Far too much time and effort had been expended in the battle for Port Charles. They'd both tiptoed around one another, neither one making headway against the other. Well, one way or another it was gonna end.

Anthony Sorrell nodded with satisfaction. The first real blow was to be struck any minute now, and the war with Corinthos would truly be on.

The guard outside the door discreetly entered the room. Sorrell noticed immediately and nodded once in acknowledgment. After the guard left the room, he looked over the assemblage of men and smiled. It was a frightening thing to see, and those watching shivered to see something so unnatural-looking. "Gentlemen," he called for their attention, "For far too long now we've put up with our enemy's presence. He has strutted around our town like some kinda king." He stood up from his place at the head of the table and lifted his glass of champagne. Leaning forward, he held it unwaveringly over the center of the table. "Tonight begins the revolution ."

One by one the remaining nine men stood and followed suit until the last man had lifted his glass. " Salud ," Anthony Sorrell toasted. As one, they touched their glasses together. Clink .

~*~ Boom. The image replayed in Sonny's mind, each time with a different victim. Sometimes Lily, sometimes Mike. The result was the same, though, and once more he had a loved one's blood on his hands. Anguished, he ran his hands through his hair.

"Sonny," Carly called for his attention unsuccessfully. "Sonny." She forcibly removed his hands from his hair and smoothed down the dark wavy locks. "This isn't gonna do you any good. Why don't you come upstairs and rest?"

The distraught Mob boss jerked away from his wife. "Not now, Carly. I need to be alone." He turned his back to her and rapidly put distance between them. From the couch, Carly watched as he paced back and forth before the large window across the room. She debated over her next course of action, finally deciding to risk his anger.

"We promised not to do this anymore, Sonny," she uttered softly. "Do you remember the vows we made to each other that night on the island?" She moved closer to him. "We said we'd never shut the other out of what was going on inside our heads."

"This isn't about us, Carly," he lashed out. "Everything isn't about us!" Sonny moved quickly toward her until he was right up in her face. "This is about Mike being blown to death because of me! Do you understand that? Me!"

To her credit, Sonny's wife did not flinch from his anger. Carly stared into the darkness of his eyes, easily reading the depths of anguish there. Slowly she reached out and placed her hand on his cheek. "Let me help you," she pleaded quietly. After a long moment, Michael Corinthos lowered his head to his wife's shoulder and began to sob.


The Port Charles Police Station was a whirlwind of activity. Federal agents and other law enforcement officers from nearby precincts had been brought in to assist with the bloodbath that was no doubt soon to ensue.

Marcus Taggert moved from place to place within the squad room. There were statements to be taken and reports to be made before the investigators could go any further. The sooner he cleared up his paperwork, the sooner he could get back out into the streets.

Officers were moving in and out of the office, and there were at least a dozen conversations going on at once. As he filled out his report, Marcus' attention drifted from one discussion to the other. There seemed to be a consensus within the room. Mike Corbin had been unlucky enough to have Sonny Corinthos for a son. And he'd paid the price with his life.

Taggert had no sympathy for Sonny. The man was a parasite who hid behind other people. People who usually got killed being a part of his life. The Lieutenant felt a moment of sorrow for Mike Corbin, though. Nobody deserved to die that way.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone standing near the gate that marked the beginning of the officers' section. "Mom?" He rose and hurried to her. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought you might need me." Florence Taggert looked up at her son. She did not miss the way his expression hardened at her words. "Marcus-"

"You shouldn't have come here, Mom," he said flatly. "There was no need."

"I don't believe that," she insisted. "You can't pretend-"

Marcus cut her off. "I don't want to have this conversation."

"Well, we are going to have it." Mother and son stared each other down in a contest of wills.

Angrily, Taggert relented. "Fine," he bit out. "Let's go into the interrogation room." Without looking back to see if she followed, Marcus strode angrily into the nearest room. He whirled when he heard the door close behind him.

"What do you expect of me, huh, Mom?"

"Just give him a break, Marcus. Let someone else do the investigation," she begged. "He's-"

"Don't say it!" he interrupted her furiously. "You think that just because you finally tell me the truth, I'm supposed to care? Well, I don't!" His voice lowered to a whisper. "If it's the last thing I do, I promise you I will bring Sonny Corinthos down," he vowed through gritted teeth. "Brother or no brother."