(A/N: This chapter is double the length of my normal chapters... Enjoy)

Y/N

I have only visited Wakefield twice before, luckily never having to work there directly. 'Monster Mansion' as people called it, was known for housing the worst of the worst. And if I got shanked by an inmate on the verge of death in a lower security prison, I know the men in here are a different level of crazy. At least in Wakefield I'll be on the other side of the plexiglass to the prisoners. No more scars for me today thanks.

Normally with maximum security prisons, you have to schedule your visits weeks in advance because they never want to aggravate the inmates. For example, they might know that sex offenders have their family members wanting to visit the jail, so other guests with children in attendance won't be scheduled on the same day. It's really fucked up, pandering to these guys' weird fetishes or racial prejudice; they even try to schedule visits within the same race sometimes.

Driving into the precinct, they scanned under my car for bombs, they gave me a designated car spot and gave me a visitor security pass. Parking in C203, about 100 metres from the entrance in torrential rain, I took a deep breath and touched up my lip gloss in the rear view mirror.

Despite the on and off rain during the four hour drive, I closely inspected the fresh dent in my car bonnet and ran my thumb across a smudge of dried blood which hadn't washed off on the way here. I quickly scratched at it with my nail and hurried to the jail entrance under my large umbrella.

Entering a maximum security jail like Wakefield is difficult at the best of times; the fact you couldn't wear gym tights, you couldn't show too much cleavage, how you couldn't wear denim, no gang colours, no colours that resembled staff or inmate uniform, no branded logos over 5 centimetres. The underwire in a woman's bra often set off the alarms in the security gates, but given I knew the rules inside and out, I wore a wireless bra and zero jewellery.

I was assigned a cubicle to sit down in with walls either side so I couldn't see any other inmates or their guests. On my side of the glass was a small bench to rest any belongings they had approved for me to take in, and an intercom on the wall beside me. This linked to a phone on the other side of the plexiglass for inmates to speak to us.

A large guard brought Tom over, released his handcuffs from behind him and reattached them to the bench on his side of the glass. The chain attaching them was looped under a bar so he couldn't leave, but they were long enough to feel somewhat free to move around.

He looked exhausted, his hair grown out a little over his ears and starting to curl up at the ends. He had a light spray of stubble on his face and dark circles under his eyes. His fingernails were chewed and his cuticles peeled back and raw.

"Fuck, it's so good to see your face," Tom sighed, smiling and leaning his head in his hand gently with the phone in the other.

"You look tired Tom, have you been sleeping well?" I asked softly, empathetic for him being detained for just over a month now.

"Does anyone ever sleep well in prison? You know better than me. You know, when they told me I had a guest I assumed it would be Haz," he chuckled, trying to make light of the situation.

"Have you had any guests so far?" I asked, resting my hand against the glass delicately. He pressed his against mine, well, sort of against mine.

He shook his head, explaining to me that I was his first guest. He was only allowed one per month until they declared him a good behaviour bargain. Sadly, with a tone of voice heavy with disappointment, he explained that the only people within the mafia who would potentially visit him would be his brothers or his mother.

"So where are the phones in your block? Do you get privacy when you call?" I asked, trying to understand more about what Wakefield was like for an inmate.

"We get little cubicles like this just facing the wall. It's pretty gross though because people call their wives and girlfriends and jack off inside them," he laughed.

"Ew... Remind me next time to not mention anything remotely sexual then," I laughed back, watching multiple inmates be escorted to their cubicles behind Tom's chair. Like always, the prisoners look at each other's guests, they're too nosy.

"Or just give me something to take back to my room later. Something to keep me going," he joked.

"I am not dirty talking over federal phone lines," I laughed, smiling at the disheveled man in front of me who I was still madly in love with. I know it sounds horrible, but him taking the blame for my murders was what made me realise he had changed. And that I needed him in my life still.

We'd only had three calls so far. The first was when Tom first told me he had been sent to prison and confessed his undying love for me. The second was a repeat of that but from my perspective, telling him that as much as I tried to ignore it for months, I still loved him too. The third call, two weeks ago, was just him and I speaking about his next door neighbours in the two cells beside him.

On one side was a 68 year old cop killer named Davey, on the other side was a younger boy at just nineteen in for drug smuggling. Tom liked his room, he said it wasn't like the movies with big metal bars. He said it was like a tiny hotel room, nobody could see in or out except for the small rectangular window on the door. He had a bed, a desk, a toilet and a fake mirror.

Because the call limits were so short, we saved them to talk only about ourselves, nothing about legal advisors or the mafia or his trial or anything work related. Just, the two of us. I had tried to ask him about legal stuff, he just shut me down instantly.

"I thought because we have longer to sit together now, we can talk about a bunch of the tricky shit... So, I found you a lawyer who I've worked with in the past. Her name is Jen, she's great, she never loses and she's... Like us," I said with a wink, inferring to the fact she was as crooked and corrupt as they come.

I looked down at my hands, fiddling with my fingers and cradling the phone between my jaw and shoulder as I picked at a spot of dried blood under one of my fingernails that I had missed. Damn.

"Fuck, that's incredible. You can access any of my credit cards and bank accounts for the legal fees, you know that right?" he smiled. I nodded. I smiled.

I explained to him what Jen and I had come up with. It was nerve-wracking to explain it to Tom, knowing that his decision could go either way. He could hate it or love it.

"You want me to become an informant? You know how mafia deal with snitches Y/N... I'll die," he said quietly in the phone, making sure none of the other inmates could overhear him.

"You don't need to tell them anything about The Family. All the information is mine, it's from my hard drives, and it won't get back to the mafia at all... It's completely unrelated to you," I assured.

"I'd rather be shot and tortured by my men than rot away here in a cell and have my soul die any day now," he chuckled, although hearing those words from his mouth made my heart break.

Explaining to him that I would plant the information from my hard drives in his computers and have Jen put them forward to the courts, he nodded, understanding the gravitas of the situation. It wouldn't be easy, it wouldn't be hard, but it could get him out.

"Would I be free though?" He asked, his voice riddled with hope.

"I think you'd be on house arrest like your Dad was... But don't worry, we're still working on it," I assured.

He nodded, his eyes darting side to side as he mulled over the plan in his head. He wasn't the most logistical thinker, but anything that would release him from prison was good enough in his books.

"So I have some stuff printed out that I wanted to show you. I got these cleared by security so you can keep them in your cell. So the first part, I checked your emails like you asked and the renovations of your new apartment are looking really nice," I grinned, holding two pieces of paper up against the glass for him to see how his interior designers were going.

His face lit up when he saw the images. They were a mix of progress photos of how they were going inside his apartment and digitally created plans on what they wanted it to look like. To be honest I wasn't sure if he'd ever see his apartment in the flesh again, but showing him the photos gave him the hope of getting out.

"And uh, this is a really exciting part. So, I met up with your family, and I met up with Haz and Robyn just so we could all kind of figure out how to get you out but, this is really good news," I said flicking through the pages of paper to find the one I was looking for, before holding it up for Tom to see.

"I-is that you?" Tom said covering his mouth in shock, his brows slanted as if he were to cry.

"It's Robyn... They're having a little boy," I smiled, seeing Tom's face light up at seeing Robyn's ultrasound. It was a blurry black and white grainy image like ultrasounds always were, but you could see a distinct baby all curled up and growing healthily.

"He's got Haz's nose," he joked, knowing that it was impossible to tell something like that this early on. Robyn was five months along when I spoke to her, seeing her and Haz at their new house for the first time since Tom and I had broken up.

And to be frank, I fucking missed Robyn just as much as I missed Tom. She was my best fucking friend and it killed me not seeing her. And seeing her pregnant was the best surprise I could have imagined in such an uncertain time. You know, given that Tom was in prison without a set trial date.

Nikki was actually excited to see me too. I'm not sure if she was excited to see that I was back in Tom's life as a love interest or the fact I had such an impact in Tom's trial given my connections. She knew how I could pull strings in Dominic's case. Either way, she was happy.

"Show me what else you've printed darling," he said softly, grinning at me through the glass as he yawned. Hearing him call me by that made me feel butterflies in my stomach again, rekindling the fire inside.

As I held up multiple pages of life updates he had missed being locked up, I saw Tom's face lit up and vibrant. He was exhausted, but he looked happy in this moment.

When the alarm bell sounded to alert visitors to wrap up their calls, I sighed and pressed my hand against the glass once again.

"I'll try and visit soon okay? Save next month's meeting for your family. I'll see you after that okay?" I said standing up but still holding the phone to my ear.

"I love you," he said smiling and looking up at me. His hands were still cuffed, his eyes hopeful yet forlorn. This was the look of a man who, after this call, was going to be escorted back to a small dark room whilst I was entering the free world again.

"I love you too," I smiled.

"Not just because I'm in jail though right? You're not just saying that because you feel bad for me?" He said, this time with worry in his voice.

"Trust me, I love you," I chuckled.

"Promise?"

"Promise," I said hanging up the phone as the guard came to my cubicle to show me out. I shook his hand to thank him, slipping a small post it note in his palm through my fingers as I left.