super weird n short chapter but work and school is SUFFOCATING ME ! school is almost out tho so I expect that updates will be more frequent. kiss n hugs xx
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When Grace Shelby was shot, Florence wondered if her father was cursed.
She grew up around the likes of Polly Gray. Meaning, she could recognize a curse when she saw one. Thomas Shelby had two children from two different wives, both of which had passed on. Greta Jurossi was taken by illness, Polly said, but Grace was taken by a vendetta. Her murder was violent. If he married again, Polly was sure she too would pass.
Florence hoped she was wrong. She didn't think his heart could take it.
It did leave her with the question, though. Was Thomas Shelby cursed?
There were two sides of the same coin. Would a cursed man come back alive, with all his brothers, from a vicious, cruel war? But what kind of man lost both wives, two mother's of his children? A cursed man.
Unless that was Tommy's curse—coming back alive.
Florence shook the thought from her head as they walked into the distillery. Her father's state of mind wasn't something she liked to dwell on. It would drive her mad, too, if she had to think about what he thought about in the isolation of his own head.
"I'm glad you met Rosie," Bonnie said quietly in Florence's ear as she led them down the steps, the smell of gin leaking from the barrels thick and inviting. "She's an angel, really, so it's no surprise she likes you. I have a feeling that Leta is going to be a bit of trouble."
Florence let out a small whine as Bonnie snickered, reaching out to take her had. Aberama was walking behind the two, something fond in his eyes.
If you asked him, his answer would be firm; Thomas Shelby was cursed. What he had done to deserve it, Aberama couldn't say. But as a man experienced in the curse-giving and curse-taking of Romani culture, he was sure the man sitting before him embodied it.
He could only hope that such a curse had stayed far, far away from Florence.
"Mr. Shelby!" Aberama announced as they entered deep into the distillery, arms spread in welcome. "I've come to talk personal fight."
Alfie Solomons was a great bear of a man. Everyone he encountered was sent away cowering in fear or intimidation, except for the Shelby's. The one time she had met Alfie Solomons, he kissed the back of her hand and told her she reminded him of a little songbird. Florence was fond of the man, as was Tommy, and Arthur was just dying for the chance to cut his throat. It was a complicated dynamic.
Florence broke away from Bonnie as she met Alfie's eyes, his face immediately softening at the sight of Tommy's daughter.
"There she is," Alfie announced, taking the hand Florence offered and pressing a polite kiss to her knuckles. "Princess Shelby."
"Hello, Mr. Solomons," Florence said back, just as politely, her hand slipping out of Alfie's as she approached her father, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek. "It's been a long time."
"That it has," Alfie agreed, head tipping to the side as he met eyes with Aberama. "Is that your kestrel, Tommy?"
Florence gave her father a puzzled look as she made her way back over to Bonnie, who melted from his stiff and tense position the moment she was back by his side. Tommy only shrugged.
"Tommy, when a pikey walks in with hair like that, you've really gotta ask yourself, 'have I made a mistake?'"
Florence's jaw dropped. "Mr. Solomons, that wasn't very nice language."
"Sorry, dove." Florence could tell he wasn't really sorry. She took Bonnie's hand and squeezed tight.
Aberama's teeth were clenched. "Who the fuck are you?"
"Who the fuck am I?" Alfie asked cockily, brows lifting to hide behind the brim of his hat.
"Who the fuck is this?"
"I, my friend, am the uncle, the protector and the promoter of that fucking thing right over there." Both Bonnie and Florence looked up at the same time, following Alfie's pointed cane. "Whose shadow nothing good nor godly will ever fucking grow."
Florence wasn't sure how she'd missed him on the way in. The boy, who she assumed was Goliath, was massive, with broad shoulders, heavy arms and a thick neck. Florence was sure that if she tried to strangle him, her hands wouldn't even wrap all the way around.
Goliath offered the two of them a small, friendly smile. Florence waved back.
"That there, right, is the Southern Counties welterweight champion." It seemed that Alfie Solomons was an endless well of words. "He is of mixed religion, therefore he is godless. He was adopted by Satan himself before he was returned out of fear of his awkwardness."
Bonnie hid his face in Florence's hair to hide his laughter. Florence squeezed his hand harder, biting down hard on her lower lip.
"He is impossible to marry off due to his lethal dimensions. His mother, terrified, just fucking abandoned him." Florence met her father's eyes, and he blinked them slowly once, shaking his head slightly. "And there he is, stood before you, like he birth of some brand new fucking species."
It was silent for a moment before Alfie cleared his throat, continuing on with what seemed to be his finale.
"Any man you put before him, right, would be like entering a threshing machine, mate." Florence shuddered, and Bonnie tugged her closer, hand smoothing over her hip. "Now, will you offer your son?"
Suddenly, all eyes were on Bonnie. Tommy stared at him over his spectacles, Alfie with boredom in his eyes, Aberama with fire in his. Goliath was calm where he stood, hands tucked into his pockets as he awaited a decision.
Bonnie looked down at Florence, who was staring at him with wide, nervous eyes. Her head bumped against his shoulder, and Bonnie thought five years into the future, where she was waking up beside him in their shared bed, a wedding ring on her finger. And he knew what to do to make that a surefire reality.
"Name the day, Mr. Shelby."
