𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌, usually familiar and inviting, now only brought shivers across her spine. The pristine greyness of Francisco Cardinale's tailored suit clashed with a dark frown etched on his pallid face.
In the simpler times it was always Francis that attracted the longing sighs of her ditzy friends, with his perfectly slicked back jet-black hair and a million pound smirk, and those perfectly polished manners that made them faint with a simple Ciao. A handsome smile hid a blood soaked record and a promise of a prolific future for la familia.
Such a long time ago, it threatened to escape her memory.
Every man that came back from France was different. And Francis... whatever there was of him died over the channel, in the cold trenches of the Somme.
The boyish youth was long gone and forgotten, replaced by a thin, lanky man, prominent dark shadows underneath his eyes. As she took in his sour appearance today, Cat thought he looked even worse than the last time she saw him.
Caterina took a tentative step into the room, closing the doors behind her. By the look on her brother's face she was aware things might turn ugly soon enough.
They were never particularly close to start with, and due to the small age gap between them were continuously at each other's throats, their older brother acting like a pacificator on more than one occasion.
"Francis. You're home."
He preferred the simple, English version of his full name. It was more modern, he always said, and easier to remember. Francis was a strong, ambitious Englishman. Francesco was an Italian immigrant, condemned to be looked down upon, unable to rise up in the high society he strived towards.
"Billy fucking Kimber came round. Asking for my little sister." There was a piece of paper in his hand and he waved it pointedly in the air. "With this."
In a flurry of motion, she snatched the thick piece of paper, eyes excitedly running over the words. Clarke Import Company stood bellow, with the title of the official liquor distributor, all very officially signed by the president of the West Midlands Council.
"We have our liquor license!" She said, glancing up at him expectantly. The purse of his lips revealed his annoyance. "Oh don't look at me like that."
Francis uncrossed his arms, now pacing the length of the room. Was it possible his cheeks had become more gaunt while he was away? He kept shaking his head and throwing glares in her direction.
"And what did you do for a license, huh? Did you fuck him?" Her mouth fell open in indignation. How dare he even assume-
"No! Vaffanculo!"
He ran his hand through his shiny black hair, messing it in the process. "Did padre give you permission to do this? Or is this one of your independent escapades?"
"Francis, this is for us. The company. With this expansion we can start mapping out a brighter future than killing people for money." She tried to keep the smile on her face, desperate to convince him to see the reality of their situation.
"Legal activities, that's what we need."
"Oh you want to feed the orphans now is that it?" He let out a short bark of laughter, crossing his arms. "This game you're playing will end all of us together. And you'll end this business with the Peaky Blinders, we don't mess with gypsy scum."
That was enough for Caterina to burst with annoyance. "Who are you to tell me what to do? I'm old enough to have friends and I'm competent enough to make deals for the company."
"I'm your fucking brother, or did you forget that, puttana."
"For the greater good, Francis. You wouldn't understand." He scoffed, rolling his dark eyes.
"No more smuggling! No more police breathing down our necks, the threat of prison or gallows! Just legal money we can invest in legal business." She counted. "Or are you too much of a inutile coglione to defy father's orders?"
He turned sharply, advancing slowly, forcing her back step by step until her back was pressed up against the cold wall.
Once again her tongue was quicker than her brains. A wild look gleamed in his eyes, and her head cracked against the wall, sending flashes of searing pain through the back of her skull. His strong fingers clutched her shoulders in a painful grip.
"What did you call me, huh?" Francis's words came out in a growl.
"You smell of booze." Her nose scrunched up, stomach turning in nausea as his breath fanned her face. "Since when do you drink?"
Her frenetical straining against his grip made him press his hands harder against her arms. Purple bruises would blossom there, violets after rain. "Since the nights got longer."
She desperately tried to escape his firm clutch, squirming like a cornered deer. "Get off me, you're drunk. Get off. Get off Francis." She despised the weakness in her voice, despised Francis for not seeing reason, despised father for being so damnably stubborn.
"No more meddling in business till father gets home." With one last push he let her go, causing her to quickly scramble to collect herself before hurrying out of the room. Drumming heartbeat pounded in her ears. And yet she could not help herself; she turned and levelled her brother with one last glare.
"And what then huh? He takes all our credit while we get our hands bloody." She said steadily, quiet determination seeping into her voice. "Not for long, Franco, I swear."
*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*
A squeal of delight made Caterina jump out of her comfortable nap, stretched out over some half-finished price list. She had not, by any means, intended to fall asleep but the documents were so delightfully boring it would have been a sin to waste such an opportunity.
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes she descended down the stairs, careful not to trip down them in the proces.
Three figures stood at the bottom - well, two women and a stroller sandwiched between them. Maria peered closely inside, gently patting the baby's little hand with her pink, plump fingers.
"A che bello bambino signora Shelby!" Ada smiled awkwardly, not even correcting the jovial woman buzzing around her baby.
Blinking her eyes a couple of times, in case she was still dreaming, Cat descended the last few steps. "Ada? What are you two doing here?"
The Shelby girl - she would always be a Shelby no matter how hard she tried - appeared as bleak as the Birmingham evening she came from, and understandably so; who could rest not knowing the fate of her husband, whether he was alive or not, a looming threat of
"I feel useless and there's so much staring at the bloody walls I can do. My pride couldn't face Polly today so I came here."
"Right and you're pride is okay with me?" Caterina jested, leaning down to bop Karl's nose, the baby letting out a loud babble. Ada shifted on her feet worriedly.
"Are you sure nobody will rat me out? I covered us up pretty good but with this inspector making threats..."
"Don't you worry, you're safe here. You can help me sort out the company paperwork now then, Maria will put Karl to sleep. Maria, due tazze di tè per favore, nello studio."
"Si, signorina." The perky old woman pushed the stroller containing her godchild down the hall, happily babbling along with him.
Caterina tugged her friend along, although Ada knew the layout of the house like the back of her hand.
The latter snuggled into one of the inviting leather armchairs she came to prefer over time while Cat sat across, behind the desk littered with far too many items for it to be a productive environment. She liked to observe those little details that told her more of Caterina than the woman herself; though she radiated in a friendly and chattering demeanour, in truth it took her years to crack through the shell of her crippling insecurities and inability to express emotions.
Besides an overflowing amount of papers, some peaking out of brown folders and others simply scattered around, there was an antique inkwell propped on a stack of miscellaneous books; Machiavelli, a used copy of Wuthering Heights haphazardly open, a tea stain marking the page, a yellowed and used Dictionario Italiano.
Maria brought in a tray of tea and warm lemon biscuits while Cat pushed various nick knack back into the cupboards, trying to make the room at least a bit more presentable. For all her immaculate organization she failed to keep her own rooms uncluttered.
"Now we can talk; I had an unpleasant run in with Campbell."
"And? Did he gloat about putting my Freddie behind the bars?" Ada sneered while popping the third little sugar cube into her tea.
"Obviously but Ada, I don't think it was Tommy who ratted him out."
"And who else could it be Cat? He's the only one who knew and he's the one holding a big fuckin' grudge over us! Just another proof he's a right selfish bastard ever since he came home."
"Campbell said a bloody bird whispered the location in his ear - that's a double meaning right there. And as far as I'm concerned, Tommy's got nothing to do with no birds." She argued in his favour.
"We probably have a spy somewhere, is what I was afraid of."
Dismissing the ridiculous notion, her people lived under omerta - there were no traitors among hers. "I just have a bad feeling, is all." She waved her paranoia off.
"You sound like Pol. She's got that sixth sense for danger, like a proper Gipsy seer." Ada made a swirling motion in a cooko way with her teaspoon, earning her a sugar cube between her eyes.
"Ugh, can she please see into my future and tell me if I die of this bloody paperwork or in a ditch somewhere? I prefer the ditch."
"Hire a bloody assistant." Ada mumbled from behind her cup of tea.
"Too much fuckin' trouble." And it was hard to find a loyal employee these days - someone of preferably Italian descent, with a knowledge of their code of honour, and willing to die before betraying her. She fished out a wad of unopened letters. "Look over these."
"Cheap workforce, of course." She complained but still set the cup down before taking them.
Several comfortably silent minutes passed between them, only scratching of pen against the paper heard, before Ada pipped up. "What's in Liverpool?"
"Storage for gin before we ship it to America. They're fuckin' crazy about it and pretty damn desperate for any kind of booze these days." A cheeky smile grew on her lips. "Which means they pay pretty well."
"A letter of complaint from the Cardinale's Birmingham First Gin Distillery workers envoy about the minimum wages... blah blah blah." Ada trailed off, eyes raking over the words. "And they're threatening you with a strike."
"What ever shall I do?" Cat deadpanned, hardly concerned over it. They depended on her, her pay checks and good will - no sane man would risk those things in times such as these.
"Well, maybe if you increased their pay they wouldn't riot."
Caterina made a face. "Oh dear, that's awfully communist of you."
Ada's laugh was like liquid silver to her ears, reverberating through the room, and it warmed her heart; her friend hadn't even smiled ever since the unfortunate evening.
"More socialist, if anything." Another sugar cube found its way towards Ada, this time hitting her hair. She accepted it with a self satisfied smirk, returning to the remaining letters in her lap.
*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*
The numbers did not add up.
Crossing the bill for the third time that night, Caterina reviewed the revenue of the gin sales. It could have been the late hour or the excess of that fourth glass of gin she sneaked when Ada wasn't looking, but she could swear she did not write those numbers in the ledger.
To an untrained eye they would look completely the same, but she never looped her A's or dotted so thickly. Unfamiliar sums of money seemed to magically pop up here or there; a 200£ last month, then 350£, a 150£ only last week, the name of the client lacking on the margin.
If it had been a smaller amount she'd ignore it, but the company earned around 3000£ a week and such influxes were not regular.
Her brain hurt from all the counting.
There was a fresh packet of cigarettes on her desk, within arms lenght, but she refrained from reaching out for them. For all her upbringing as a Shelby, Ada didn't particularily favour the nicotine filled sticks in the same fervour as her brothers or Polly.
Instead, she necked one more glass of gin - a little one, no harm done with it, she reasoned - to ease her mind for the night.
She ran a hand over her face, at that point not caring about smudging her makeup in the process. "I'll dream about these bottles and pounds I tell you. There's something very wrong here but it can wait until tomorrow."
Ada stood up, stretching out her sore legs. "It's getting late, we should go." Caterina was quick to her feet to stop her.
"Please Ada, I insist. It's too late for you to go out." She seemed conflicted for a moment before her expression softened and relaxed. It was dangerous to walk the streets of Small Heath during the day, let alone at nighttime.
"I don't want you to be alone."
An hour later, after putting Karl to sleep in the room next door, under the soft covers of Cat's king sized bed, Ada wrapped her arms around her best friend, her second sister as if her life depended on it.
"I miss him Cat. What if I never see him again?" She could feel Ada's hot tears soaking into the soft fabric of her nightgown. She squeezed her tighter, burying her face into her dark locks.
"We'll get him back Ada, I promise you." Cat murmured, almost inaudibly. After days of restless nights, Ada's breathing slowed down before it turned into soft snores. There was peace, for the night.
*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ
guess who's in london? posting this via hotel wifi i managed to snatch!
i expect alfie solomons when i visit camden town on sunday thanks
hope you have a wonderful end of the week x