THE FIRST night James Arnett's opium was being sold through the Shelby Sapphire, I decided to overlook things. John decided to join me, which complicated things.
"I haven't seen you out of a dress in a long time," He commented as we stood at the top floor the balcony, overlooking the dance floor which was filled with excited patrons.
I shrugged, leaning my glass of whiskey on the railing. "Got bored of tripping over long skirts."
John chuckled, his arm slowly coiling around my waist as he pulled me closer into his chest. "Who said it had to be a long dress?"
The truth was, I was wearing a suit because I wasn't sure whether I'd end the night with a murder or not. And if there was one thing I hated more than tripping over long skirts, it was getting blood stains on them.
Lucas Ilson.
Police Detective Lucas Ilson, to be precise.
The first person on Phil Sullivan's kill list, and easily the most high-profile person I was tasked with assassinating so far in life. Since I was a teenager, Tommy had been moulding me into his soldier, and he had successfully brought me to a point where I could kill without blinking an eye.
But now, things were different.
I had Gerald. I had John. I had a home that I needed to protect.
Now, after assuming the role of doting wife and loving mother, the thought of resorting back to being a cold-blooded killer was unnerving, to say the least. Unnerving, but manageable.
Being tasked with committing five murders hadn't stolen much sleep from me, after all. In fact, it felt like I had been piling on dresses and lipstick and heels as a way to hide a part of me, but that part of me was being given a chance to come back to the light. It had been in the dark for so long, I didn't mind that it had a knack for being destructive to everything else in my life. I was doing this to protect my family, which helped me accept it.
And this time, it wasn't by order of the Peaky Blinders.
"Penny for your thoughts?" John asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
Looking over at him, I gave him a smile. "They cost a tenner."
"Fuck that; I always know what you're thinking of, anyway," He retorted, looking down at me. "You're thinking, 'How did I get so lucky to have bagged a husband with such a great co-?'"
"Don't finish that," I warned with an eye roll.
He placed a tender kiss to my cheek, the softness of his action taking me by surprise. "Seeing you in a suit makes me feel like we're kids again."
"Yeah?" I asked, smirking at him. "Running around Small Heath, stealing Arthur's coke, shooting anyone who dared to cross us?"
"Exactly," John said with a smile. "I'm fuckin' grateful that Gerald will never have a day like that."
"Never," I vowed with a nod. "His girlfriends will be shown love with roses and nights of dancing, instead of guns and fights."
"Those days were electric, though," John reminisced, his grip around me tightening. "They were exciting. Unpredictable. I never knew whether I'd the end the day in bed with you or in a hospital."
"Thankfully, it was mostly the former," I replied with a laugh. "You sound like you miss it."
"Of course I do," He admitted, which shocked me. "But these days are better. Unpredictable can get exhausting."
"But predictable can get boring," I countered, looking up to him. "What if you get bored?"
John took my hand in his and brought it up to his face, kissing my knuckles as his eyes stayed hooked to mine. "Alexandra, you are an enigma. I'm taken aback by you every single day. There is no amount of time that is enough to make you boring, baby."
I smiled at him, in disbelief at just how safe and secure he was able to make me feel. "I love you, John Shelby."
"I love you, Alexandra Shelby," He responded before kissing me deeply, his tongue wet with whiskey and words of sweetness.
•
"YOU COULD always ask Mr. Angry to help you out," Alfie suggested from the passenger seat.
"He isn't an angry person; he just doesn't like you," I explained with an eye-roll, before sighing. "I can't tell John about the kill list. As much as I want to, I have no idea how he'll react."
"Suit yourself," He mumbled.
Just then, I saw Lucas Ilson leaving his house. Jumping to attention, I took the binoculars from Alfie's lap and looked through them to get a better look.
"He's with a woman," I commented out loud, watching as Ilson and the unidentified woman walked down the pathway from his front door. "It isn't his mother, or either of his sisters. She wasn't on his file."
"New girlfriend, then?" Alfie suggested, before taking a swig from his flask.
Silently, I continued staring at the pair. Once they arrived at the end of the pathway, Ilson pulled out some cash and handed it to the woman. She folded it up and stashed it away in her bra, before swiftly walking away from him.
"She's a prostitute," I commented, putting down the binoculars, but keeping my eye on Ilson. "Fat load of good that information will do us."
Alfie's eyes narrowed, and he seemed to be thinking before he nodded once. "Follow her."
I scoffed, "What? Why?"
"Find out where she comes from," He explained. "If she doesn't have a boss, it means Ilson probably has a habit of hiring her. And if she comes from a whorehouse, we know where Ilson will get his next bird."
His argument made sense enough for me to turn on the engine and drive after her, past Ilson who was at his door. She had turned right so I did the same, only to see her walking at a leisurely pace along the street.
"Get out," Alfie said suddenly. "You're gonna have to follow her on foot. You can't drive this slowly without her noticing us."
Knowing he was right, I let out a groan before parking up and jumping out the car, crossing the street so that I was directly behind her.
"Afternoon, Mr. Barnes!" She greeted the butcher standing outside his shop warmly, to which he waved at her.
"Afternoon, Miss Lovely," He replied as she floated past.
The one thing I hadn't yet gotten used to was how polite Londoners were compared to the people I grew up with, and the friendliness was something I was yet to adopt.
After a few more long streets and sharp turns, Miss Lovely finally led me to large building at the end of a road. It stood wide and tall, and I realised it to have been a brothel. She walked in while I stayed back, observing the surroundings for a while to ensure it was what I thought and not just a seedy hotel. Over the course of ten minutes, a handful of wealthy men left the building while a couple of women had entered, the short glimpse of the interior I had gotten confirming my prediction.
Once I returned back to the car where Alfie was thankfully still sitting, I got in and started the engine. He gave me an expectant look, his eyebrow raised.
"You were right," I said with a sigh. "It's called Madam Filipelli's."
A sly smile grew on his lips, reaching his eyes. "Fuckin' brilliant."
"What do we do now?" I asked, driving back in the direction of Filipelli's. "We have no idea when Ilson will go back, or if he'll go back at all."
"Oh, Alexandra," Alfie began with a grin, shaking his head. "Do you forget what you are?"
"Not a detective, that's for sure," I grumbled, keeping my eyes on the road.
"There's information you need, and you know for a fact that the workers at Filipelli have that very information," He said cryptically. "Now all you have to do is go and extract that information, the best way you know how."
I parked opposite the building and processed his words, before turning to look at him. "I didn't bring my gun."
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small silver pistol, which he handed to me. "Three bullets, in case you need them."
"I won't," I stated, before tucking away the gun and leaving the car. A few of the men and women gave me funny looks as I walked into the brothel and through to a desk, where the lady working there gave me a funny look.
Scanning me from head to toe, taking in the view of me in my grey suit, her eyes narrowed and her lip upturned. "We don't serve your kind around here."
I rolled my eyes at her words. "I'm not here to be serviced. I'm after some information about a client who is known to frequent here."
Her eyebrow raised up. "Oh? I'll have you know, we don't just give out client information to whoever asks for it. This is an establishment which prides itself on privacy and etiquette-" She stopped midway when she noticed the gun at my hip which was aimed at her, my finger sitting comfortably on the trigger. "What do you want to know?" She asked with wide eyes, her gaze flickering to and from the gun and my face.
"Lucas Ilson," I uttered, keeping my face straight as I stared her down.
She frowned and shook her head. "I- I'm sorry, ma'am, but there is no such client here at Madam Fili-"
"I understand that he probably helps you keep things quiet, being a police officer and all," I began with a threatening glare. "But he isn't here to help you right now, and unless you give me what I'm asking for, I will shoot you where you stand."
She was shaking, but I didn't feel guilty as I expected to in the face of her desperation. Instead, I felt like my real self again, the sensation of a gun in my hand pointed at someone making me fearless and untouchable.
"What do you want?" She asked me with a wavering voice.
"When is Ilson next visiting?" I asked her gravely.
"He- he doesn't visit," She claimed. "He can't risk being seen here. Instead, the girl goes to him."
"The girl?" I repeated with a questioning tone. "The same one every time?"
She seemed reluctant to answer me, her eyebrows knitting together. To motivate her into talking, I cocked the gun, making her jump. "Yes, the same girl. He demands that she goes to his house; it's scheduled every Tuesday and Friday." It made sense that Ilson didn't attend the brothel; being a high profile police detective meant he had a reputation as well as his life to protect.
I didn't reply straight away, trying to cook up a plan in my head. She looked around with a frightened look, making me conceal the gun at my hip while a woman walked past. After some tense silence, I spoke up again. "Call him. Tell him that Miss Lovely is unable to make it to his house this Friday."
She frowned, "Mr. Ilson wouldn't accept that-"
"Mr. Ilson will be told by you that his lovely Miss Lovely is unwell," I cut her off curtly. "And in her place, you're sending a new arrival."
Her eyes narrowed, "He wouldn't allow for just any girl to be sent to his house. He's a man of prestige, you know. He'll want to meet her before, and do his background check."
I sighed, "Then don't tell him until an hour before Miss Lovely is scheduled to meet him."
"And what do I tell her? What do I tell Daisy?" She asked me. "Mr. Ilson is her best paying customer; she won't take kindly to being replaced."
"Tell her he wanted to try something different," I offered with a shrug, before leaning forward and lowering my voice. "All you have to do in order to keep your life is make sure that she does not show up to his house, and that he is expecting someone new."
"And if Mr. Ilson doesn't want me to send anyone new in her place?" She asked with a whisper.
"Convince him," I chirped, pulling back and smiling at her. "Tell him the new girl will be unlike anything he has ever before experienced." I put away the gun and pulled out some cash, placing it down on the counter and stepping back. "And tell him how pretty I am."
•
"You're crazy, you know that?" Alfie mumbled while I applied some lipstick.
"I'm doing my job," I replied curtly.
"He likely has a fuck ton of security," He stated. "That's a lot of potential witnesses."
"Any potential witnesses will end up face down on the ground with a bullet hole in their head," I said with a shrug, before reaching into the back seat to pick up the two extra pistols I was taking with me. I tucked them under my dress, using my garter to keep them there. "When I return, you'll be in the driver's seat and ready to get us the fuck out of here. Got it?"
"Yes, madam," Alfie said with a salute as I left the car.
Ilson's house was grand for someone who lived alone. No children, unmarried, and living in a 13 bedroom house; it was understandable that he resorted to hiring company for the nights.
Looking down, I sighed when I realised I'd likely end the night with a bloody dress. Hoping things wouldn't get too messy, I walked up the drive and to the front door. It wasn't nearly as guarded as I expected; perhaps so that Ilson could welcome his nightly companion with privacy.
After knocking and waiting for a few moments, the door opened, revealing a disgruntled looking Lucas Ilson. "Look, I-" He stopped midway, looking me up and down. His features softened, his voice lowering. "I told Madam Filipelli that I didn't want a girl tonight."
"You want a girl; she just isn't available," I coyly countered. "And luckily for you, you've got something even better."
He raised an eyebrow, leaning against the door. "Is that so?"
"It's awfully rude to keep a woman standing on your doorstep this late at night," I scolded him lightly. "Where are your manners, Mr. Ilson?"
"Of course," He mumbled before stepping back, gesturing for me to enter. I did, welcoming the warmth of his home over my exposed skin, listening to the satisfying sound of his door closing with a click. "What's your name?"
"Kate. This is a nice place," I commented, looking around the lavish hallway. "Are you a businessman?"
"Something like that," He replied cryptically, understandably not wanting to reveal, to who he thought to be a prostitute, that he was a police officer. Looking me up and down, a smirk grew on his lips. "You're not exactly what I'm used to, Kate."
"No, I'm not," I agreed, offering him a smug smile while he stepped closer to me. His hands rested on my hips, and though every part of me wanted to push him away, I stayed calm. He slowly moved them downwards, making me stiffen, but thankfully he didn't go any further.
"Would you like a drink?" He asked, though he was already letting go of me and making his way to the drinks cabinet. Pulling out two glasses, he began to fill one of them with whiskey, while I took a step forward.
I used the opportunity to take out my gun and hold it up to him, the sound of the safety being turned off getting his attention. Ilson didn't turn around immediately, but he stopped his pouring. Picking up the glass, he slowly turned around, no look of surprise when he saw the pistol in my hand.
He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lip tugging upwards. "You're not one of Madam Filipelli's girls, are you?"
I tilted my head, keeping my face straight. "What do you think?"
Sighing, he took a sip of whiskey. "Who do you work for?"
"Just another man who wants you dead," I answered, before taking in a deep breath as I prepared to end a life after years of living on the straight and narrow.
Ilson took a long swig of the rest of his drink before slamming the glass down. "I appreciate you allowing me to finish my whiskey."
I shrugged, "I was only sent to kill you; no reason to be rude to you, too."
He laughed, shaking his head. "You ever killed before?"
"Does it matter?" I countered dryly.
The look on his face was unreadable; I couldn't tell if he was scared or unaffected by the gun aimed at his head. Admittedly, it felt powerful, though I knew I was wrong for taking any pleasure in what I was about to do. Having a home to protect should have prevented me from ever holding a gun again, though it was the very reason I was standing there. If I didn't eliminate the names on Sullivan's list, he'd give Graham Needle the go-ahead to take the Shelbys down, one by one.
With that in mind, I pulled the trigger, watching him stagger back before collapsing to the ground. The blood splatter on the wall behind him was all I could see, red with my sin. Putting down the gun, I let out the breath I wasn't aware I was holding in, and it was over. I let out a breathy laugh, and I realised just how much I had missed the feeling of power.
Sullivan was right.
There was nothing like killing a man.