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"So now we're hangin' out with the royalties, eh?"
Thomas Shelby woke up with a jolt. Beads of sweat the size of kernel rolling down his back and forehead. His eyes frantically looking for something to relieve his tight throat, the whisky on his bedside table being the only thing to do so.
With the warm liquid flowing down his throat, he glanced at the clock on the wall. 4.30 a.m. Thirty minutes earlier than his last nightmare. Tommy stood up, rubbing his temple as he walked to his tall windows overlooking acres of greenery. He lit up a cigarette while sitting down at a nearby chair.
Although he feels too exhausted, being he had to watch Charlie perform his violin practice - which was not getting better by any day -, he couldn't go back to bed. No. He couldn't have the same nightmare twice.
Tommy's dreams have always been a mix. Well, considering if he even falls asleep. Usually, before bed, after loads and loads of work, Tommy will find a woman to satisfy his needs. He needs someone for release.
After that's done, Tommy'll usher the woman out of his manor, with a more-than-generous pay, and go to his son's bedroom. Kissing him goodnight, he'll then retire to his own bedroom, slipping into his bed.
He would always stay awake for another hour or so, listening to the imaginary shovelling in his wall, the sound that went away when Grace was here. But now she isn't. If the day is gracious toward him, he'll fall asleep. Only to be rudely woken up by his nightmare.
His nightmare would always be mixed—a mix of war, Grace, and killed horses. And then Tommy would wake up with a jolt, sometimes a scream. And now, here he is. Looking out the window with his face looking exhausted and his body screaming for rest. Tommy never wanted to be like this, this man haunted by his own nightmares outside of hi slumber.
And for once, he had that with Grace. With Grace, his demons seemed to go away with ease. With Grace, everything was more manageable, like a burden being lifted off of him.
Grace Burgess was his lighthouse, guiding him with light in an otherwise dark world.
But then, the mother of his son died. Once again, Tommy's nights are filled with terrors and booze. Of course, he couldn't be in the state of loss and sadness forever; he's got empires to build.
Now, his latest chess pawn is a mighty aristocratic duke out south, a smart and influential aristocrat, at that. It might be a wee bit of a stretch to associate himself with some sort of royalty, but Tommy needs this relation.
With this man's help, he can both grasp the world of politics and business on his hands. With his help, Tommy can be among the most powerful men in all of the UK. Maybe this way, he'll finally find that man he can't defeat. Just maybe.
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Morning rolls around fast when you've been sitting around and pondering your next move in this big grand scheme we call life. Tommy didn't realise it was seven in the morning until his head of housekeeping, Frances, came knocking on his door. "Mr Shelby, it's seven o'clock, sir. Your tea is served."
"Thank you, Frances," Tommy called back at the loyal maid. With one final look at his standing mirror, he got ready for the day.
Tommy arrived at his home in Birmingham carrying some critical letters delivered to him just yesterday evening. Tommy has read these letters, immediately in a state of shock. One of the letters was from Luca Changretta, the son of Tommy killed for his wife's death, Vicente Changretta.
The letter was simple, a black hand imprinted on the right side of the card and a 'Merry Christmas' on the left.
This means something; Thomas was sure of that.
As his family have killed a few of the Changretta's, they seek revenge. This is a vendetta. He immediately rang all of his family members, scheduling a family meeting today. Of course, some people - read: John Shelby - were too busy fucking than picking up.
Thomas loves all of his brothers, but sometimes, their primitive thinking is what gets them killed.
The next day, Tommy told Michael to pick up all family members and bring them to Birmingham. All apparently complied except dear old John. And dear old John got what's coming for him. He got shot on his own porch.
Michael, who was picking John and his family up, got shot too. They were both taken to the hospital, with a 60/40 chance for Michael and an 80/20 chance for John.
Upon hearing those words, Esme, John's wife, can only curse at the patriarch of the Shelbys. She cried and cried, all while Thomas could only offer her a hug. Though it's wrong to think so, It was funny for Tommy. Esme and John have always been fighting all the span of their marriage, throwing things at each other, cursing. Driving each other mad to the bones. John even got kicked out for a while, staying at Arthur's.
But it seems like when one is hurt, it was as if the other one was injured. It was as if Esme got shot as well. Tommy craved that, deep down inside. He had that with Grace, until she was taken from him. And now, deep down inside of his partially blackened heart, he craves it.
The next day Esme excused herself from all of this. She went to ride with the Lees, and she's taking the kids with her.
Esme said she can't bear to watch his husband die slowly, painfully. She told Tommy to say goodbye to John when it's time. Tommy wanted to forbid her from going, but he knew Esme was a grown woman. And she can not be somewhere she doesn't want to. So he let her go, saying yes to all her requests. Tommy was glad; at least she's not alone.
That brings us to today. The family members, minus Michael and John, have reunited at their old office in Small Heath. There were also Charlie, Johnny Dogs, Lizzie, Isaiah and Jeremiah joining. They were all sat around the dining table when Tommy came in.
"John is in a critical condition. Esme's gone on the road with the Lees. She's taken the kids." Tommy started, trying to explain things as slowly as possible to the mourning and panicking bunch. "Michael is badly wounded. They say the chance is 60/40 for him and 80/20 for John."
Polly turned, "There's no number; there are no percentages."
"So the hand, the hand beneath him stopped him falling. As for John, the bullet missed by an inch from his main artery. Spoke to someone. They will live."
Tommy slightly nodded, "Michael and John were shot because we killed someone ... Vicente Changretta."
"His son Luca has come to take revenge, men from New York and Sicily here in Birmingham. These men will not leave our city until our whole family is dead."
"That's how it works, an eye for an eye. It's called a vendetta."
Arthur's gruff voice added, "Yeah, well...The bullet's been written. It says, Luca. When the time comes, and it will come, Me as the oldest brother will put this bullet into his fucking head."
Tommy stared at the ground, "There's been some bad blood between us-"
Polly, almost immediately, laughed.
"Polly, please..."
The icy blue eyes of Thomas' flew to the ceiling, "Until this Business is settled, we stay together. We stay here ... Small Heath, Bordesley, Hay Mills down to Greet. We know every face; every man is a soldier in this army. These men are professionals, and they're good at what they do, so we're gonna need more than we have."
"I sent a message to Aberama Gold."
Johnny Dogs perked up, "No, no, Tom. I'll get you 50 Lee boys. Good men, Tom."
"I don't need good men, Johnny, for this, I need bad men."
"Tommy, his people are fucking savages. You know, heathens, Tom. They don't even let them in the fair, so they come and steal our horses. You know, stealing from their own, Tom."
Polly gestured grandly, "So this is the plan, Thomas? This is the plan? Bullet with a name on it, help from a bunch of savages."
Tommy pursed his lips, "We're gonna go on the offensive. I've spoken to Moss."
Polly scoffed, "Moss..."
"I've spoken to Moss." Tommy continued. "Moss is putting out word, eyes, and ears so we can find them. Yeah, the truth is that the police are too busy with the revolution. Moss says they're expecting strikes and riots when the weather gets warm and the Bolsheviks are planning to-"
"The Bolsheviks couldn't plan a fucking picnic," The only sister of the Shelbys chimed in. "He's reading the wrong papers."
"Ada!"
"Real or not real, the coppers don't give a fuck about us, all right? Now, I have another breaking news."
All ears perked up.
"In case all of you forgot how to be a Shelby, us Shelby's value revenue. From our businesses. Therefore, business will go on. We're even expecting a little bit of a partnership with Grosvenor Group Limited."
Polly's eyes widened, "Grosvenors ...isn't that-"
"Yes. Grosvenor as in the Duke of Westminster, Hugh Grosvenor."
The lot of them shifted in their seats, looking at each other worriedly. Lizzie spoke up, "Building a partnership? In a time like this?"
"Holy shit Tommy, they're fucking royalty. That's what they are."
"We've had enough of bloody royalty blood on our hands in the past, Tommy. In case you haven't forgotten, we were all on a noose-"
"Enough!"
"I haven't fucking forgotten, alright. This partnership will benefit us both in business and in defence against the Italians. Me and the Duke of Westminster, sorry, His Royal Highness or His Majesty, either way, we will diversify the asset business Shelby Company Limited with Grosvenor Group Limited in America. Therefore, bringing in revenue. Now, in light of the partnership, the Grosvenors have agreed to lend us more soldiers during these tough times."
Ada mumbled, "Kill two birds with one stone."
"Exactly. Well, not exactly kill the Duke. But yeah, in essence."
Thomas took one last look at all of the members of his family. The people who have been with him since, well, forever. Because of that one event that he still regrets to this day, they were separated.
But now, with this vendetta going on, they have to be stronger than before. They've already let them slip with what they did to Michael and John, who are in God, knows condition. The Shelbys cannot make another mistake if they want to reserve what they have left.
And Tommy won't let them slip another error.
No, he will carry his family through this safely, and then he won't give a damn about where they're going. These people are who the patriarch had left, and Tommy's not planning on losing them. Like he lost her. "Which means that here today in this room, we have to agree to end this war between us."
Everybody in the room agreed on peace. Except, of course, Polly.
"Truce."
Tommy nodded, "Five for peace. Two for truce, on abstention."
Polly stood up, rounding the table to stand next to Tommy. Deliberately exhaling a puff of smoke on her nephew's face, she said, "So now we're hangin' out with the royalties, eh?"
Already used to his aunt's unpredictable endeavours, Tommy nodded slightly as he turned to take his leave.
"Let's get on with the war."