𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 ♛ thomas shelby

𝐢𝐢 | 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐠

     But no response came from the hysteric man. "Go home you crazy man! " At this point the scene already attracted the attention of customers in the nearby shops, several women peaking out of the windows at the display down below.

     "Vattene a casa, pazzo!" Franco was small in stature, but was hardly scared of the barbarian in front of him, as he slowly unsheathed a stiletto from the back of his belt.

     A few tense seconds passed as the man regarded the blade in the waiters hand, breathing hard, before screaming.

"Fix bayonets!"

     He hurled himself at the waiter, knocking down the surrounding tables, grabbing the knife and twisting it around before plunging it into Franco's heart. With the last ounce of strength Stuzzi grasped his jacket in a death grip, baring his blood stained teeth at him, before falling limply to the damp ground.

     Caterina stood up abruptly — unblinking — the discarded cigarette now burning a hole through the lacy tablecloth. The street exploded in a frenzy; children screamed as their mothers covered their eyes and hurried them home, not daring to glance behind in terror at the bloody scene. Young men clutched their companions tightly, ushering them out of the tumultuous street and into safety.

     Snapping herself from staring, she hurried down through the house and onto the street. By the time she pushed past the people crowding in front of the cafe, the murderer was gone. She gestured to the two young men beside her to pull the body of Franco Stuzzi upright and carry him away inside. Stepping inside the circle of people that formed around the murder scene, she placed her hands on her hips and addressed them.

     "Does anyone recognise the man," She began, gesturing wildly all around her. "That just walked in here and killed our countryman and nobody fucking did anything?!"

     "Signorina, scusi," someone piped up to her right. A scraggly black haired boy held a peaked hat in his hands, the very same one the bald man carried on his head. He passed it to her. "Dropped it when he ran away."

     It was a common cap, the one many factory workers covered their heads with, grey and brown tweed, covered in ash and sooth. A glint of silver caught her eye as she carefully flipped the discarded cap around only to find several razor blades neatly stitched under the brim.

     A look of confusion passed over her face, brows furrowing as she regarded the object in her hands. Impossible, she thought, and yet...

     And then, with a furious determination and a few venomous Italian curses spewing from her lips, she turned to one of her men standing close by.

     "Bring my Bentley up front. We're going to Small Heath."

*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*

     Thomas Shelby leaned back in his chair, processing the news delivered to him by one of his cousins, the one they always knew by the name Lovelock.

     Fuckin' hell Danny. The leader of the notorious Small Heath cap-wielding band stared blankly at the blackboard ahead, hardly taking notice of the odds being yelled out or the clinking of coins, pennies, shillings as dozens of men laid their bets at the desks behind him — all on Monaghan Boy. You dug your own grave now, old friend.

     It had been going perfectly; the powder trick, the increase of bets, the bloody guns. Things were looking up for the first time since he returned, only to be knocked down with a winding blow by one of his own. Can I blame him, after everything?