e l i t e s / T. Shelby / The Brat Pack

Twenty-seven* ˚ ✦

"I would've buried you all, but my mother uh... she knows you. She said it'd be worse for you if I let you live and take away everything that you have."

Changretta's hands moved to tug on Tommy's coat roughly. "Search 'em"

The leader of the Peaky Blinders croaked out, "You forgot one thing."

Luca smiled in a way that made Tommy clench his fists together tightly—digging his nails into his flesh, making half-crescent red slashes. He smiled as if he knew Tommy would ask of it, "Oh?"

It took all of Tommy's might not to shout at the Italian man in front of him, "You know well who and what I'm talking about."

Mr Changretta and his men arrived late today. Coming into this room with such arrogant fashion, Tommy swore he heard the grit of Poly's teeth beside him. His men carried guns like there was no tomorrow, yet there was no sign of the aristocrats. There was no sign of Tommy's brown-haired she-devil among the bunch; he didn't try to mask the bewilder on his face. And it was clear Luca Changretta enjoyed his reaction.

"You mean them?" Changretta's fingers beckoned at his men. By the end of his sentence, in came two of his men fashioned with guns pointing at the hostages. Irene and Isabelle Grosvenor.

Irene Grosvenor. The life and death of Thomas Shelby.

The thief who had stolen his breath away from the first time they met. The girl who would find any opportunity to cross him, challenge him, doubt him.

The girl possesses high intellect yet has not known any essential survival skill. Making him frustrated every single time she walks out of his office building to the outside world.

Irene's brown eyes flashed the same usual frightened look she would have every time Tommy would throw his unreasonable tantrums.

Dried tear tracks were evident on Irene's flushed cheeks. Her shoulders were shaking as he took in the sight of her and Isabelle.

With trembling lips, she whispered, "T-Tommy..."

"Beautiful girls, aren't they?" Luca was circling the two girls like a piranha, his finger caressing Irene's cheek as his other hand clutched on Isabelle's waist.

Poly gripped his coat hard, restraining Thomas from pouncing Changretta with every power that he's got.

A man can only take so much. 

His eyes shifted from Irene's eyes to her forehead, where a bloodied scar was resting neatly. 

"Let them go, Changretta." He was seeing red by fucking now. 

Luca shrugged, "Alright."

It was pretty alarming how composed and calm the mafia leader was—grinning like a fox, calm but with a particular primal stare as if ready to attack at any point. Thomas would know, of course, as he would always make sure his foes get a fair share of the intimidation.

Still clad in pretty dresses and jewellery pieces, the two henchmen pushed the girls forward. Not taking a second thought to handle them roughly.

Poly beckoned for Irene and Isabelle to nestle behind her and Tommy; her ever honey brown eyes shot a look of deep motherly sympathy toward the girls. A tear was threatening to roll down Irene's cheek, for it has been a very long time since she had felt a mother's warm affection. She had never considered Small Heath a decent place to live, yet she was glad to be somewhere familiar enough to call home.

Shy of two steps before reaching the other side of the room, Irene gasped. As she can feel a gun pointed at the back of her head, its metal end cold and robust against her scalp.