Port Charles had never been an idyllic place to live. Despite its outward appearance as the fairytale perfect hometown, Port Charles had long been home to every vice known to man. Murders, cover-ups, shady deals and the Mob were as much a part of the upstate New York town as were the snowy winters. Port Charles residents sardonically observed that nearly all of its most noted citizens had been tried for murder. And those that hadn't had simply gotten away with it.

Sonny Corinthos knew that the fallout from his conflict with Anthony Sorrell would also fade away in time. But the longer he allowed the rival mob boss to entrench himself in Port Charles, the more difficult the rebuilding of community acceptance would be.

The Port Charles Herald contained the first rumblings of concern. A seasoned reporter on the payroll of Edward Quartermaine subtly, but clearly, placed the entire responsibility for the town's criminal element squarely upon Sonny's shoulders. The paper's front-page article, Sonny noted, conveniently omitted Edward's grandson Jason Morgan. Not that he would want Jason targeted either.

Sonny slapped the newspaper down in disgust. The last thing he needed was extra attention while he fought the battle for his territory. According to the men he had watching Anthony Sorrell, there was a moment of activity at the house yesterday, but no moves had been made toward Sonny or his people. That meant Sorrell was determined for Sonny to make the first move.

“Yeah, what?” The ringing of his private line annoyed Sonny.

Uncle Sonny, I'm scared .”

Sonny froze. The petrified little voice belonged to his four year old stepson Michael. “Michael? What is going on?”

Hearing Sonny's voice broke the dam that held back Michael's tears. Through his sobs, Michael tried to respond. “The bad men have Mommy,” he cried.

Sonny's hand tightened painfully around the phone. “Michael,” he forced himself to speak calmly, “where is Uncle Jason?”

“Mommy said,” Michael hiccupped, “Mommy said that Uncle Jason went home to help you fight the bad men.” There was a tiny pause. “Uncle Sonny, make Uncle Jason come back and get us. Please!”

Hearing the little boy beg tore Sonny up inside. He felt a desperation that he did not imagine was possible. “Don't worry, Michael. Uncle Jason and I are going to get you and Mommy back. But I need your help. Are you still at the safe house where Uncle Jason brought you?”

“I don't know,” Michael cried. “My eyes can't see.”

His eyes couldn't see? The words had Sonny baffled. “Michael, what do-?”

Before Sonny could finish his question the connection was broken.

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