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It was a quiet morning; the blue-eyed devil noticed as he exhaled a long puff of smoke.
Today was the day. Luca Changretta will finally be over in every way, shape or form. Changretta's day of reckoning was about to begin in just a few hours. And Tommy was sure that the mafia was not ready for what he has in store. And how he was going to enjoy every bit of his plan.
"Today's the day, eh?" John was coughing and panting as he settled himself near his older brothers. Tommy was thankful for his brother's recovery, even though it's at a slow and steady pace. When John's hand was reaching for a cigarette, he swatted his hand away in caution.
A roll of the eye was inevitable for John.
The whiskey tasted sour as Tommy's mind suddenly drifted to a certain girl captured by Luca. Irene Grosvenor was not someone to forget, yet with his plans for revenge and whatnot, Thomas Shelby had only remembered Irene in fleeting moments. He was engrossed in his plan to avenge her. To make the people who dared to cut her suffer.
Like how he has been suffering these past few nights, unable to sleep as him closing his eyes seemed only to fill him with regret. His subconscious would concoct images of Lady Irene Grosvenor being tortured and tormented in every sickening way possible.
Very sickening that Tommy would wake from those brief naps feeling angry and tired, even though he had rested.
Thomas rubbed his brows, "Yep, today's the day."
Arthur was reclining on his chair, and judging by the rouge nesting neatly on his collar, it was clear he had spent the night with Lady Tabitha Cavendish. That shameless brother of his did not even take a second of his time to clean it. "Even got ourselves help from the fuckin' king."
"The fuckin' king, eh? Well, shit on me, I'm ready." Echoed John, chuckling.
Tommy nodded slowly, and with one last big gulp, he drained the contents of his glass before rising to his feet.
"Oi, where you goin'?"
"Getting myself ready." Indeed Thomas Shelby has to get ready for this momentous occasion. You can only kill someone like Luca Changretta once.
"What, like tarting yourself with rouge?" Laughed Arthur, with Johnny chiming in his laughter.
"Have to look good for our dear Luca, boys."
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"You will sign them all over to my family, or you're gonna die."
In this damp and darkroom where he brewed his gin, Thomas Shelby's laugh bubbled up in his chest. He almost blew his cover by just hearing the pure daftness coming out of Changretta's filthy mouth.
"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.
Unable to keep in a cry, the heiress turned her head slowly, "T-Tom-"
Thomas Shelby took a deep, long breath. His face was stern, hands balled up so tight, his knuckles were white as the wall behind him. Poly immediately pulled Isabelle out of the way, but alas, it was too late for her older sister. "Changretta, let's refrain from using violence here. At least not to the fuckin' blue blood, eh?"
Tommy was closing in, his eyes meeting Irene for the briefest moment. Yet, that fleeting second delivered so much meaning. So many emotions transferred; Stay calm. Don't fucking move; I have got you.
Stay strong, my Mountain of Adamant.
Thomas nodded slowly, unclear toward the heiress or the mafia leader behind her. Nevertheless, Irene nodded back. She can hold on for a little bit.
"Let the girl go, Changretta." Tommy extended his hand; his attention solely focused on her. Irene has longed to see those stormy blue orbs.
"She's not worth it. She's not worth the loss of a bullet."
Alright, I am not going to lie to myself—that hurt.
She can feel the clasp of Luca's arm around her slowly ceased to exist. When Tommy's eyes travelled to the slipping arm, he yanked the heiress in his direction—forcing her to stand behind him in silent obedience—rarely implemented in her day-to-day life.
Luca plucked a pen, staring intensely at it, "So... Sign."
"Every fuckin' one of them." The pen clattered on the ground—a power move.
"You can sign them on your knees."
Irene stared at the man towering in front of her. Shielding her from whatever's unfolding over there. But she didn't need to look any further to know that Tommy was doing all his best trying to keep himself levelled. His neck was a bunch of coiled muscles, his knuckles white.
Nobody has ever talked to him like that. And he never allowed anyone to do so.
Well, anyone but her.
"On the floor."
She and Isabelle flinched when Luca overthrew the table. The heiresses had just about enough of the man's outbursts. "Get on your fucking knees and sign."
Their eyes went wide when the leader of the Peaky Blinders bent to his knees.
"A friend of mine once said, big fucks small-" Irene turned to Isabelle. "-So I had to find someone bigger than you. Now, you may know two families in Brooklyn want to take over your monopoly on the import of liquor into New York." Thomas turned his head slightly, catching Irene's eyes. The devilish smirk was back.
His hand grazed her wrist and arm as he rose to his feet. The gesture caught Irene's breath, emitting a tiny squeak from her lips. The action was only for a second, yet the impact seemed to burn on her skin for the longest time. His touch searing just like it did two nights ago in that dark corridor.
"But if they move against you in New York, they'll start a war between the families." Irene was never more happy to hear Poly's stern voice.
"But if you were to die in a vendetta with some fucking bookmaker in Birmingham, they could take away your business without a war."
Poly stared fiercely at Changretta, "We also contacted a businessman in Chicago. He's also interested in moving into the liquor business in New York."
"His name is Alphonse Capone."
At this, Irene and Isabelle turned their heads.
The usual smug and scornful look on Luca's face faltered. Replaced with a ghost of shock and panic. "You been talking to that fat fuck?"
"You see, all the blood relatives you brought with you from New York, they're all dead, Mr Changretta-" Tommy fixed Luca with another hooded confidence before motioning to the wops watching in front of them, "-And these men here, they work for money, for the highest bidder. They now have new orders."
"Is that right?" Changretta rasped. His men shuffled uncomfortably, "Is that right?"
"And you, Matteo?"
A particular look clouded over the face of her kidnapper, "Hey, very fucking..."
As he pulled out his gun, Tommy bent down and hit Luca's arm. He thrust him forward by his collar only for Changretta to push him on again. The pole was the closes thing Thomas' back could land on; a hand slapped over her mouth as Irene tried to keep in her look of horror.
"Tommy!" Irene screamed out when Luca banged a steel rod on Tommy's abdomen. She turned her head around to find all the people in this room stone-faced as they watch the tragedy unfold in front of them. "Stop! Make it stop!"
Poly shot a sympathetic glance towards her, though she didn't lift a finger to stop the fight.
As Tommy gets a grip on the fight, slamming Luca's head on the table with such a force that made Irene grimace, the doors opened.
Isabelle let out a choked sob, "Arthur!"
Arthur was alive. Arthur was in front of them, breathing and well, and Irene wished she could kiss him. He was going to get his revenge now. John was behind him in that usual improper demeanour. He winked at her, a toothpick in between his lips.
Oh, how glad it was to see the Delinquent Duo back together.