𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 occurred on the day Billy Kimber died.
First, the Liverpool warehouses that had formerly been rented by Cardinale Company Import - the deal in question was struck at the Cheltenham races - were taken over by the latter and immediately transferred into Roberto Cardinale's possession with a help of some family friends on high legal positions.
Second, a deal made by Thomas and Caterina was finally settled. It was a contract of mutual benefit between the two, made seemingly long time ago, on the day fate and Danny Whizz-bang helped them meet, that they split the Worcester races business - Shelby Company LTD picking the bookmaking profit while the Clarkes monopolised the sales of liquor on the racetracks.
The bricks fell into their place, and the day seemed almost perfect for such a victory. It would have been, were it not for a meddling barmaid and one stubborn Inspector.
Caterina Cardinale clutched her left arm tightly. The red liquid seeping out of her wound made her fingers stick, unsettlingly warm and creeping down her shirt sleeve.
If that old bastard Campbell had positioned his hand any more to the right she would've met her maker on the cold tiles of Birmingham's train station.
That was not quite they way she intended to go.
The graze on her arm was a small price to pay for what she did to her opposing party - she faintly remembered the Inspector buckling at his knees, the very similar trickle of blood flowing down his immaculate suit. In came the London bound train rushing onto the platform, its ripping whistle masking the gunshots.
Most prominent in her memory remained Grace's pitched scream, luggage falling out of her grasp and reaching down to steady him.
The young woman rounded the corner of the Bradford street sharply, eager to exit the shadowy lanes of Digbeth now the sun had set. It was dangerous place for one to find themselves unarmed, especially a woman. Especially a woman like her.
Blood pounding in her ears and head bowed, Caterina hardly looked around herself, the only thing running through her mind being the monotonous rhythm of her shoes hitting the damp pavement.
Left, right, left - pass the puddle - left.. look behind you... left, right-
Four figures stood in her path, their silhouettes elongated by the street lamp. The light narrowed down their coat clad shoulders and onto the black muddied boots, faces hidden by the very familiar type of hat.
Though their faces were unknown to her, the features they all possessed churned her insides most unpleasantly; the eagle-like slope of their noses and slicked dark hair, and the olive shade of their skin so similar to her own.
"Ah, fuck." Spilled unintentionally from her lips.
One of the fedora clad men cut her path off, inching dangerously towards her. "Buona sera, Signorina Cardinale."
Her mother language surprised her, coming from the threatening strangers. Caterina stood her ground firmly, determined not to show an inkling of weakness in front of them.
He pointed his beady eyes towards her, running them up and down her hunched figure. "We come in the name of Darby Sabini of London. You hear of our boss, yes?"
Her brow furrowed in confusion. Whatever were they talking about? "Che cosa volete? Non abbiamo cose con Sabini."
A rumble of what was supposed to be chuckles passed through the group, yet Caterina found herself unable to breathe.
"No? You should probably ask your brother about that," rasped the tallest one in his broken English. His hand was quicker than her brain processing the danger, and by then the two larger strangers held her arms behind her.
Searing pain shot through her back and she screamed, shoulders twisting in a most unnatural way.
"Get off. Leave me alone!"
A punch landed in her stomach, galaxies dancing on her eyelids as she screwed them tightly shut. Another one at the bottom of her ribs made her bite her tongue, the taste of metal filing her mouth. Her peripheral vision darkened, and she wondered if it had gotten darker outside, somehow.
"Darby Sabini sends his regards."
She wasn't strong in a physical sense, besides knowing how to hit the spot where it hurt the most, the basics she was allowed to learn from the men that guarded her family.
Weakness surged through her limbs once they let her fall limply to the ground, with as much of grace as they would have given a sack of flour. Hours, it felt like hours before they stopped pulling and tugging, punching, pinching and kicking.
Oh brother, what have you done? She thought but instead, a pained scream ripped out of her throat, bordering on animalistic cry for help.
For most of her life she had been surrounded by men that watched her back, lulled into a false sense of safety. Now, alone and helpless underneath the moonlight she repented not trying harder, not being stronger.
The mens thundering footsteps quieted down until they were heard no more. Through her swollen eyelids she noticed a trickle of blood - her blood - mixing with the rainy puddle between the cracks on the pavement.
A pang of pain shot through her head, making her twitch. Cold, she was cold. One of her hands stretched outwards, not reaching for anything, really, but instead fingernails digging into the mud.
Of what use was a silver tongue in a dark alley? For the very first time in her life, Caterina Clarke was truly afraid of meeting her end.
*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*
Faces blurred until they disappeared completely. Her sleep was distressing; coming to and leaving consciousness in waves, pictures rushing in like a waterfall.
She woke twice; the first time when Maria tugged on the red and raw skin on her arm from where the doctor pulled the shrapnel out, sewing it tightly shut. The second time she rasped for water to moisten her chapped lips before she fell back into the cushions, drained by the minimal effort.
"Caterina? Cara mia!"
The wave of light crashed against her eyelids, making her squint and swat at the violently bright lamp above her head. "Maria, quel giorno e oggi? Che cosa ha sucesso?"
In the attempt to move it was as if she had a million tiny bee stings all over her broken body, every nerve and limb on flame.
Maria's mood dampened instantly, grey cloud over her aged features. "You're father is home, Signorina." The woman pushed the sheets off her body, gently beckoning her to try to peel herself off the bed.
Instead, Caterina let herself fall back into the pillow for another moment, savouring a moment of painful peace before entering the fray.
"Well, that's unfortunate."
*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*
Roberto Cardinale would have seemed almost healthy if it were not for the lines on his face, now more prominent than ever, or perhaps the greys that turned to white upon his head.
The patriarch of the Cardinale family kept writing while she entered the main offices, carefully shutting the doors behind her.
"Papa." She started off politely before her eyes landed on a disheveled figure in the leather armchair on the side of father's desk.
Her snivelling brother failed to meet her gaze, instead continuing to raise his two yellowish fingers to his mouth, a thin and limp cigarette nestled between them.
"Franco you spineless bastard, what have you done?" Her brother flinched at her raised tone, trying to sink deeper into the chair, careful to avoid her blazing eyes. Ready to pounce on him despite the soreness of her muscles, the raven haired woman was only stopped by the sharp, unyielding voice of her father.
Roberto Cardinale lowered his pen down, alternating his glare between his two insolent children, behaving more like a pack of unruly dogs than siblings.
"Sit down, Caterina."
He did not have to tell her twice, and she plopped down on the chair on the other side of the desk, careful not to irritate her wounds. Despite his invalidity, Roberto still held the influence and power he once possessed.
"We don't fuck with Darby Sabini, that's a rule. We hold the North, he holds the South." Caterina mimicked the distance with her hands. "Tell me what did you do that resulted in me getting beaten up in a dark alley?"
Though the question she posed was directed to Francis it was her father that answered her. All the bricks finally found their place and every grain of doubt she might have had bloomed and brought fruit. Santo Dio, how stupid I was..
The goods arrived through Bristol docks from several different sources but all in the end branching from Singapore. From there they were smuggled in empty spirit bottles that were made in their Bath glasswork factory.
From there the entire shipment regularly passed through the country by train until it reached their Birmingham storage. As that was the place from which the empty bottles were taken to the distillery to be filled, Francisco's men emptied them during the night, taking the goods into one of his secret shops where they were weighted, counted and repacked.
"Opium," the word almost made her retch up the tiny sip of tea Maria had insisted on before she let her go down to the office.
The drug was then secretly boarded onto the very same wagons that delivered the liquor their family dealed with to London.
Her darling brother was dealing under the table and right in front of her eyes. How could I have been so stupid? She was supposed to notice such dealings, it was why she was the one who controlled the books.
London brewed its own trouble from then on - and it was called Darby Sabini. One would consider London a vast market with enough place for a diverse palette of traders of any kind. And it was, if you paid your due to the chief of the infamous Italian gang.
Most often than not, the expenses of smuggling into capital were far too much for the little entrepreneurs. At that point Darby would swoop in and purchase their goods for a minimum price only to resell them later. It worked like clockwork and Darby Sabini remained one of the most powerful gangsters in Britain.
But Francis - oh Francis - could not stop his Italian spite and refused to pay the trading fee to Sabini. It was a direct insult on his home terrain, and he would not forget it.
"It was just a warning, you see," Francis piped up for the first time that evening. "He just wants his part and one small favour and it would all be forgotten."
Roberto nodded, satisfied before turning to his daughter. "You'll go to London and marry Darby to settle the debt."
It took her several nauseating seconds to realise what he was implying. With a sharp scoff she pointed to the fresh bruise forming across her cheek.
"And I suppose this is my wedding gift?" Anger turned to bewilderment, and bewilderment into blind rage.
"Is this how we deal with stupid shit Francis does? He almost gets himself fucking killed and you think its a grand idea to sell me to Sabini?! He's a monster!" Even up there in Birmingham every once in a while came a report of a tragic shootouts in the heart of the capital where not even the civilians were spared. Darby Sabini's reputation was dealed and sealed with blood.
"My only crime is that I was born a woman. I struck a fine deal with Kimber and now we re the most powerful family in the North and I don't even get a thanks?"
Robert waved her off with a single roll of his eyes. "This company would've functioned either way, with or without you. And you will cease your frolicking with the Shelbys, it's enough that we have to deal with one other family." She was used to him undermining her every chance he got, it was all she ever knew from him. But this - this struck a particular cord in her heart.
"I'm not done with you, Caterina." His tone made her sit back down immediately. "They tell me: my daughter in the arms of a Peaky Blinder. And not any Peaky Blinder, no. Thomas Shelby!"
Ice crawled down her spine and her back straightened, disregarding the pain that shot through her every time she moved. "I was in no man's arms, father." She stated irritatedly.
His fist collided with the table again, making her heart jump slightly. "I tolerated your acquaintance with that Shelby girl but this is going too far!"
"I risked my neck for the company and this is my thanks?" Caterina rose to her feet, standing wobbly and steadying herself on the desk.
"I wish you died instead of Alessio and spared us all of your stupidity, Francis!" Foaming at mouth she spat at the man she was supposed to call her brother - he was nothing to her now.
All that could've once been brotherly love between them rotted and died the minute he stabbed her in the back. Family or not it was one thing she could never and would never forgive.
Out of nowhere Roberto's arm grabbed hers, pulling her down in the level of his eyes. "Grow up you insolent girl! This is the real world. Is that how you repay your father for giving you everything?" He barked, face turning a dangerous shade of red.
"I've been running this business for seven years you miserable piece of shit." In retaliation she spat directly into his face, making him let her go. The place where he squeezed her arm was sore.
"Wench like your mother was." Robert grumbled. Not mother, how dare he - all the while Francis remained quiet, smoking his limp cigarette.
"Yes, I am my mothers daughter. I'd rather be a Greco than be associated with you for another second." For years she imagined, truly, the possibilities of eloping, of walking through the doors and never looking back. Now when the moment came it surprisingly hurt much less than expected.
"Get out." He was one of those men whose silent rage was worse than all the curses upon the land.
"Get out of my sight before I kill you."
Caterina did not hesitate for a moment.
*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*
In the heart of Small Heath stretched out a lane of brown brick houses, all of them quite equal in shape and stench of wet floorboards that wafted through the flats every time it rained more heavily than usual.
The tenants were mostly good, honest working people, or whatever equaled for that in the slums Birmingham - factory worker and washing maids, the Browns who owned the bakery at the end of the lane, and several war veterans who often made ruckus at night.
It was a calm street - or at least, the gunshots were heard less often than elsewhere, and only one or two wives were regularly beaten - and the rent was quite affordable.
And most importantly, Caterina Cardinale reckoned, hardly anyone could recognise her there. Her eyes trailed along the numbers on the right side of the street, looking for the familiar 9 and green front door with chipped wood.
Knocking took more of her energy than she suspected it would. Several sharp curses were heard on the other side of the door until they were violently opened by a dark haired woman in a flowery dressing gown.
A sharp What? came from Elizabeth Stark's mouth before she had the moment to take in the hunched figure at her door.
"Hey Liz." Beads of sweat glistened on Caterina's pale forehead as she tried to steady herself on the doorframe. A feeble smile wavered on her lips. "Fancy seeing you in your own house."
"How you been?"
The pain in her side took to worse, influenced by the harsh cold she was exposed to. Two Lizzie's danced before her eyes, the nausea making her head spin violently until the ground blurred and disappeared underneath her.
The last thing she saw was Lizzie's horror-stricken face on the other side of the door.
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ
you thought the drama is over? nah
tell me what you think about this chapter, and what do you think about the direction of this story?