had no right to keep her from her family. She was only trying to help him and repent for the pain she had unfairly put her family through.

Margaret let a defeated sigh as the cab pulled up to her house. There was no point crying over this, she concluded while wiping away the last of her tears. She muttered her thanks to the cab driver, opened the door and left the car. The cab driver did the same, opened the trunk and walked the domestic partner of the infamous Nucky Thompson to the front door.

"Thank you," Margaret said to the driver, before handing him a small tip and taking her bag. The driver nodded and left her alone. Margaret stood in the doorway, feeling slightly unnerved about her surroundings. It was quiet, extremely quiet. She would normally hear the voices of her children and the maids.

Margaret searched around the house for any sign of life. "Katy!" she called out. "Lillian!"

No one.

This was odd.

What was also odd was seeing one of the last people Margaret wanted to see at this moment emerging from one of the backrooms. She watched in silence as he washed his hands in the sink and headed towards her, sporting a smile. Or maybe it was a smirk- Margaret couldn't really tell. Inhaling loudly, she Margaret stood up tall, narrowing her eyes as he inched towards her, wondering what she had done to deserve such torture.

Owen Slater.

Why couldn't he just go away? Why couldn't he just ignore her and leave her alone?

Against her will, Margaret's eyes roamed over the man's body from the mid-section up—of course, while trying to maintaining some sort of subtlety. The last thing she needed was for Owen to be aware of her desires for her. It was wrong for both of them—Owen had a habit of invading her personal space when he was supposed to be focusing his attention on Katy.

Maybe she felt a connection with the man because he was like her in so many ways: they were both from the same country and the same background—she didn't know, but frankly, she didn't want to know why. The sooner Nucky got rid of Owen, the easier her life and conscious would be.


"Hello," Margaret replied shortly. Her eyes once again wandered over Owen's stature. This desire needed to be put down. That was what she had told the priest when she had admitted that she wanted Owen in a physical, sexual manner—of course, she did not voice his name. The priest did not need to know all of the intimate details. She didn't want to receive any more judgement from him. She knew it was wrong, but she couldn't help it. She was drawn to him. He was attractive.

And dangerous.

But not as dangerous as Nucky Thompson.

"How's the great metropolis?"

"Good… humid."

"Need help with that?"

Margaret released a breath she unknowingly had been holding. Her anxiety was starting to get the best o her. It would be just her luck that Owen would be the only soul in this place besides her. "I am fine. Thank you."

She could see the look of slight annoyance across Owen's face. She knew was she being unnecessarily different, but it was it was for her own good, and to an extent, Owen's. She flinched when she noticed Nucky's employee approached her.

"Oh, don't be daft."

Margaret thought about pressing the issue, but soon realized that arguing over a bag would only be childish. "Alright then," she said. Without uttering another word, she gave Owen one last look before walking further inside the home, towards the staircase. She could feel Owen following closely behind.

"Where are the children," Margaret asked.

"The girls took them to the beach."

"That's hardly their job…" Margaret replied more harshly than intended. Maybe Owen brought out the worst in her.

"Mr. Thompson gave them a day off."

Margaret sighed. Of course, he did. Speaking of Nucky—she quickly tuned around to glare at Owen. He was supposed to be Nucky's bodyguard—he was supposed to be with him, she thought to herself. It unnerved her. She did not trust herself when she was around him and definitely when they were alone, especially when he had that infuriating look in his eyes.

"Why aren't you with him?"

Owen did not immediately reply. "Had to handle some business."

Margaret fought back the urge to snort at Owen's typical excuse. "Shouldn't you make an effort to him?"

"Where to put your bag?"

Great, he was deliberately changing the subject. She would only ask about his commitment to Nucky at a later, much less tense time. "At the foot of the stairs," she said.

Owen nodded and proceeded to do so. He seemed a bit trouble, worried even. Margaret was tempted to inquire about his change in mood, but he beat her to it.

"Have you ever found it odd?"

Margaret reluctantly stared into Owen's eyes, trying to read his thoughts before he could convey them. She had to be on top of things when Owen was concerned "In this house?"

"In this country."

Margaret bit her lip and asked, "How do you mean?"

"Everything is off. The air. The water. The people… and yourself. You're off too. Bit by bit. And you think: if I vanish now, who'd care? Or even notice?"

"Is that how you feeling?"

Margaret vaguely listened to Owen's answer. She knew exactly how she felt. Coming to America was not easy for an immigrant. She couldn't count how many times people had ridiculed her because of her background and accent. However, she managed to move on and Owen should too.

"…and life, passing by…"

Margaret raised an eyebrow and resumed walking up the stairs. "Then you should be on the beach with Katy." That statement, a rather harsh one, appeared to finally keep Owen's mouth shut for at least a minute.

Owen let out a deep breath. "Thought you wanted me after Mr. Thompson..."

Margaret froze then composed herself with a few deep breaths. She turned and faced Owen with narrowed eyes. Damn it, she should have seen that statement coming, but then again, it still startled her. She had been convinced that she was not that obvious—she needed to get him out of her life. Maybe she should talk to Nucky when he returned about finding another bodyguard. "In either case, you needn't be here."

"I'll go if you tell me."

Margaret remained quiet for a moment. This was definitely not the kind of situation she wanted to have especially after the day she had just had, but—maybe, she could use this to her advantage. "Are you mine to command?"

"If you like."

The proposition sounded tempting. Margaret looked down at the Irishman with intrigue. She noticed the sly glint in his eyes. She could not tell if he was serious or not. He did answer with determination though. Maybe he did want to be under her command.

Margaret bit her bottom lip as her conscious was filled with thoughts, sinful thoughts.

"You can bring my bag up," she finally ordered. She was satisfied at the shocked expression on Owen's space. She did not say anything else, she didn't have to, and continued up the stairs.

Sensing Owen not far behind her, Margaret's heart beat rapidly as her hands became clammy at the anticipation of what may soon happen, if that was the plan. She cursed herself for lusting after him, but she could not help herself. Yes, he was in some sort of relationship with Katy, and yes, she was in an actual relationship with Nucky, a man who had shown her nothing but generosity—but it was too tempting.

Margaret opened to door to her bedroom and walked inside before removing her coat and neatly placing it on the bed. Her eyes followed Owen as he slowly entered her room. When her eyes locked with his, she quickly turned her attention back to the mirror. "Put it on the bench."

"You're the cool one, misses?"

"No, I'm not," Margaret replied. She was nowhere near cool. She was a woman whose rationality was deteriorating because of her unnatural carnal needs, unfortunately. She began to unravel her hair. "I'm not how you see me at all."

For the second time today, Margaret had found a way to silence Owen. She say her him at her in awe through the mirror, noticeably gulping at the sight of her letting down her hair.

Margaret let out a deep breath, turned around and approached the object of her desires—desires that would disappear when she was done with Owen. It was going to be a one-time thing and when it was over, she vowed to never think of him in such a way ever again. "When we are done, you will leave and not speak a word about it. Ever."

Margaret's stomach lurched when Owen gave her a smirk and a nonchalant shrug. She really wished she did not behave the way he did; it made her temporary forget that she was tossing rationality out the window.

"Well, it's all between strangers."

Margaret did not say another word and allowed Owen to pull her in for a kiss. Her hands touched reached the sides of Owen's face as he kissed her much harder with more passionately than Nucky had ever done. She smiled to herself, running her hands hand the man's chest before quickly unbuttoning his shirt.

It was a lapse in judgement, she would tell the priest during her next confession.

Nothing more. Nothing less.