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darklydeliciousdesires · 18 hours

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Oh Alex, this was absolutely beautiful. The details of her completely immersing herself in family life again, from the little trepidations at the beginning (I loved the scene of her talking with Charlie) to watching her ease so effortlessly into being Mrs. Shelby, it was such a beautiful read. And godfather Alfie? Here for it. Yes. Love it!

This really was a story I am glad I took the time to sit and read. Thank you so much for writing it!

And this is it, the last chapter of this colossal series that I never expected or intended to write 😂 Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me along the way, and if you’re a latecomer, I hope you enjoyed it. I’d be grateful if you didn’t just spam-like the chapters without leaving a comment tho. I’ve spent six months writing this novel-sized story and I really do care what you thought, no matter when you’re reading this.

Before we dive in, I’d like to suggest that you read the one shot, A Sky Full of Stars first, because I draw on it in this chapter and it’ll make the final section mean more when you read it. And with that, enjoy!

Summary: And so reunited, we see how life progresses for our couple and their family.

Warnings: 🔞 Smut! You’ve been so patient but it’s time these two got down and dirty again 😂 Usual bad language and whatnot. Mostly fluff!

Word count: 6160 PART 27 | SERIES

Part 28: Epilogue

The first time he asked you to marry him, was as you lay in bed that first night you came back to him. Tangled in the sheets, heart still racing in your chest as you tucked in against his side, cradling your bump.

“I’ll think about it,” you’d smirked, which turned to a squeal as he rolled over, carefully pinning you beneath him, lips attacking your neck.

It became a standing joke as your pregnancy progressed. He couldn’t keep his hands off you (not that you were complaining), constantly awestruck with how your body was changing, carrying the new life you had unintentionally made together. Every time he had you quaking beneath him, or his head between your thighs, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you until you practically had to beg him to stop, he would ask you again.

But your answer was always the same.

It took a little while for Chiara to warm up to him, though she was as immediately smitten with Charlie as she had been the first time they met back on Watery Lane. Although he was almost three years older, he was sweet with her, sharing his toys and showing her all his favourite spots all over the house. He introduced her to the horses and very quickly the stables became her favourite place to be.

She came round to Tommy eventually though and when she did, it was love and she loved hard. She demanded his attention and would not take no for an answer - he began to understand how things might have been for Alfie in those brief days he had taken care of her and regretted his mocking of the Camden man. As with Alfie, for weeks only Tommy was allowed to be the one to put her bed and read her bedtime stories.

From time to time she still asked you about her father, but as the months went by this became less frequent until eventually it stopped altogether. The first time she called Tommy ‘daddy’, you cried.

And he did too. But later, and in private.

Things were a little more delicate between you and Charlie. He was a quiet, thoughtful child, with eyes that gave the impression he was older than his five years would suggest. He’d seen such sadness and upheaval with the death of his mother and being ripped from his home in the middle of the night last Christmas and he understood it in a way Chiara was too little to. You were acutely aware that your arrival was just another form of turbulence in his young life.

And for your part, one of the reasons you had found the decision to come back to Tommy so difficult, was whether you could share your life with the child of his infidelity. But, you had scolded yourself, was it Charlie’s fault? Of course not. And, you rationalised, were you really going to allow Grace the ultimate victory by spending your life away from Tom? Settling for a life not quite as happy as you knew you could be with him? How you used to be in the years and years you had been together.

You knew that he loved you - of that there was no doubt. And so in the end, you had decided to bury the hatchet and not let his past mistakes be the barrier to a happier future for you both.

A few days after you and Chiara arrived at Arrow House, you sought Charlie out, finding him drawing in the sitting room. The warm weather from your arrival had brought thunderstorms and rain was lashing the windows, angry black clouds filling the sky, keeping both children indoors. Tommy was working in his office (a not infrequent occurrence you would come to learn) and Chiara was upstairs with Barbara, who of course had come with you to join the household.

He looked up as you sat behind him on the sofa, gathering cushions to make your back more comfortable.

“You’re the lady from the other house, aren’t you?” he asked without looking up.

“I am,” you nodded, “well remembered.”

“You cried all the time.”

You hid a stifled laugh behind your hand and he looked round. “I was having a rather difficult time back then, I promise I don’t cry all the time,” you smiled and he stared up at you seriously.

“Was it because you missed Chiara?”

You swallowed, the memories of that time still had a habit of rising a little too acutely. “Yes. I hadn’t been able to see her for a little while and it made me very sad. Just like it would make your father sad if he couldn’t see you.”

He looked down at his page and you panicked that you had said the wrong thing. In truth you still knew very little about Tommy and Charlie’s relationship.

“Where’s her daddy?” he asked, looking back at you with a furrowed brow.

You took a breath, resting your hand on your stomach for comfort. “He’s not here anymore.”

He nodded solemnly. “Is he dead? My mum’s dead. Dad says she’s in heaven now.”

You pushed down the lump in your throat. “Yes he is.” You chose not to comment on where he might be residing for eternity.

“Are you and Chiara going to live here now?”

“Would that be ok with you, if we did?”

He sat back from his drawing and stared at you for a long moment before he finally shrugged. “Dad smiles more since you got here.” You were momentarily lost for words and he carried on. “Are you having a baby? Auntie Esme had a big tummy like that when she was having a baby.”

You laughed, rubbing your bump self-consciously. “Yes I am.”

“I miss Auntie Esme,” he added more quietly, fiddling with one of his coloured pencils.

“I miss her too,” you agreed. You completely understood why she had left, after John’s death, but you and she had been close before you went away to New York. No one, not even Ada, could make you howl with laughter the way Esme could, with her straight talking and filthy mind.

He looked up at you, round blue eyes wide with surprise. “How d’you know Auntie Esme?”

You smiled conspiratorially, shuffling further forward on the sofa.

“You remember the other house?” He nodded. “And you know that your dad grew up there?” He nodded again even though he looked like he didn’t really believe that such a thing could be true. “Well, I grew up just around the corner.” His eyes widened and you chuckled. “Your dad was my best friend, since we were your age, younger even.”

“But I’m only five!” he exclaimed and you laughed.

“I know! I’ve known your dad since we were four years old - can you believe it?” He shook his head, a small grin beginning to grow across his face. “I can remember when Auntie Ada was just a baby. And when cousin Michael was born - when Aunt Polly had him in her tummy, just like this,” you continued, patting your round stomach with a soft smile. He looked stunned.

“I spent most of my life with your dad and Uncle Arthur and Uncle John, and Auntie Ada. I was there when Uncle John and Auntie Esme got married.”

“So why have you never been here before?”

You let out a small sigh. “I went away for a little while, before you were born, when I met Chiara’s daddy.”

By now he was fully turned towards you, mouth hanging open at this catalogue of revelations, hands resting on your knee. His eyes strayed to your bump.

“Can I touch it?” he asked hesitantly.

“Of course you can,” you smiled, taking his little hand in yours and holding it against where you’d last felt the baby kick. It wriggled against his touch and he jumped back.

“It kicked me!”

“Means he likes you,” you giggled, ruffling his soft blonde hair.

“Is he my brother?” he asked quietly, leaning forward and putting both hands on your tummy.

“Would it be ok if he was?”

He looked up at you, little brow furrowed, clearly thinking hard about your question. You held your breath.

“Will he be as noisy as Chiara?”

*****

On 1 December 1926 at 6.28 in the evening, you gave birth to a healthy baby boy, who came screaming into the world with a shock of black hair and the most enormous bright blue eyes. If there had ever been any doubt as to his paternity, there couldn’t be now. He was the image of his father, right down to the soft curve of his little nose.

“I was thinking,” you said softly, so as not to wake the sleeping babe in your arms, as you rested in bed later on the night of his birth, your back against Tommy’s chest, “we should call him John.”

You heard the catch in his throat and felt him nod, his head resting against yours on his shoulder.

“I love you, Tom,” you whispered, gazing down at little John, running your finger lightly over his soft, dark hair as he snuffled in his sleep.

“Will you marry me, Y/N?” he asked, a new seriousness in his tone and you looked up at him, catching him watching you intently.

“I’ll—” you began and he gave you a sad, serious look.

“Yes,” you murmured instead, seeing his blue eyes light up, crinkling at the corners as he smiled broadly, “Yes I will marry you, Tommy Shelby.”

*****

You were married in the Spring of 1927, on an unexpectedly bright and sunny day, coming after a week of driving rain that had left you despairing. You had suggested a small ceremony, it being a second wedding for you both, but the Shelby clan was incapable of doing anything by halves.

It was a busy, noisy affair at the register office in Birmingham - neither of you were religious and so agreed not to bother with a church this time around - with the wedding breakfast at the grand banqueting suite in The Midland hotel. You felt slightly bad for other patrons as Johnny Dogs and the Golds arrived with a large contingent of Lees, Boswells and Palmers, making their presence felt. But Tommy owned the hotel so really, it was his - yours - to use as you pleased.

Even Alfie came to pay his respects, though whether it was to see you and Tommy, or to see Chiara, you weren’t quite sure. As soon as the ceremony was over and she caught sight of his hulking form, she was demanding to sit with him and spent most of the day dragging him around on various imaginary adventures.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” you said quietly, dropping into the chair beside him as she was briefly distracted by cake.

“Nah, it’s fine isn’t it,” he replied, running his fingers over his beard, rings glinting under the chandeliers, not fully meeting your eye.

“She needs new godparents, you know?” you said conversationally, smirking as his head jerked towards you. “If you were interested?”

“Ahh… well… I dunno, I mean..”

“Think about it?” you smiled, patting his hand gently as you drifted off in a wave of jasmine and rose, leaving him open mouthed.

As the after party began to get underway, you retreated to your bedroom suite to freshen up. Hearing the door click, you heard a low whistle as you leaned forward to powder your nose in the dressing table mirror.

“Well that’s quite a view,” he chuckled, running his hand over your bum, the fluid pale grey silk of your wedding dress, buttery and soft beneath his palm.

Chucking you tried to stand but you felt him running his hands up your thighs, bunching your dress to sneak his hands underneath.

“Mr Shelby, we have guests,” you giggled as his lips brushed across the nape of your neck, his thumbs drawing circles on the soft skin above your stockings.

“They’re all so pissed by now they’ll never notice we’re gone,” he growled, and you bit your lip, warmth shooting straight to your core. You could feel him hardening against you and gently ground into him, earning another growl as he spun you in his arms. His lips found yours in a heated kiss as you carded your fingers through the longer pair of his hair.

“Tom, we can’t,” you giggled breathlessly as he walked you towards the bed.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Mrs Shelby. We can do anything we want,” he grinned, unfastening his trousers with one hand, an action that made your knees weak. “And I think we should consummate this marriage, don’t you agree?” he smirked, seeing your pupils dilate as he pushed the fabric low enough for his thick cock to spring free.

“If you get cum on this dress, I’ll kill you,” you warned, shrieking with surprise as he picked you up and sat down with you on his lap, pulling your skirt to your hips.

“Is it too soon to make another baby?” he grinned, as he pulled your underwear to the side, hissing as he swept the tip of his cock through your already slick folds. “Already so wet for me,” he praised, eyes dark with lust as lips grazed across your throat.

“Yes, it fucking is.. fuuuck…” you groaned as he guided you down onto him, the delicious stretch of him filling you, causing your head to fall forward onto his shoulder.

*****

Christmas 1927 was a raucous affair with three small children and a house full of Shelbys. Chiara, celebrating her first Christmas where she properly understood what was happening, and whipped up by her big brother, was beside herself with excitement. Although the year before had been nice, you had a four week old baby and you were all still adjusting to being a family. So this year, for the first time since Chiara was born, you felt like you were having a proper, normal Christmas.

Ada settled next to you on the sofa, handing you a whiskey as she tucked her feet under herself.

“Sometimes I can’t really believe you came back,” she said quietly, trying not to wake John, who had fallen asleep with his head on your lap and you hadn’t had the heart (or energy, frankly) to move him yet.

You chuckled into your glass, looking up at her over the rim.

“Sometimes, neither can I.” She giggled as you grinned, your eyes straying to your husband, across the room and deep in conversation with Polly. Undoubtedly no good would come from that but you’d deal with that another day.

“You know,” she mused, dragging your attention back in time for you to see a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes , “I always wondered whether you and Alfie..?” Your mouth dropped open in surprise.

“Alfie??”

“Well he’s so good with Chiara, and I saw the way he looked at you at the wedding.” Her tone was teasing, a gleeful grin lighting up her pretty face. You gave her a hard stare, fighting not to burst out laughing at the very idea of it.

“He’s only good with Chiara because he kidnapped her, Ada.” She conceded the point with a nod, chuckling into her whiskey. “And besides,” you continued more thoughtfully, running a hand over your little boy’s soft dark hair in your lap, “just because she took a shine to him is not enough for me to have run away with him. I know how he can be but I don’t feel that way about him - never have. And look how many times he’s screwed over this family, he’s too slippery by half.”

“So why’d you make him her godfather then?”

“Because she loves him, and I know he would keep her safe,” you said simply. “And anyway, he would only get the chance if something terrible had already happened to you, so I’m confident it’ll never come to that,” you added with a grin.

She snorted. “In this family? That’s optimistic of you.”

Your laughter caught Tommy’s attention and he looked up from his scheming with his aunt. He still had moments where he couldn’t quite believe he had managed to get this lucky. That you were sitting curled up on the sofa mere feet away, cackling with his sister, his child asleep on your lap. Feeling his gaze, you met his eye and he quirked his eyebrow at you in that way that had made your insides flutter since you were fifteen years old.

You knew why you’d come back. For all his faults, and they were many, he was the only man you had ever loved like this. You didn’t want to go through life with someone else who would only ever be a mediocre version of him. You’d tried that once and look how well that had turned out.

*****

For New Year’s Eve, the whole family (minus the children who stayed behind with Frances and Barbara) travelled back into the city to christen the newly refurbished Garrison. Over the last month (and for many more before), you, Ada and Polly had been in charge of a more… tasteful refit of the family’s bar. Gone was the gaudy gold and red, replaced with a more understated and sophisticated decor and colour palette.

The Garrison wasn’t the only Shelby property to have a full renovation under your management. The first thing you did when you were settled in Arrow House was to begin a full-scale revision of its interior. As you explained to Tommy, who was initially not in favour of the change, you categorically refused to live in another woman’s house.

Especially, you had said more privately to Ada, when that other woman had terrible taste and had enabled the worst possible design decisions in Tommy. Those paintings?! They had to go.

Setting foot into the old place, spruced up and ready for the new decade which was only a few short years away, you felt a sense of accomplishment. Ada threaded her arm through yours as you stood just inside the threshold, the party with the whole family already in full swing.

“Is it weird that I miss the gold?” she joked and you laughed.

Tommy moved towards you with a glass of champagne and she kissed your cheek and drifted off to see the others.

“What do you think?” you asked him, gesturing around with a flick of your head.

“I think it’s far too nice for the kind of Small Heath riff raff who’ll be propping up the bar,” he smirked, slipping an arm around your waist and gently pulling you flush against him. Balancing your champagne coupe with one hand, you stroked your manicured fingers down his lapels, tilting your chin up so his nose bumped lightly against yours.

“Here?” you asked with a raise of your eyebrow.

“Should christen the place properly,” he murmured, brushing his lips against yours, maddeningly lightly.

That was another reason you had come back. There really was no one else like him when it came to sex. He could have you from zero to desperate with the slightest touch.

He withdrew slightly, and you took a sultry sip, staring up at him through your lashes. His eyes darkened, wetting his lips with a quick flick of his tongue. You had exactly the same effect on him.

“Sister!” boomed Arthur, interrupting the moment as he clapped Tommy on the back and leaned in to give you a brief, bone crushing hug. “What’ve you girls done to my pub, eh?”

Pulled apart and into the party it was hours before you could get him alone again. Checking the clock, seeing it was already past eleven, you had an idea.

Threading your way through the boisterous crowd, you wrapped your hand around his bicep, turning him towards you as you leant close to whisper his ear.

“Come with me.”

He looked at you, the mischief dancing in your eyes as you bit your smiling lip. You could be a teenager again, sneaking out with him to hide down by the Cut, swigging cheap stolen whiskey and smoking mildewy cigarettes. His hands sneaking under your skirts in the dark.

He let you pull him out the back door, away from prying eyes. He tried to pin you against the wall, lips searching for yours but you ducked under his arm and ran off, your expensive heels clicking over the cobbles, your musical laugh drifting back towards him.

He caught up with you at the door of the old house on Watery Lane, fumbling with Polly’s keys. As you crashed through the front door of the empty house he finally pressed you against the wall of the hallway, lips meeting in a desperate, searing kiss. Your hands gravitated up into his hair, tugging lightly, earning groans as he pulled whines from you, his lips travelling from your mouth to your cheek and down your neck. A large hand lifted your leg to his hip, sliding underneath your dress, lightly calloused fingertips teasing against the soft skin of your thigh and you dragged his face back to yours, lips, teeth and tongues clashing for dominance.

“Upstairs,” you gasped out as you finally broke for breath.

“Why?” he rasped, teeth nipping at your throat, thumb now rubbing firmly against your satin covered pussy. “Can fuck you right here.”

You whimpered as he pressed against your clit. “Because I don’t want an unexpected audience,” you huffed out, hips grinding desperately against his hand.

He rolled his eyes and let go of you, your knee slipping from his side and as you stood on your own two feet again you squeezed your thighs together. An action which did not go unnoticed by your husband.

“C’mon then, Mrs Shelby,” he winked, taking you by the hand and hurrying you up the narrow staircase to his childhood bedroom. It had been years since you had set foot in it but you didn’t have time to wander down memory lane before his hands were on you, his lips on the back of your neck as he unfastened your midnight blue dress, sending it slipping to the floor in a rustle of fabric and clatter of beads.

Looking up, you realised he had you perfectly placed in front of the mirror, his eyes meeting yours in the mottled, fly blown glass, so dark with lust that his pale irises were just a fine ring around his pupils.

“You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, hands running over the fine silk of your slip, tugging the straps down your arms until the fluid fabric pooled at your feet. You should have been cold in the chill of the room but your whole body was on fire for him as he removed your brassier, his hands coming to cup your breasts, thumbs bringing them to stiff peaks. You ground your behind into him, feeling him rock hard against you, and he pinched your nipples in response, just hard enough to make you squeak.

“Behave,” he smirked, making you whine as he sucked the spot just below your ear that always drove you wild and dropped his hands to your waist, running his thumbs around the band of your underwear, holding your gaze in the glass. There was something unutterably debauched about you being almost naked when he was still fully clothed, the fabric of his suit slightly rough against your skin.

“Tommy, please,” you mewled, gasping as you both felt and watched him push his hand past the satin barrier and run a thick finger through your folds.

“So fucking wet for me, Y/N,” he groaned, circling your clit, as you watched his hand bulging against the delicate fabric in the mirror.

“Show me,” you whispered, catching his eye and he chuckled as you gave him a shy nibble of your lower lip.

He removed his hand just long enough to drag the flimsy material down your legs, fingers spreading your lips so you both could see your pussy, glistening with anticipation. He saw your face crease with arousal, teeth tugging on your bottom lip.

“Do you see how beautiful you are?” he whispered, beginning to ghost feather-light strokes across the swollen bundle of nerves. You could feel your desperation for more leaking out of you, see it shining against your inner thighs in the half light of the moon shining through the window.

One of your hands found the back of his neck and you twisted your head to meet his lips. He swallowed the cry of relief that tore itself from your lungs as he sank a finger into your tight opening. He added a second and began to fill you with slow strokes, chuckling to himself as you broke away from his lips to gabble a stream of pleas and obscenities. He added his other hand, fingertips rolling across your clit, doubling your pleasure as every stroke nudged the spot inside you that made you see stars.

You were a gasping, whimpering mess in minutes, alternately gripping his forearms hard enough to bruise, and running your fingers over your breasts, rolling and squeezing the hard little buds. Your head fell to the side, tucked beneath his chin, listening to the obscene wet sounds of your body as his hands made you shudder and shake with your impending climax.

“Open your eyes, watch yourself cum for me.”

He felt your walls squeeze around his fingers at his words, your eyes fluttering open, head turning so you caught his gaze in the mirror. Your eyes slipped lower, seeing his thick fingers driving into and stretching your walls, shining with your desperation. As you watched them disappear into your body, you felt them connect with your gspot, sending lightening through your veins. He felt you quiver in his arms and the fingers of his other hand began to fly across your clit. As the crescendo inside you built, your eyes began to close again.

“Be a good girl and look at yourself, Y/N,” he growled softly in your ear and your eyes snapped open, meeting his wicked grin in the reflection. “Are you going to cum for me, eh?”

You would have been ashamed of the noises that left your throat as you toppled over the edge of your orgasm, if he hadn’t heard them a thousand times before. Your walls clamped around his fingers in a vice-like grip but he stroked you through it, pulling shaking aftershocks from you as you slowly began to sag in his arms.

Heart still thudding in your ears, you turned in his arms, your legs like jelly, and captured his mouth, hands practically tearing at his clothes. You had an overwhelming need to feel his skin against yours. Finally down to just his shorts, you ran your hands over his smooth, pale skin, nibbling his collarbone as you dusted kisses along it. His hands roamed your curves, cupping and squeezing your ass as your own edged lower.

He groaned as you gripped him gently through his underwear, giving him the delicious friction he had been waiting for. Wasting no time you pushed the garment down his hips and sent it on its way to his feet. His hands cupped your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he licked into your mouth, a low rumble in his chest as you wrapped a small hand around his thick shaft.

You moved to drop to your knees, wetting your lips in anticipation of tasting him, but he caught you, keeping you upright.

“What is it? I want to,” you asked, eyes wide and lips swollen from the fervour of his kisses.

“I need you,” he replied, guiding you towards the bed and laying you down, hovering over you, resting on his forearms either side of your head. You held his face between your hands and met him in a much softer, sweeter kiss than the heated exchange before.

“I love you, Y/N,” he murmured as he pulled back, bumping your nose with his. A slow smile spread across your face as your fingertips drew patterns on his toned stomach, heading south.

“I love you too,” you whispered, your voice collapsing into a deep groan of contentment as you lifted your hips and guided him into your welcoming cunt. He held still, burying his face in your neck, breathing in the heady scent of jasmine and rose and something so completely, uniquely you.

“Please Tom,” you gasped, desperately rocking your hips to encourage him to move, needing more than the deep, sweet stretch of him inside you.

He looked up, seeing you completely wrecked for him, flushed and needy. Rolling his hips slowly down into you he grinned as your eyes scrunched shut and a low whine left your throat as he began to give you long, slow strokes. No matter how long he lived, he would never get tired of seeing you like this, the intoxicating press of your hot, velvet walls around him.

Your hands tangled in the longer part of his hair as you dragged his lips to yours, whimpering as he hooked one of your legs up towards your chest, driving ever deeper into you. You nipped his lower lip, pulling it towards you between your teeth for a second and he snapped his hips into you more quickly.

“Harder,” you begged, feeling your climax building again, the familiar tightening in your belly. He complied, pulled your hands from his hair to pin them above your head, leaning back slightly to arrow into you at speed. The slight shift in angle made you cry out as he nudged your gspot with every movement.

He looked down, almost losing it at the sight of you split wide around his cock, shining with your slick. Pinning both your fine wrists with just one of his hands, he brought his other thumb to your lips. You opened your mouth instantly, tongue lapping against the pad of his thumb as you sucked it into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you held his eyes.

Releasing him with a sinful pop, he brought the slick digit to slide across your clit, enjoying how you clenched and jerked as he pressed against the little bundle of over-sensitive nerves. He could feel you on the edge of unravelling, desperate gasps leaving you as he continued his relentless, driving pace.

“Cum with me, sweetheart,” he rumbled, breathlessly on the brink of his own release. Your eyes fluttered open, slightly unfocused as he continued to bear down into you. “Cum for me..”

Your self control snapped, your orgasm crashing through you, crackling electricity in your veins and shining lights sparking behind your eyelids. You felt him tense, his movements stalling as his hips pushed forward, spilling himself into you.

He collapsed, shaking, into your waiting arms, burying his face in your neck once more, holding you to him as you wrapped your body around his, feet crossing at the ankles around his waist. You stroked your fingers down the light fuzz of his shorn hair at the nape of his neck, letting the world slowly drift back into focus.

A little while later, as you came back in from the bathroom after cleaning up, he was sitting propped against the headboard, already half dressed with a cigarette smouldering between his fingers.

“I have to admit, I never thought we’d do that in this room again,” you joked, straddling his lap and stealing a drag of his cigarette. “Are we sacking off The Midland and staying here?”

“Not bloody likely, it’s freezing.” He pulled you into a languid kiss, catching your laugh with his lips.

With a final peck, you climbed from the bed and began rummaging in the old chest of drawers. With a triumphant cry, you pulled out an ancient woolly jumper, the stitching irregular and a little lumpy in places. Grinning, you held the dark grey article up to the light so he could see. It smelled woody and strongly of old mothballs from years of neglect.

“Bloody hell, I didn’t know that was still here,” he chuckled as you pulled it over your head, incongruous with your expensive silk slip poking out underneath.

“I can’t believe you thought you might not still have it. This was some of my best work,” you giggled, seeing him snort as you pinched a smoke from his case and moved to stand in front of the window.

“What time is it?”

He fumbled for his pocket watch. “Eight minutes to.. Wait! What the fuck‘re you—”

You had hoisted the old sash window high and, cigarette clenched between your teeth, begun to shimmy up to your old familiar spot on the roof.

“Y/N, you’ll fall!”

Your laugh filtered down from the ridge tiles above. “God, when did you become such an old woman? Is it too late to change my mind about marrying you?”

He sighed deeply and began to follow you.

“Bring the smokes!”

He disappeared from view and for a minute you were worried he wasn’t going to come at all. It had been years since you’d been up there, your old secret spot tucked in the nook next to the chimney stack, where you would hide as kids. Somewhere neither of your obnoxious fathers could reach you. Somewhere you could be alone when the world felt too busy or overwhelming.

You suddenly remembered the New Year’s Eve of 1914, sitting up here alone, crying your eyes out at the fact he was still at war. The first new year you would ring in without him since you were a little girl. The first year without your special ritual, developed over years and years of friendship and love.

A shuffling on the window sill brought you back to yourself. He settled beside you, looking self-satisfied with a bottle of whiskey and his smokes.

“Just like new year’s 1907, eh?” he grinned, remembering the night by the Cut when Arthur had banned you from the party at The Garrison. You had made your own party, alone beneath the archways with stolen whiskey and smokes, in the dark.

As he offered you the bottle he saw you wipe a tear from your cheek.

“Hey, you ok?” he whispered, slipping his arm around your shoulders and you nodded, waving his concerns away with a shake of your hand, the bright dot at the end of your almost spent cigarette weaving in the dark.

“It’s nothing. I was just thinking about the war. I used to come out here sometimes, after you went away.” He saw you bite your lip, eyes still bright in the moonlight and he stroked his thumb over your shoulder. “Was always where I felt closest to you.”

Your head rested against his shoulder, the solid, comforting warmth of him soothing, your hand settled on his thigh. Above you the night was clear and cold, a scattering of the few stars hardy enough to cut through the smoke and smog of the city, shining down brightly. Below you heard a burst of laughter as a door or window opened, the new year’s revelry continuing in the world outside your little cocoon of peace.

“Do you remember when we used to sit up here and dream about running away?” you murmured, feeling his head turn to press a kiss to your forehead.

“And yet, you came back.”

“Under duress,” you joked, looking up at him with a cheeky smile.

As he opened his mouth to retaliate, the sound of the countdown to midnight began to echo, disjointedly, from the streets below.

“Three, two, one,” you whispered, sneaking a hand up to cup his face.

“Happy new year,” he whispered back, leaning in to kiss you softly.

“Happy new year, Tom,” you smiled as he retreated. “What shall we wish for this year?”

Blue eyes boring into yours in the dark, his hand slid up from your shoulder to play with your hair, fingers tangling in your now much less elegant curls as he gently massaged your scalp. He shook his head briefly.

“I’ve got everything I wished for already.”

You held his gaze for a beat before creasing with laughter, and his face cracked into a wide smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

“Jesus wept, that was smooth,” you laughed and he pulled a face of mock-offence.

“Well excuse me for trying to be fucking romantic here!”

You pulled his lips to yours, silencing him with a kiss, leaning into his embrace as he held you tight against him.

“I love you, Thomas Shelby. God knows why, but I do,” you grinned, snatching another kiss.

“Charming, he chuckled against your lips, pulling away. “I love you too, Y/N Shelby,” he murmured, thumb brushing across your cheek. “Now can we go in? It’s fucking freezing out here.”

THE END

And that’s our show, folks! Thanks for coming and sharing this wild ride with me! 🤍

I’m going to repeat what I said at the top, but no matter when you found this story, you’ve just read 115k words that took me 6 months to write. PLEASE don’t just spam like - drop me a comment, a reblog or an anon ask to let me know what you thought - I wrote it because I enjoyed it but I CARE what you think! 🤍 xxx

Special mention to @throughgoeshamilton for giving the idea to link it back to the NYE story - thank you babe! 😘

If you enjoyed this story, why not check out my other work on my MASTERLIST

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#tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfiction #ddd recommends

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darklydeliciousdesires · 19 hours

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You know, as much as I wanted to see her go it alone without either of them, for you to bring her and Tommy back together like this feels organic. She went away, had her healing time, time to be on her own and decide what she wanted, and she made her choice to be the one who had never really left her heart. And the very end, the throwback to the beginning there? Chef's kiss. Gave me a lump in my throat. This was absolutely beautifully written and I loved every chapter. You are so incredibly talented and reading your work is always a pleasure, Alex! xxx

Well darlings, we did it, we’ve finally made it to the end (except for a little epilogue that will come very soon). Thank you so much to everyone who has been on this very long journey with me, and to everyone who has taken the time to comment, reblog and generally scream their feelings at me along the way. I am so very grateful for you all 🤍 xxx

Summary: Y/N and Tommy both have to learn to live after the ordeal of the vendetta, each handling it in quite different ways. But as Y/N comes to terms with a truth she’s been avoiding, will that change everything?

Warnings: Angst, ineffective treatment of ptsd with substance abuse. Usual bad language.

Word count: 5230 PART 26 | SERIES

Part 27: Afterwards

The music played softly in the background of the large sitting room at Arrow House, only barely competing with the hubbub of laughter and chatter of the assembled crowd. He stood by the door, lighting himself a cigarette as he surveyed his family, all under his roof for the first time since the day he delivered them to the coppers almost two years earlier.

Only Lizzie was absent. He could never forgive her for what she did to Y/N, and by extension, to him. But with you and Michael returned safely, the latter on the road to a full recovery, he had taken pity on her. She couldn’t stay in Birmingham, of course, but he had given her a wedge of cash for time served to make a new life somewhere else.

Clearing his throat he called the room to quiet.

“Right, umm, before we go and eat, I’d like to say a few words.” He looked around the faces of the people he loved most in the world and tried not to think about the one that was missing. “Last time we were all here, it ended badly.”

“Fuckin’ right it did,” muttered Arthur, earning a round of quiet chuckles and smirks.

He cleared his throat again and continued. “But now we’re in a happier place..” He trailed off, faces still looking at him expectantly. “And that’s it… I’d just like to raise a toast.”

He lifted his glass and others began to follow suit, but Arthur interrupted again, slapping his knees. “Hold on, I’ve got a few words I wanna say, from the ‘eart, and this time you’re gonna let me finish, Tom.” He grinned as the others laughed; his awkward best man’s speech when Tommy married Grace was the stuff of family legend.

He climbed to his feet, addressing the room. “Right, well… our enemies are gone, dead, all of them. For the first time since me and my kid brothers, Tommy and..” he paused, swallowing briefly, “..John, enlisted in the Warwickshire Yeomanry, we have peace.”

A somber silence filled the room, and he cleared his throat, carrying on with more buoyancy. “So, I’d like to make a proposal, that all of you, The Shelby Company Limited, insist that Tommy here take some time off. It’s time you took a holiday, Tom. Put your feet up. War’s over, no one wants to kill us no more.”

There was a ripple of nodding and quiet agreement, and Arthur raised his glass to the assembled family.

“To peace.”

“To peace,” they echoed back, sipping gently at their champagne, cocktails and whiskey, as Tommy looked on, an uncertain feeling in the pit of his stomach.

*****

You held Chiara by the hand as you walked up to the front door of the handsome white mansion, set back from the Margate seafront. A small woman in a black and white uniform greeted you at the door.

“Is Mr Solomons home?” you enquired and were politely shown through to a sitting room, richly decorated in browns and burgundies and dominated by heavy furniture. It could have been a gloomy space but the huge doorway at the far end framed a view of the rolling sea, bathing the room in light. Looking around, it seemed that every surface was covered in nick-nacks and curios.

“Don’t touch anything, piccolina,” you whispered to Chiara, holding her hand tightly.

“Alright, alright, I said I was fucking coming woman, fuckin’ hell.” His voice echoed from the large hallway and Chiara twisted, trying to break free from your hand as Alfie appeared at the door. He stopped abruptly, surprise writ large on his rugged features.

“AAAAHFEEE!!” Chiara squealed and she tugged so hard you had no choice but to let her run at him, or be dragged along with her.

“Chiara!” you scolded, watching in shock as Alfie Solomons bent down with a slight grunt to scoop her up, letting her fling her little arms around his neck.

“Alright then, trouble,” he chuckled, as she snuggled into his shoulder, perched on his good hip like she had always been there. He looked up at you, staring on, your mouth hanging open.

“Could say the same to you an’ all, from what I hear. To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from the deadliest woman in the Midlands?”

Before you could reply a huge, muscular dog padded into the room and Chiara let out a piercing shriek of delight. You had to laugh as Alfie’s face scrunched in pain as she temporarily rendered him deaf in one ear.

“She does that, I’m trying to teach her not to,” you apologised as he put the struggling toddler on the floor so she could race to cuddle the animal. You stepped forward quickly to try and stop her - he was huge, at least a head taller than her - but on seeing her he began to pant and flopped to the floor, rolling onto his back so she could pet him, entirely under her control.

“He’s a fuckin’ soft sod that one, he loves her. Been pining for her since she left.” He gestured for you to sit as he lowered himself with a groan into the armchair across from you.

“So how’d you find me?”

“You told Tommy where to find you.”

He nodded knowingly, studying you with narrowed eyes. “You fucking him again then, are you?”

Your lips disappeared into a thin line and he let out a bark of laughter.

“Obviously not! Poor Tom, he’ll be disappointed about that.”

You shifted uncomfortably in your chair and cleared your throat, keen to change the subject. “You kidnapped my daughter, Alfie.”

“Ah well…Tommy told me too, didn’t he?”

“Tommy told you to bring her to Birmingham,” you said sharply and he grinned.

“Yeah, he did, yeah. Sorry about that. Better late than never though, eh?” He scratched at his beard, without a shred of contrition, his heavy gold rings glinting in the afternoon light.

You rolled your eyes to the ceiling and tried not to let him off the hook so easily. The joy of having her back, safe and and clearly well cared for, hadn’t entirely eradicated the panic and worry of the preceding weeks. Part of you had been sorely tempted to come here to kill him.

“Why didn’t you give her to Luca? You made a deal with him, there was no reason to hold on to her.” As you spoke, you pushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear and the shift moved the collar of your blouse slightly. Just enough for him to see a ring of bruises, fading from purple to yellow and brown, around your neck.

His expression darkened. “How something so sweet can have come from a cunt like him, I do not understand.”

You fought not to laugh but he saw your lips twitching. “Yeah, reckon she’s all you, ain’t she? Got her mummy’s good looks and strong will.” You looked away in embarrassment, a light blush rising across your cheeks.

Grinning, he followed your gaze to Chiara, who was now lying on the rug next to Cyril, chatting away to him as he sniffed her head. He licked her forehead and she giggled, wiping it away.

“‘king hell, Ceee,” she scolded him in a voice that sounded reminiscent of a certain Jewish baker.

You looked back at Alfie as he roared with laughter.

“She learned some new words when she was with you. Thanks for that,” you said dryly, as the maid arrived with a tea tray.

“So what’re you really doing here, Mrs Changretta?” he asked after you were both settled with a cup.

“It’s Sullivan,” you corrected sharply and he held up a hand in apology, eyebrows raised. “It was my mother’s maiden name. I thought it was best if both Y/N Changretta and Y/N Y/L/N disappeared.”

“Ah yes.. life is much more interesting when one is dead,” he smirked, waiting for the answer to his original question.

You softened, stirring the lemon in your tea. “I wanted to say thank you. For keeping her safe. I… I might never have seen her again if it wasn’t for you.”

He shrugged and scratched his beard again. “Was just business.”

But the evasive look in his eye as he glanced towards your little girl told you that it wasn’t. Was it possible that underneath it all, Alfie Solomons had a heart? Wonders would never cease.

“So what’re you going to do now you’re a free woman of wealth and means? You and the little miss going to travel the world, bringing trouble to all poor unfortunate souls that encounter you?”

You smiled at his jibe and sat back, staring sideways out the big french doors to a pretty balcony that looked out to sea. It was true that you were a wealthy woman in your own right now. After the Changrettas were dead, Matteo had organised the men to clear the Stratford hotel rooms of all your belongings, including a large amount of cash and bonds that Luca had collected in taking over Sabini and the other gangs. Although the old bosses were slowly clawing back their territory, much of their liquid means had been passed to Luca, and that now rested with you.

After several days in the Midland Hotel, arranging your affairs, you had travelled with Barbara and Chiara to London and from there to take rooms, temporarily, in Margate. You were still deciding what came next.

“No, I don’t think so. I think I want something like this. Peace, fresh air. Somewhere she and I can just be,” you said quietly, sipping your tea.

*****

Tommy Shelby had never been one for taking a break. He had absolutely no idea what to do with empty hours with no occupation. No enemies to plot against, no business expansion schemes to distract him.

At first though it wasn’t so bad. He was able to spend time with Charlie, something he’d had little ability to do since the Black Hand arrived before Christmas. He loved his son very much, and for a while their horse rides and trips kept him distracted and his mind at bay. But it was a disruption to Charlie’s already unstable routine and after three weeks he had to let the little boy settle back into the rhythm of lessons and learning that had only just begun the September before.

On his own now for long stretches of time, he tried to find other occupations to keep himself busy.

He tried golf. That was what men of his position were supposed to do, wasn’t it? Golfing? Hashing out business deals on the course?

He hated every fucking second of it. What a fucking stupid sport.

He tried fishing next - something he had done occasionally as a boy, when their mother would take them out on the road in the summers. He’d tried to do it once in the Cut when they came back, but there was nothing worth catching in its filthy depths.

The problem was that it was too quiet. Too peaceful. Too much time alone to be left inside his fucked up head. And with silence came the bombs. Mortars exploding inside his mind. He began to experience physical symptoms, black outs. Once, he came to, suddenly back to conscious awareness, to find himself up to his knees in water, shivering against the bank of the lake, his heart racing, pounding so hard it was a wonder it was still inside his chest. The banging was still happening and it took him a long moment to realise it was just a bunch of toffs on a shooting party and he wasn’t back at the Somme.

The only saving grace was that there was no one around to see him cowering in the mud.

As the weeks carried on and the family insisted he take more time away from the business, he could feel himself losing touch with reality.

And when he wasn’t fighting battles from the past inside his head, he was filled with an aching longing for you. The small taste of the life you could have had, in those few days and nights together back in Small Heath, had reawakened his feelings, giving them a fresh intensity. They burned so brightly that he couldn’t put them out. Consuming him from the inside out.

He knew he had no right, that you were better without him, that he had been given his chance and he blew it. And much to his annoyance, Ada agreed, refusing to tell him where you had gone or even pass on his letters. Which was probably just as well because the more gin he drank, the more incoherent and maudlin his writing became, until it was barely legible scrawl.

He was aware of Frances watching him with a haunted expression, her brow constantly etched with concern. But he carried on drinking, sinking glass after glass of his own gin to try and drown out the noise inside his head and the pain in his heart.

He looked down at the bottle clutched in his hand, running his thumb across the label.

‘Distilled for the eradication of seemingly incurable sadness’ it read. An old quote of his father’s.

Seemingly incurable indeed.

*****

You took a house in Northumberland, on the coast, just a few minutes walk from a wide, soft sandy beach. It being the far north of England, it was often blowing a gale and chilly but for the first time in years, you felt like you could breathe. The fresh, clean air filling your lungs, pulling your hair and soothing your soul.

You celebrated Chiara’s second birthday there, just a small party of you, she and Barbara, who had opted to stay with you as housekeeper and nanny, rather than returning to her old life with the Sabinis. She was handsomely compensated for her choice but you were more grateful for her company than anything. For months the three of you rattled around happily together, making up for the time you had lost with your daughter.

But after four months there was no denying you were beginning to show and you had a decision to make.

****

Flashback

“Read my tea leaves Pol, for old time’s sake?” you asked as you waited for the time to pass before you had to get on the road to the camp.

She tutted at you but nodded, pointing at the pot, now standing cold on the kitchen table. “Pour. Close your eyes and swirl the teacup.” She waited whilst you did as she asked. “Think about the man you love.” You paused, opening one eye and raising an eyebrow at her, catching her smirking at you.

“Fuck him.”

She shook her head with a wry smile. “Think about your little girl, your hopes and dreams,” she continued and you closed your eye again, swirling all the while, heart squeezing at the mention of Chiara, so far from you now.

“Now pour the tea back into the pot.”

You did as she directed and handed her the empty cup.

She was silent for a long moment and you lit a cigarette, drawing the smoke deep into your lungs. You had a headache like a band wrapped around your forehead, squeezing. Every unoccupied moment your mind was consumed with the thought of your baby being held captive by Alfie Solomons.

“Fuck.”

Your head snapped up, as she continued to stare into the cup.

“What? You can’t just say ‘fuck’ and then clam up, Pol!”

She looked at you, eyes drifting up and down your form. “Stand up.”

You did as you were told, letting out a sharp gasp as she grabbed your right breast.

“The fuck are you doing?!”

She motioned for you to sit again and you dropped heavily into the chair, crossing your arms across your chest.

“It’s too soon, I.. I can’t be sure, but there’s something in the leaves.”

“What kind of a something?”

“A baby kind of something. A boy, with dark hair.”

You sat back, colour draining from your face. “That’s not possible.”

“You’re a married woman, surely it must be?”

You shifted uncomfortably and she realised how insensitive she had been.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean… I meant before that.” You waved her apology away.

“I’ve been careful. I always have the tea you taught us to make. I… after Chiara I decided..”

She sat back and lit a smoke, the scent of clove wafting around you both.

“Well I’m just telling you what the leaves say. It’s not always as literal as it may seem.”

*****

But you both knew the leaves didn’t lie, no matter how much you chose to ignore them at first.

When your monthlies didn’t come as expected a week or so after the showdown at the warehouse, you put it down to stress. But when the sickness that had begun when you had been back in the hotel with Luca and Audrey didn’t stop after the danger had passed, you were forced to accept the truth.

You had only been with one person when you hadn’t been able to reach for the tansy tea. And at this stage, in late-June, you reckoned you must be a little over four months pregnant.

Resting your hand on the slight swell of your stomach, you smiled as Barbara came to sit by you in the garden that looked out towards the sea. Chiara was finally asleep but this close to midsummer, the evenings were still endless and the day had been warm, falling to a sweet, balmy twilight.

“Have you decided what you want to do?” she asked, pouring you both some camomile tea.

“Not yet,” you sighed, itching for a cigarette. You had given up when you found out about the baby but at times the cravings could be terrible. Staring out at the waves in the distance, you turned the question over again in your mind, but you were no closer to reaching a decision.

*****

The darkest moment finally came at the end of May. He had shut himself in his dressing room with bottles of gin, pills and a gun. He didn’t really intend to use either of the latter, but he drank the gin like it was water. But the more he drank, the louder the noises seemed to grow. Later, he didn’t remember much about what happened, just flashes of memory that were just as likely to have been imagined as reality.

Struggling to get his lighter to catch, to light a cigarette.

The cold bright light sneaking through the gap in the poorly drawn curtains.

Holding his arms outstretched, bottle in one hand, smoke in the other, weaving in and out of the single dawn sunbeam that cut through the room.

Finding himself on the floor, a smashed bottle in his hand, his fingers bleeding.

His son’s curious and then frightened face at the door, before being quickly removed by Frances.

When he came to again, he was in bed and it was dark. Groping for his cigarettes he almost jumped out of his skin when the flash of his lighter illuminated his aunt, sitting as if in a vigil, by his bedside.

She leant forward and plucked the unlit smoke from his lips, replacing it in his case on the bedside table.

“Go back to sleep, Thomas.”

Polly didn’t leave Arrow House for a fortnight after Frances had called her in a panic. Never had she seen Tommy in such a state and it was much more frightening than any of Arthur’s ill-judged attempts at taking his own life.

He was confined to bed for a week and the most alarming thing was that he let her take care of him. Finally, after six full days, he resisted and fought with her to be allowed to come down to the sitting room. The very fact that he was belligerently arguing with her brought comfort to her soul.

One night, towards the end of the second week, he was studying papers she had allowed be brought in, as they sat by the fire. Although the weather was fine enough that it should be warm enough without one, Polly always found Arrow House strangely chilly.

“Since I know you won’t go yourself, I’ve been to the doctor on your behalf,” she began and he looked up, eyebrows raised. “It’s alright, none of the boys know you’re sick.”

“I’m not sick, Polly.”

“Starts when you stop, when you rest, doesn’t it?” He looked back at the papers, studying them silently.

“Might be nerves.. the war?” He didn’t flinch.

“Might be the alcohol, the blue devils they call that?”

He cleared his throat and looked up, squeezing the bridge of his nose under his little round gold-framed reading glasses. “Yeah well, it’s.. it’s the fucking booze. The booze got a hold, got in my bones.”

Silence gathered between them again.

“I know you miss her,” she ventured and he looked up sharply, pale eyes like ice.

“She’s gone, Pol. That’s all there is to it.”

He looked away and the sadness that radiated from him was enough to break her heart.

“Shit, maybe it’s in us,” she sighed. “‘Cause we’re Shelbys. It’s in our gypsy blood. We live somewhere between life and death, waiting to move on.” He looked up, meeting her eye. “And in the end we accept it. We shake hands with devils and we walk past them.”

He allowed himself another week after Polly went home and then on the Monday morning, just before midsummer, he got up and got dressed. The familiar ritual of fitting his cufflinks, hanging his pocket watch in place, the reassuring weight of his gun tucked beneath his left arm, all of it was like coming home. He looked in the mirror as he straightened his tie and Tommy Shelby looked back at him.

He made his way through the house, to be met by an anxious Frances, holding his overcoat and briefcase.

“You’re supposed to be resting, Mr Shelby, sir. Mrs Gray said—”

“I have learned something, Frances,” he interrupted, “there is no rest for me in this world. Perhaps in the next.”

As he settled back into his office in town, breathing in the familiar smell of paper and leather and smoke, Polly let herself in, dropping a pile of paperwork on his desk

“You have to sign all of these,” she said as she sat down opposite him.

He nodded and began flicking through them, uncapping his pen.

“So you shook hands with the devil?” she enquired softly.

He looked up, over the rim of his glasses. “Yeah. And I walked past him.”

She nodded, flicking her ash in the tray on his desk.

“Pol,” he continued and she raised her eyebrows; she knew that tone. “I’ve had an idea.”

She sat back, taking a long drag of her dwindling cigarette. “Oh fuck,” she replied, a smirk dancing on her lips.

*****

He was in his office at home in early September, the windows wide open to allow air in as an Indian summer warmed the country. He was so engrossed in his paperwork that he didn’t hear the crunching of the gravel on the drive as a car pulled up by the fountain.

Asking the driver to wait, you climbed out, taking in the enormous mansion before you, surrounded by rolling green parkland. It was a far cry from the tiny houses and dirty streets of your childhood.

The door opened before you could reach it, a thin, older woman with dark hair beginning to show signs of grey, standing on the threshold in a smart black uniform.

“Can I help you, madam?” she asked politely, taking in the pretty woman, swathed in a light, elegantly embroidered pale cream coat.

“Is Mr Shelby at home?”

The knock at the office door barely roused him from his work and he called for them to enter without looking up.

“Hello Tom,” came a voice from the doorway and his heart stopped in his chest. He looked up slowly, suddenly unsure if he was awake because he had dreamed of this moment so often. Yet somehow he was still completely unprepared.

He stood up as you came in, closing the door behind you, looking even more lovely somehow than he could ever remember you looking before.

“Y/N…” He felt like an elephant was sitting on his chest and he could barely speak.

“Hello Tom, how are you?” you smiled, walking hesitantly towards him.

Heavily embroiled with trying to take down communists actually, he wanted to say but he suspected that probably wasn’t why you were here.

“Fine, thank you. Yourself?” he replied instead, annoyed with himself for how stiff and formal he sounded.

You smiled again, nodding. “I’m well.”

He cleared his throat, moving towards the drinks cabinet, desperate for something to do with his hands. The silence between you stretched until you couldn’t bear it for another second.

“Nice house. Do you think it’s big enough?” He glanced up, catching the cheeky glint dancing in your eyes and gave you an almost smile.

“You know, you always used to dream about having something like this,” you continued, drifting to run your hand over the back of an elegant chesterfield, facing the unlit fire. “I just always thought it was just a dream.”

You held his eye for a moment and he swallowed harshly.

“You’re here alone?” he enquired, before gesturing to the various decanters. “Drink?”

“No thank you. And yes, I’m here alone. She’s in the city with the nanny.”

“I heard you went to see Alfie. He’s not given over his retirement to nannying has he?” he smirked. The tales of Alfie Solomons and the tiny princess of Camden Town were now legendary. The fearsome gangster carrying the little tot around with him whilst he terrorised his underlings. His huge brute of a dog answering to her every beck and call. In all honesty, it didn’t surprise him at all.

You laughed brightly with a shake of the head, and his heart clenched in his chest at the sound. “Christ no. I’m still dealing with helping her unlearn all the delightful new words he taught her.”

He cracked a smile as he sank an inch of his whiskey, toying with the glass between his hands.

“Why are you here, Y/N?” His voice was soft and low, betraying how afraid he was of your reply. He wasn’t sure how much more his injured heart could take.

You walked towards him and reached to take the glass from his hands, setting it back on the sideboard. His eyes tracked your movements, the light brush of your skin on his sending bolts of electricity through his body. You were close enough that he could smell the jasmine and rose of your perfume.

“I need to tell you something.”

With slightly shaking hands you undid the button of your fashionable, voluminous coat. His eyes widened as it slipped to your sides, the round swell of your stomach evident under the pale seafoam green dress beneath.

“I lied, that day in the warehouse,” you said quietly, running a hand over your bump. “Though I didn’t know then that it was a lie.”

He closed his eyes. This was his worst nightmare. Why would come here to taunt him with another man’s child? He knew he had hurt you, let you down time and again, but did you need to be so cruel?

“The thing is that I didn’t think it was possible. Polly taught me how to protect myself and I was a good student,” you continued, touching his chin, coaxing him to look at you but he kept his eyes averted. “But I forgot that there was one time I wasn’t careful.”

His eyes finally snapped to yours, the weight of his bright blue stare making the breath catch in your throat.

“You deserve to know your son, Thomas,” you whispered, gently taking his hand and placing it on your stomach.

His gaze dropped to his hand pressed against your middle, your fingers stroking across the back of his hand. He could feel the child inside you wriggling against his palm and he was lost for words, his throat constricted with emotion. His child? Your child.

“My son?” he managed to choke, eyes flicking back up to yours, seeing you nodding.

“So Polly says,” you smiled and his brow creased in confusion.

“Polly knows??” Why the fuck didn’t she tell him, he fumed internally.

You shook your head with a slight laugh. “No. I mean, she read my tea leaves, the day I went to the camp.”

He rolled his eyes heavenward and you giggled. It was the sweetest sound he could ever remember hearing.

“Don’t look like that,” you scolded with a smile, gripping his hand a little harder against your bump and he looked back at you with a smile of contrition. “She saw a little boy with dark hair.” You saw him swallow with emotion.

“Why now?” he asked softly, thumb rubbing across your stomach, showing your well-advanced stage of pregnancy.

You bit your lip. It had taken months for you to come to terms with the fact you were pregnant again. After everything you had been through, all the times he had let you down, you weren’t sure you wanted him in your life. But as time wore on and the horrors of the start of the year began to fade into the background, the thing you remembered most was the tenderness between you. The way you felt in those strange days in his house, living a life you might have had if things had been different. The life you had always dreamed of having.

“Because I can’t do this on my own,” you replied eventually, looking up at him with shining eyes, seeing the same emotion reflected in his.

He let out a sharp breath through his nose and gave you a rueful shake of the head. “Yes you can.”

You choked a laugh and nodded. “Ok, yes, I can. But the truth is, that I don’t want to.”

He had looked so lost, so vulnerable, and as you watched his eyes suddenly filled with hope. Reaching up, you cupped his cheek, feeling the familiar scratch of his stubble against your fingertips. You gently pulled his face towards you, your breath ghosting over his lips.

“You see, the thing is, that I love you, Tom.”

He closed the gap between you, a large hand coming to rest behind your head, tangling in your soft curls as his mouth moulded perfectly against yours. Parting your lips gently he licked into your mouth and he tasted like smoke and the sweetness of the whiskey he had just drunk and it felt like coming home. He kissed you with all the yearning and all the longing of the years you had missed and you let yourself fall into him and be carried away.

Eventually, breaking apart for breath, you pulled back slightly, running your hands up into his hair, stroking lightly across the velvety short sides, a soft smile on your lips as his hands found their home on your hips.

“It’s always been you, Tom. Always,” you whispered before capturing his lips once more.

EPILOGUE

Aaaah… a happy ending. Now I know a few of you will be sad because you wanted Tommy to suffer the consequences of his actions forever but look, it’s my story and as much as I enjoy torturing him I love him so… here we are 🫠 There will be an epilogue because I just can’t resist a teeny bit more, but I hope you enjoyed this. Please do come at me in the comments! xx

Masterlists: TOMMY | SERIES | MAIN

Tag list: @runnning-outof-time , @zablife , @gypsy-girl-08 , @look-at-the-soul , @buttercupsandboys , @notyour-valentine , @valentinabloom , @elliotshelbyjones , @shelbydelrey , @theshelbyclan , @theshelbyslimited , @pintofsweets , @flyingjosephine-blog , @christinasyellowflowers , @midnightmagpiemama , @l1-l4 , @allie131313 , @star017 , @lespendy , @heidimoreton , @ladygreythethird (unable to tag) , @dragons-are-my-favorite , @raincoffeeandfandoms , @cillianmxrphy , @alessioayla , @lyarr24 , @dumb-fawkin-bitch , @forgottenpeakywriter , @kittycatcait219 , @cybernuttragedy456 , @babaohhhriley , @watersquirtpewpewboomm , @stevie75 , @padfootdaredmetoo , @moral-terpitude , @shaddixlife , @peakyscillian , @dandelionprints , @everyonesawhore , @majesticcmey , @globetrotter28 , @rangerelik , @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake , @duckybird101 , @babayaga67 , @justlulu , @sweetmilkshakeluminary , @itssamlavadaa, @quarterpastmidnight , @lothbrokcore , @silkiers , @guenievresworld , @margew76 , @fmo166 (unable to tag) , @afghancoathippie (unable to tag) , @cljordan-imperium , @cilliansangel , @vivre-dans-la-nuit , @woofgocows , @esposadomd

#tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfiction #ddd recommends

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darklydeliciousdesires · 22 hours

Text

THIS... WAS... PERFECT. The set up, the - pardon the pun - execution, how wonderfully you lined everything up. I just love that you gave her back to herself, if that makes sense? She isn't Luca's, she isn't Tommy's, she's just hers, and that's all she needs to be. Love that for her!! Absolutey fantastic writing, Alex! God, I'm going to feel empty when I finish this series, like I do when I've really enjoyed a great novel!

Alright, it’s the one you’ve been waiting for. The showdown between the Shelbys and the Changrettas is ON! Hold on to your hats kids because we have some DRAMA ahead! 😬 xx

Summary: The Shelbys meet with Luca and his gang to end the vendetta but things end in violence. As the dust settles, those left alive pick up the pieces.

Warnings: Major character death, scenes of violence. Bad language and one (1) racial slur. Mild refs to past domestic and sexual violence.

Word count: 5151 PART 25 | SERIES

Part 26: Endgame

You dressed slowly that morning, ensuring everything, from your freshly set curls down, was in place. You fastened the dark mulberry dress, tying the long strands of fabric into place at your neck, carefully concealing the damage of your husband’s hands. A sweep of dark red lipstick hid the still healing cut on your bottom lip.

Last night you had slept in the same bed as him for the first time in almost a month. It could be put off no longer. Mercifully, you had managed to avoid your other wifely duties, pleading sickness from the baby. You hadn’t needed to convince him - you had been sick three times the day before.

Fear and nerves of what was to come today.

He appeared behind you, hands resting lightly on your waist as he grinned at you in the mirror.

“You look beautiful, amore. That will hurt him as much as what I will take from him today.”

You forced a smile and he spun you in his arms, leaning in for a kiss.

“Careful, cucciolone,” you scolded, leaning back away from him quickly. “You’ll get lipstick on you.”

He shook his head with an indulgent smirk, cupping your face between his hands and pressing a kiss to your forehead instead.

“C‘mon, principessa, it’s time.”

*****

Tommy and most of the family were waiting for you as you arrived in the same warehouse at Charlie’s yard as the day you had been kidnapped. Luca leading the way with a swagger, Matteo and the other men with their guns levelled at the Shelbys.

You followed on, next to Audrey, keeping your eyes trained on the floor. You didn’t need to look to feel Tommy’s eyes on you.

All attention shifted from you though as Michael was brought in, half dragged and having to be propped up between two men. You hadn’t seen him since the night you left the farmhouse and he looked terrible. If he had been given medical attention, as Audrey had promised, it was clearly the bare minimum to keep him alive. A bolt of hate rushed through you towards the woman who you used to trust so completely.

“Look at them,” crowed Luca in Italian, showboating for his men, enjoying his moment of victory immensely. Polly Gray’s eyes were glassy as she took in the desperate state of her son and, even more satisfyingly, Tommy looked pale, his eyes fixed on you. Luca’s chest swelled with pride at being able to administer this final, painful blow. You were his - you would always be his.

“All that’s left of the Peaky fucking Blinders,” he sneered, switching back to English.

He beckoned you forward and you had no choice but to comply. Smiling slyly, running the back of his fingers down your cheek, he flicked a glance at Tommy.

“I should thank you, Mr Shelby, for taking such good care of my wife,” he gloated, forefinger and thumb cupping your chin as he dropped his lips to yours. You curled your nails into your palm.

Chuckling quietly to himself he ran a hand over your middle and fixed Tommy with a smug stare.

“Especially since she’s expecting our second child.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from looking at Tommy’s reaction, and for all the horror of the situation, the petty part of you pleased to see him swallow harshly. How do you like a taste of your own medicine, eh Thomas, you thought.

Still chuckling to himself, Luca walked slowly towards Tommy, taking his time, staring him down. He was going to savour this moment. He paused in front of him and clicked his fingers, a man rushing forward with a bag full of legal contracts, which he began to spread across the table set out in the middle of the room. Luca drifted towards them, rubbing his chin.

“I’ve had my lawyer draw up these papers. They cover every enterprise in your possession.” He flicked lazily through the vast number of documents. “Bars, restaurants, warehouses. Every fucking thing that you’ve taken all these years to gather together, you will sign them all over to my family…” He walked back over to stand close to Tommy. “..or you’re gonna die, right here.”

Tommy met his eye and focussed on holding his face still; he refused to give him an inch.

Luca smirked, slipping a toothpick into his mouth with a flash of white teeth.

“I would have buried you all,” he growled. ”But my mother, she knows you.” He gestured at Tommy with the toothpick. “She said it’ll be worse for you if I let you live and take away everything that you have,” he cast behind him, lingering on you, “everything you love.” You stared at the floor.

Tommy studied you, in all your elegant finery. You looked how you did the first day he saw you again, in this very room. Expensive clothes and perfectly put together. But there was a brittleness to the way you held your shoulders, a darkness in your eyes when you finally met his. He could only imagine what Luca might have done to have you acquiesce to him so completely. The thought of his hands on you made his blood boil. And a baby? He hoped to fuck you were lying because the idea of you carrying another of this man’s children made him want to throw up.

But he held himself tight and still, letting the arrogant cunt have his moment.

He jerked slightly but didn’t protest as Luca reached forward and roughly opened his heavy overcoat, grabbing the gun from its usual spot under his left arm. He held it up in front of him with a smirk.

“Search ‘em,” he instructed and men approached the Shelbys as Luca made his way along the line with the cruel sneer on his lips. Arthur’s mustache was twitching with fury but Tommy’s orders had been clear - no retaliation.

Luca paused in front of Polly, holding herself together with a fierce look in her eye. She glared at him as he grinned. “Especially don’t trust this bitch,” he added, ripping open the front of her blouse, glancing lazily inside.

You watched on as the Shelbys were roughly patted down, cringing as one of the men had the audacity to check inside Polly’s top. Your eyes met Tommy’s again and your heart twisted in your chest. You wanted so desperately to hate him for once again having a baby with another woman, but seeing him, brought low like this, you faltered.

As his men retreated, Luca held out a heavy fountain pen, addressing Tommy.

“Sign. Every fuckin’ one of them.”

He dropped the pen, with a curl of his lip, casually pushing sheafs of papers onto the ground.

“You can sign them on your fuckin’ knees, on the floor.”

There was stillness, a silence that stretched too long, and you shivered as a trickle of cold sweat slipped down your spine.

And in a heartbeat, the moment snapped, Luca wrenching the table and flipping it over with a loud crash.

“GET ON YOUR FUCKING KNEES AND SIGN!” he roared and you could feel your hands shaking. You clasped them tightly around your handbag as Tommy held up a hand in mock apology and slowly lowered himself to his knees.

“A friend of mine once said,” he began, conversationally, as he settled on the dirty stone floor. “‘Big fucks small’. So I had to find someone bigger than you.”

Luca paused, watching him carefully, a sudden dryness in his throat.

“Now you may know there are two families in Brooklyn who want to take over your monopoly on the import of liquor into New York.”

“But,” continued Polly, “if they move against you in New York, they’ll start a war between the families.”

“But if you were to die in a vendetta with some fucking… bookmaker in Birmingham,” picked up Tommy, seamlessly, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the fact they had clearly rehearsed their delivery. “They could take over your business without a war.”

Polly echoed his smile. “We also contacted a businessman in Chicago. He’s very interested in moving into the liquor business in New York.”

Tommy cleared his throat, a cheeky smile dancing in his eyes. “His name is Alphonse Capone.”

Your heart was hammering against your ribs as you gently unlatched your handbag. Behind your mother-in-law you caught Matteo’s eye and he nodded almost imperceptibly.

“You been talking to that fat fuck?” sneered Luca.

Tommy nodded for a moment before looking passed Luca to the assembled group behind him.

“See, all the blood relatives you brought with you from New York, they’re all dead, Mr Changretta. And these men here, they work for money for the highest bidder. They now have new orders.”

You heard Audrey gasp quietly next to you, her fingers digging into your left arm as she tried to draw you both away from the men with guns. But it was futile - there was nowhere to go, they had you surrounded.

“Is that right?” commented Luca, turning slowly to survey the ranks of men behind him.

“Is that right?” he repeated with a snarl. “And you, Matteo?”

The younger man held his head up and squared his shoulders, staring him down.

He turned back towards Tommy and you could hardly breathe.

He muttered something inaudible from your distance across the room and then the stillness shattered as all hell broke loose. He tried to draw a gun on Tommy, still kneeling at his feet but he was too quick for him, swiping sideways and pulling Luca down to his level. The revolver clattered to the ground and Polly scooped it up, aiming it at the pair thrashing together on the floor but unable to get a clear shot. Beside you, Audrey screamed.

Struggling to their feet, the men lunged at one another and the sickening heavy sound of fists connecting with soft tissue filled the air. Luca managed to reach a length of metal pipe and began swinging wildly as Tommy ducked and darted away. But after several missed strokes he was a fraction too slow and Luca caught him across the ribs. He bent double with a shout, wincing with pain and winded.

Arthur sprang forward, wrestling the Italian until he dropped the weapon, fists flying from both men. Catching Luca with a vicious right hook, he stumbled backwards, dazed for a moment, just long enough for the eldest Shelby to grab him and smash his head into the table, which moments before had held the Shelby empire. Tommy grabbed the gun from Polly and prepared to fire.

A single gunshot echoed through the draughty space and the fighting stopped suddenly. Arthur pinned Luca’s arms behind him, and he roared, dizzy and spitting blood as he struggled to no avail. His perfectly oiled hair was disheveled, his nose broken, face splattered with blood.

As he panted and snarled, you stepped forward, lowering your gun from where it had been pointed at the ceiling.

“He’s mine,” you said coldly, locking eyes with Tommy as you began to slowly approach. He nodded slightly and stepped back, lowering his weapon.

“Y/N!” called Audrey, hoarse with shock as you glanced at her, shooting her a filthy look.

Leaving her with Matteo looming by her shoulder, you took slow, deliberate steps towards your husband.

“Amore, what are you doing?” murmured Luca, uncertainly.

You stopped a few paces away from him. “What do you think I’m doing?” You levelled the gun at his head.

“Principessa… please… don’t be stupid..”

You bared your teeth in rage. “I am NOT your ‘principessa’,” you shouted. “Do you honestly think I would ever forgive you for what you did to me? You disgust me, Luca. The very sight of you makes me sick.”

With your free hand you pulled open the ties at the collar of your dress, exposing the dark marks he had made there. It took everything in him for Tommy not to ignore your wishes and pull the trigger himself. You deserved your retribution.

“You think I would ever choose to stay with the man who would do something like this to me?”

“Y/N! Stop this! He’s the father of your children!” wailed Audrey, shrieking as you turned, pointing the gun at her instead and she stuttered into silence.

“I think I’ve heard just about enough from you this week, mamma,” you spat.

You swung the gun back toward Luca, a vicious smile playing on your lips. “And do you really think I would have another of his children?”

He paled, confusion flitting across his bloody features.

“That’s right, amore,” you sneered, acid dripping from the term of endearment. “There is no baby.” You chuckled spitefully. “Did you never think it was strange that for a couple who used to fuck as much as we did, that I never fell pregnant again, after Chiara?”

You leaned closer, resting the muzzle of the gun against his cheek, enjoying how he flinched from the cold steel.

“I decided after the first time you hit me - her first Christmas, do you remember? - that I would never bring another child of yours into this world. And I have been careful, cucciolone, very careful.”

He snarled in anger, hate flaring in his eyes as he pulled against Arthur’s grip, desperate to rip you apart. His fucking mother being fooled by fucking gypsy parlour tricks. By your deceitful lies.

You smirked as he struggled, leaning close enough that he could feel your breath on his lips.

“And when you are dead, amore mio,” you taunted in a whisper, “my daughter will never even know your name.”

His lip curled in anger as you stepped back. “You’re full of shit, Y/N. All this is for him, right?” He jerked his head towards Tommy and for a moment you allowed yourself to look into those bright blue eyes.

“No,” you whispered, holding his gaze a moment longer. “Not for him.” Turning back towards Luca you took your time to line up the shot as Arthur shifted clear.

“I’m doing this for me.”

“You filthy puttana, you won’t—”

The bullet caught him right between the eyes. He staggered back and for a split-second he seemed to look at you in shock, before his lifeless body crumpled to the ground.

Audrey screamed in anguish as blood began to spread across the floor.

You stared at his body, waiting for some kind of emotion to hit you but all you felt was numb.

“You ungrateful, spiteful bitch!” raged his mother, suddenly breaking free and rushing towards you. You swung the gun quickly towards her and she skidded to a halt, hands held by her sides.

“I’m the bitch?” you shot back, stalking towards her so she was forced to stumble backwards. “I trusted you and all you did was deliver me into the hands of a rapist and tell me to smile.”

“Y/N, please, I was doing it for—”

“I don’t give a fuck what you were doing it for. Your precious family means nothing to me.”

Her back hit one of the large gin stills and she cowered as you levelled the gun at her head, several paces away.

“Tommy was right. John should have killed you when he had the chance.”

Whatever she opened her mouth to say was lost in the crack of gunfire, a small red dot opening in her forehead as gin gushed to the floor, the bullet having torn through her and into the side of the still.

She landed at your feet, the shot ringing in your ears.

It was over.

Distantly you were aware of Tommy speaking, something about import licences but you couldn’t focus. In your peripheral vision you saw Polly run to Michael.

“Tell your boss what you saw here today,” said Arthur as the remaining Italians began to disperse.

“No!” you called after them, stopping them in their tracks. “No. Tommy Shelby killed Luca Changretta and his mother. You haven’t seen me or my daughter in weeks…as far you know, we’re probably dead.”

You scanned the men who were staring at you with anxious faces.

“I will not live my life looking over my shoulder. If I so much as feel a niggle of someone watching me, so help me god, but I will hunt you all down and you will meet a similar fate to my husband, do you understand?”

A shifty silence followed.

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” you shouted and suddenly a chorus of agreements came back as the men hurried to get away. Only Matteo stayed, moving to stand beside you.

“Thank you,” you said softly, pulling him into a tight hug. You would never be able to thank him enough for stepping up, putting his own life at risk for yours. Going to Tommy to give him the intelligence he needed to find another gangster who would be able to help. Smuggling you a revolver into the hotel.

You pressed your lips to his cheek, leaving a small red stain in your wake, which you tried to rub away with your thumb. “You saved my life.”

He held you gently for a moment, pulling back to pat you affectionately on the cheek.

“You have a great life, Y/N Y/L/N,” he smiled, before slowly walking away.

All of a sudden the enormity of what you had done hit you and you sagged, the gun slipping from your grasp, bouncing noisily on the ground.

“Y/N?” His voice was soft beside you as he gathered your exhausted body into his arms. And for just a moment, you let him. Let him be the strength you seemed to have momentarily misplaced. You hid your face in his shoulder as he stroked your hair and breathed in the familiar scent of your perfume, of you.

But a moment was all you allowed yourself, pushing away from him, taking deep breaths.

“Y/N…” he whispered again, but you moved beyond his reach. He could see pain in your eyes but as he opened his mouth to speak, Arthur came barrelling into you, sweeping you into a tight hug.

“Fuckin’ hell, Y/N,” he rumbled, crushing you against his wiry frame. “Remind me never to cross you in future.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as he released you, cupping your face between his hands.

“John boy would be proud of you,” he mumbled, dropping a quick kiss to the top of your head and you felt tears well in your eyes.

“Let me see her,” demanded Polly, appearing at his shoulder. You shrank slightly - to your right Michael had been helped into a chair, his skin deathly pale but he smiled at you, giving you a little wave.

“Polly, I’m sorry, I—”

She shook her head to silence you, pulling you to her in a gentle embrace.

“He’s alive. You both are. That’s all that matters,” she whispered, feeling your shoulders begin to shake as the emotion of the day got the better of you.

“I should have done more… I couldn’t… I..” Your words were lost in sobs as she held you, stroking your hair.

“Hush, child. You’ve done enough.”

As your tears subsided, you pulled away, wiping your face. From nowhere, Johnny Dogs appeared, handing you a handkerchief.

“Still a sharp shot, I see,” he winked as you blew your nose.

“She learned from the best,” boomed Arthur, grinning as he clapped you on the back so hard you staggered slightly.

“Alright, leave her alone, eh” said Tommy gently, handing you a freshly lit cigarette and lighting one for himself. “Finn, get Michael to hospital.”

The youngest Shelby, who had been hovering, looking uncertain, nodded. As he left he touched your arm lightly. “I’m glad you’re ok.”

Smiling in thanks, you looked around, suddenly aware of a missing family member. Your heart began to race - surely Luca wouldn’t have been able to contain his gloating if he’d had something to do with her absence.

“Where’s Ada?” you asked urgently, turning to Tommy, clutching his arm involuntarily.

“She’s safe. She’s back at the house, looking after the kids.”

You released a long breath of relief and, to his disappointment, let go of him.

“She’s got some of your belongings too.”

You shook your head, not really listening. “I have to go.”

He rested his hands on your shoulders. “Go where?”

You looked up into his face, feeling the same twist in your chest as before as you saw the look in his eyes. The same look as that morning in his bed. Did he know then that he was having a child with another woman? Lied to you all over again?

You shrugged him off, anger spiking through you.

“Where? To fucking Camden, of course! Alfie Solomons still has my daughter!”

He shook his head, dropping the end of his smoke and crushing it under his heel.

“He’s not there. He’s gone to Margate.”

You stared at him, mouth slightly agape.

“Margate??”

He nodded solemnly. “Come back to the house, eh? You need a minute after today.”

“She needs a fucking drink, don’tcha luv?” chuckled Arthur, the adrenaline of the morning still coursing through him like snow.

Or possibly it was still the effects of the snow he’d taken before the Changrettas turned up.

“No, I need to go. Chiara..”

“Come back to the house. Ada’s got something that belongs to you.”

You opened your mouth to argue and then you saw the glint in his eye. He saw the realisation dawn on your face and nodded slightly.

You took off at a run, cursing your Parisien heels for slipping and sliding on the dirty cobbles of Small Heath. You heard Tommy calling after you but you didn’t stop, your heart hammering in your ears as your feet automatically traced the path from Charlie’s Yard to the Shelby house, that you had run thousands of times in your youth.

Bursting through the front door, you heard Ada’s shriek turn to a cry of relief as she saw it was you, but you couldn’t speak to her. She might as well not have been there because the only person you could see was the shining dark curly head of your daughter, playing on the rug.

“Piccolina..?” you breathed and she turned properly to look up at you from the game she was playing with Charlie Shelby.

“Mamma!” she squealed, running to you as your knees hit the floor, her little arms squeezing around your neck. You pressed her tiny body to your chest, tears cascading down your cheeks.

“Oh my baby, my baby,” you sobbed into her hair, covering her with kisses as you rocked her gently until she began to wriggle in your grip.

“I playing with Charee, mama,” she said with a slightly indignant air and you could only laugh, your own pout staring back at you. You kissed her forehead and let her return to her game.

Still on the floor, Ada knelt beside you, folding you in a hug.

“What happened?” she whispered as the children began to play a noisy game with Charlie’s toy horses.

Sitting back, you wiped your face and her hand strayed to the still open neck of your dress.

“Jesus, Y/N, did he do that?”

You nodded, swallowing and she wrapped an arm around your shoulders. This whole morning felt like an out of body experience. Looking up, you caught Charlie looking at you, his little brow wrinkled in concern. You gave him a watery smile and he went back to the game.

“He’s dead. I.. I shot him,” you said finally, in a hushed voice. “And his mother.”

She sat back, a look of shock on her face. “His mother?!” she whispered.

“She deserved it,” came Tommy’s voice from behind you.

Leaning forward to press another kiss to Chiara’s head as she chattered non-stop to Charlie, you took a deep breath and pushed yourself to your feet. As you did you suddenly spied Barbara, in the doorway to the kitchen.

Pushing past Tommy you hurried to her, meeting her in a tight hug.

“Thank you so much, thank you, thank you for keeping her safe,” you cried into her shoulder as she squeezed you back.

Pulling away, you held her at arm’s length. “You’re ok?” you asked earnestly. “He didn’t hurt you?”

“No, signora, not at all,” she smiled. “In fact, he was very kind. She was very taken with him… I think it was mutual.”

She laughed at your bewildered expression as you tried to square the idea of Alfie Solomons, the Mad Baker of Camden Town, and your little Chiara together.

*****

You stayed for the afternoon - Arthur was right, you needed a drink - and you decamped with the Shelby clan to The Garrison where there was more space. Chiara, initially clinging to you when confronted by the number of adults in the unfamiliar space, soon recovered her confidence and in no time, was running riot with Charlie and Karl, squealing and charming everyone in sight.

“She’s beautiful,” smiled Bonnie, settling beside you in one of the booths, handing you another whiskey. The pub had been closed for the day, only family and those close to them admitted. You had almost flattened Bonnie on sight, so utterly relieved to see him alive.

“Thank you,” you beamed, your heart so full at having her back that there was almost no room for the horrors of the morning to dampen your spirits.

“Alfie Solomons told me to send you his regards, by the way.”

You swivelled towards him, slopping your drink slightly at your speed, confusion creased across your face and he chuckled.

“He brought her as far as the Stratford road, we picked her up from there. She was very upset to be parted from him.”

“I didn’t know… he didn’t tell…” You stopped, taking a breath to form a proper sentence. “Thank you, I’m so grateful…for everything.”

You folded your hand over his arm and pecked him lightly on the cheek.

Across the room, Tommy’s expression darkened as he watched you, jealousy forming a bitter taste in his mouth as he saw how relaxed and familiar you were with the young Gold man.

You had been cold and aloof with him since the warehouse. Politely thankful for his intervention that had brought you back together with your daughter, but reserved. None of the ease that there had been just a few short weeks earlier.

Chiara ran up to you and his face softened. She was like a miniature of you, except for her eyes. He watched as you lifted her to your knee, tickling her until she squealed in high pitched giggles, making you smile, as she wriggled, wanted to be off to play with the bigger children again.

As you set her back down on her feet you looked up and caught his eye. He gave a slight jerk of his head towards the back corridor and you sighed. You were going to have to face him at some point. Excusing yourself, you followed him into the quiet of Arthur’s office.

“How’re you holding up?” he asked, lighting a cigarette. You patted your dress and cursed at having left yours in the bar. Chuckling, he handed his to you, lighting another for himself.

“Some things never change, eh?” he smirked and you smiled despite yourself, taking a drag. “You ok?” he repeated.

You took a moment to answer, smoke twirling around your head.

“I can’t quite believe he’s gone. I think it’s going to be a while before I’m not expecting to see him around every corner, coming after me.”

He nodded, looking down as he fidgeted with his cigarette.

“But I’m ok. Having her back is helping a lot,” you added, catching his eye with a soft smile. “Thank you for that.”

He nodded again, clearing his throat the way he always did when he was uncomfortable.

“Tom—”

“Don’t leave,” he mumbled, cutting in. “I heard you telling Ada you’re leaving in the morning.”

You pulled forcefully on your cigarette.

“Thomas, I am very grateful for your part in today, for making it possible and for rescuing my child.” He opened his mouth and you held up a hand to silence him. “But how can you ask me to stay?”

He stared forlornly at you.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this again, but I know about the baby, Tom. About Lizzie.”

His eyes widened and he stepped toward you, only for you to take a step back.

“No. Don’t,” you said sharply. “Just tell me, was it all a lie? Did you know the whole time you were fucking me?”

He could see the glaze of unshed tears in your eyes.

“No, I swear, it wasn’t like before. Please, Y/N, it was never meant to happen and it was before I even knew you were back in England. I don’t love her. And there is no baby. Not anymore.”

You froze, the snide retort you were about to unleash dying on your lips.

“What do you mean?”

“Luca… he beat her for information about you. She lost the baby.”

You sagged, feeling winded and groped to steady yourself against the edge of Arthur’s desk. Yet more death because of you. No matter how angry and hurt you had been at the news of her pregnancy, you would never have wished something like this on her.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, slowly lifting your head to look at him again.

He nodded with a sad shrug. “She ratted you out to him, I wouldn’t feel too sorry for her. She has no place in this family from now on.”

You shook your head at the coldness in his words.

“She loves you, Tom.”

He stepped towards you and this time you didn’t move away.

“And I love you.”

He brushed a lock of hair back behind your ear. “I love you, Y/N. I always have. And I know I fucked up so many times and I can never be sorry enough for what I did, but I love you. Always you. Only you.”

You rested your hands on his chest as his knuckles brushed lightly across your cheek, his eyes, blue like a midsummer’s day, gazing at you with such longing.

“I’m sorry, Tom. I can’t.”

His eyes fell shut and you felt him close in on himself.

“I need to be alone. Away from this life. Somewhere I can raise my child in safety.”

“I will keep you safe,” he whispered, closing his hands over yours, still against his chest.

You shook your head sadly, gently pulling your hands away. Standing on your toes you kissed him very softly on the lips.

“I know you would. But like I told Luca, I’m doing this for me.”

PART 27

Is everyone ok? I’m assuming there will be cheering in the streets that the Changrettas are dead 🤭 I have one more chapter for you which I will share as soon as it’s ready - look out for updates on when to expect it as it might be sooner than next Wednesday.

As always, please do come and scream your feelings at me in all the usual ways - I’m desperate to know what you thought of this! 🤍

Credit for the gif to the wonderfully kind @thesoldiersminute 😘😘

Masterlists: TOMMY | SERIES | MAIN

Tag list: @runnning-outof-time , @zablife , @gypsy-girl-08 , @look-at-the-soul , @buttercupsandboys , @notyour-valentine , @valentinabloom , @elliotshelbyjones , @shelbydelrey , @theshelbyclan , @theshelbyslimited , @pintofsweets , @flyingjosephine-blog , @christinasyellowflowers , @midnightmagpiemama , @l1-l4 , @allie131313 , @star017 , @lespendy , @heidimoreton , @ladygreythethird (unable to tag) , @dragons-are-my-favorite , @raincoffeeandfandoms , @cillianmxrphy , @alessioayla , @lyarr24 , @dumb-fawkin-bitch , @forgottenpeakywriter , @kittycatcait219 , @cybernuttragedy456 , @babaohhhriley , @watersquirtpewpewboomm , @stevie75 , @padfootdaredmetoo , @moral-terpitude , @shaddixlife , @peakyscillian , @dandelionprints , @everyonesawhore , @majesticcmey , @globetrotter28 , @rangerelik , @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake , @duckybird101 , @babayaga67 , @justlulu , @sweetmilkshakeluminary , @itssamlavadaa, @quarterpastmidnight , @lothbrokcore , @silkiers , @guenievresworld , @margew76 , @fmo166 (unable to tag) , @afghancoathippie (unable to tag) , @cljordan-imperium , @cilliansangel , @vivre-dans-la-nuit , @woofgocows , @esposadomd

#tommy shelby fanfiction #luca changretta fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfiction #ddd recommends

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darklydeliciousdesires · 22 hours

Text

I want to kick Luca in his stupid, handsome face for how casual he was about BEATING AND RAPING his own wife!!! Like what the actual fuck? The audacity of him not being fucking mortified, ashamed and haunted by his own actions. This vendetta has made virtually everything else sink into insignificance in his mind.

And now we're coming to THE chapter and I am unsure if I'm ready to read it. Am I? I can't even have a little drinkie either because of all the painkillers. Dang, bro. Okay [deep breath] here I go!

Ok, so this is part 1 of this week’s bumper edition - part 2 will follow as soon as I can get it edited (but probably tomorrow - Friday). We’re in the endgame now and things are looking very bleak for our plucky protagonists. Will they be able to emerge victorious? You’ll just have to tune in to part 2 to find out! 😬 Enjoy! xx

Summary: They say things are always darkest before the dawn. Trapped in the hotel with the Changrettas, Y/N is forced into a difficult position to save her life. In Small Heath, the Shelbys have no choice but to concede in the wake of the kidnappings.

Warnings: References (more overtly than recently) to past sexual assault and domestic violence. Bad language and one (1) racial slur.

Word count: 3331 PART 24 | SERIES

Part 25: Submission

The knocking on the door roused you. You shivered groggily, pulling a blanket around your shoulders - you didn’t remember falling asleep but suddenly it was dark outside again. You had been in this room for almost two days now, refusing anything but food and fresh clothes. Hours drifted by like sand through the glass but you couldn’t seem to stay awake for more than a few at a time, exhaustion of mind, body and spirit claiming you over and over again. When you were awake, your mood swayed wildly from panic that left you with a racing heart and clammy, to crushing lethargy. You were constantly nauseous, a dull terror eating away at your insides.

You stumbled to the door, every part of your body aching, opening it just enough to see out. Seeing it was Audrey, you released a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

“Can I come in tesorina?”

Sighing, flicking the light switch and squinting, you opened the door further and let her in.

She looked around the disheveled room, all the evidence of her young granddaughter jumbled together in the form of toys, books and clothing. You looked exhausted, dark circles under your eyes matching the ring of black and purple bruises around your neck.

She looked away quickly.

“What’s he doing to bring her home?” you asked, seeing her looking at Chiara’s things, your voice scratchy with sleep and lack of use.

“Solomons is demanding confirmation of agreement from New York. These things take time.”

“The telegram service has been invented, hasn’t it?” you snapped. “I didn’t dream it?”

Her mouth set in a firm line. You knew you needed to be more careful - you were only safe as long as she decided you should be. She was the only thing standing between you and Luca finally putting an end to you.

“Sorry, mamma.” You held up your hands apologetically. “I’m exhausted, I don’t mean to be rude. I just… I just want her back. I haven’t seen her in weeks… it’s killing me.”

Her absence, especially here amongst her things, was like a knife in your stomach. Every time you woke up, you expected to find her warm little body curled next to yours. And every time she wasn’t there was like a fresh wound. You dropped down on the edge of the unmade bed, fiddling fretfully with one of her stuffed animals.

Audrey sighed and sat next to you, taking your hand in hers.

“They need signatures on documents that can only come from New York, cara. Give it time, she will be back with you very soon.”

“Is Michael Gray still alive?” you enquired softly. “I saw him before I left the farmhouse. I think he’s getting an infection. He was shot when John Shelby was killed and his bullet wounds have reopened.”

She pursed her lips, scrutinising you for a moment.

“We need him alive, for now… I’ll see he is taken care of.”

You nodded, a weight lifting from your chest. Though you didn’t much like the use of ‘for now’ in her reply. But there was little else you could do for him from here.

“Y/N..” she began hesitantly and you glanced sideways at her. She looked tired. She wasn’t a young woman anymore and the crossing, plus events since her arrival must be taking their toll. She caught your eye and smiled gently before continuing.

“I spoke to Luca about what you told me happened between you.”

Your heart plummeted. No doubt he told her it was all lies.

“Luca is sorry for what he did, cara mia, he wants to apologise. Will you see him?”

You opened your mouth in confusion. He was actually acknowledging what happened? Well that was a start but surely she didn’t expect you to forgive him?!

“I don’t want to see him. I don’t care how sorry he thinks he is. Some things you can’t take back.”

She stiffened beside you.

“Please Y/N, if you could listen to him. Think of the baby… things would be so much easier…”

A surge of anger rushed through you and you pulled your hand from hers.

“Easier for who?! For you?? For him?! How can you even ask me that, Audrey? Do you really expect me to forgive him, after what he did?”

She reached for you but you stood up, putting space between you as you reached for your cigarettes, lighting one with shaking hands.

“Do you blame me for wanting to see my family whole again, Y/N? I’ve lost my son and my husband. And now this... I admit that Luca has lost his way and he has treated you poorly, but he loves you, I know it. He always has. And as your husband really he has…”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Was she seriously trying to excuse his crimes?!

“He VIOLATED me!” you cried, spinning towards her as waves of memories from within these walls began to buffet you. Begging him to stop. The pain as he forced himself into your body.

She stood, looking stern and serious. “Y/N stop this. You think you are special? You think husbands always ask nicely before taking what is their right from their wives?”

You could feel your legs shaking and you felt like you might be sick. Surely this was some terrible joke? She couldn’t be serious.

“Y/N, You are an intelligent woman. How do you think this ends for you if you continue to defy him? You’re carrying his child, so maybe that will stop him for now, but pregnancy doesn’t last forever, amore.”

“You think I want this baby? You think I want this? To be his wife just so he can beat me and use me?” You stared at her, stricken. “You know what my father was like - I refuse to become my mother!”

She slapped you sharply across the cheek.

“Stop being so hysterical! When we get home he will go back to normal. I will see to it. But if you refuse to forgive him and continue to make trouble then you can’t be surprised if at some point you will become… surplus to requirement.”

You pressed a hand to your stinging flesh, struck dumb by the transformation of this woman you thought you knew. Who you thought was on your side.

“Take my advice, cara mia, if you want to live long enough to see Chiara again, you will listen to what he has to say. And if you want to stay alive to see her and this baby grow up, you will accept his apology.”

You stared at her mutely, unable to process what was happening.

“Tommy Shelby was never good enough for you, Y/N, no matter how much wealth and infamy he has gathered for himself. And when my son is finished with him, he will return to the dirt where he and his gypsy scum family came from. But my family will be whole again. I will see that Luca controls his fists, I will bring him back to himself.”

She patted your cheek affectionately, like she hadn’t just struck you moments before. “Things will be better, you’ll see. You will have this baby and we will be a family again.”

Heading for the door she paused before she let herself out. “You’re not ready today. I understand and that’s fine. But time is not on your side, tesoro. You have three days to make your decision.”

The door clicked shut behind her and you raced to lock it again. Sinking to the floor, you sat with your back against the heavy wood, head spinning.

Three days. Three centuries wouldn’t be enough for you to forgive him.

You began to wonder if she wasn’t just as unhinged as her son.

*****

They heard her coming, not with fanfare but with silence, the uncanny shift in the air on the Lane. The whooping shouts and laughter of children hushing as she passed by, the white flag held high beside her.

Tommy let himself out of Polly’s house, his aunt hot on his heels, as Audrey Changretta stopped ten feet away.

He felt Polly coiled tightly next to him, ready to strike. It was three days since you and Michael had been taken. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept, making and re-making plans, controlling the search for you both. His aunt was frantic, on edge, snapping at everyone. He had been forced to physically restrain her from going back to Lizzie at the hospital, baying for blood. It was a feeling he could entirely sympathise with but he held back - more death, or rather Lizzie’s death, wouldn’t bring you and Michael back sooner.

He had men searching the countryside for you both but it was like you had simply vanished into the ether. He had tried to draw Changretta out, but so far there had been nothing but silence in response to his letter. He was trying not to panic but with each passing day he could feel you slipping further away from him.

He had not, however, expected Mrs Changretta, his old former school mistress, to be the one to carry Luca’s reply.

“You’ve got a nerve showing up here like this,” spat Polly, stepping forward and he put out his hand to warn her back.

“I bring news of your son, Polly-Anna. I think you will want to hear what I have to say,” replied Audrey coldly, chin held high.

He felt Polly bristle in response and cut in before she could say anything unhelpful.

“You’d better come in. I’d rather not discuss family business in the street.”

A few minutes later they were all squeezed into Polly’s little sitting room, Audrey on one side, the older Shelbys opposite. Finn had been dispatched to entertain his nephews.

“Your note talked about making terms for peace,” she began, smoothing her skirts over her knees, eyeing them imperiously. “But my son says there are no terms.”

She locked eyes with Tommy, undeterred by the icy blue stare that struck fear into the hearts of so many others.

“You took my husband and my son, we took your brother. And now we have your son,” she continued, glancing meaningfully at Polly, “and the woman you have loved since you were a boy, Mr Shelby.”

He forced himself to keep his face impassive at the mention of Y/N. He took a steadying drag of the cigarette that smouldered between his fingers.

“Are they still alive?”

She nodded slowly, flicking her eyes to Polly whose face was like carved stone with the effort of not shooting this woman on the spot. “Your son is alive for as long as my son wishes it to be so.” Turning her attention back to Tommy, she added, “My daughter-in-law is safe, pleased to be back with her family.”

His fingers unconsciously curled into a fist at her lie. You had been terrified of Luca catching up with you. Wherever you were, he doubted you were safe. But if he couldn’t get to you, he needed to do what was necessary to keep you both alive.

“The vendetta is done?” he ventured and she smirked.

“We say, the vendetta is won.” She pulled herself up straight in her chair, preening in her son’s success. “We will take everything you have. All your businesses signed over to us. You agree to this, or my son will kill you all, one by one, starting with Michael. You have five days.”

Polly started forward in her chair and he rested a heavy hand on her arm, shooting her a warning glance.

“The vendetta is won,” he acknowledged softly. “That’s it. No more killing.”

She gave a single, curt nod, rising to her feet in victory and heading for the door. Tommy followed her into the narrow hallway, leaving his family absorbing the shock.

She paused before she left, looking him up and down haughtily. “Who did you think you were, Mr Shelby?” she sneered. “Did you really think she still loved you? She has come home, back by my son’s side, where she belongs. You were never anything more than a distraction.”

He walked slowly back into the sitting room, the pale faces of his family all turned towards him for guidance.

“What are we going to do, Tom? All the businesses…?” asked Ada quietly, her hand clasped tightly around Polly’s. His aunt’s dark eyes shone out knowingly, locked on his own.

“Only one thing we can do, Ada,” he sighed. “We’re gonna let him have them.”

*****

Three days later, Luca strode back into the hotel with a spring in his step. He had just seized control of Sabini and the Titanic gangs’ businesses giving his family control of a large portion of the London underworld. Solomons would be next but he had to tread carefully until he had handled the Shelby business and could get his daughter back.

He halted suddenly as he entered his study, finding you sitting in one of the armchairs by the fire. He hadn’t seen you, even for a moment, since the night his mother insisted he bring you back here.

“What’re you doing in here?”

You looked up, and he swallowed harshly at the ring of bruises around your throat, the cut on your lip that was beginning to heal.

“Your mother said you had something you wanted to say to me,” you replied softly, pulling on your cigarette, the smoke drifting lazily around your small frame in the large leather chair.

He shrugged off his coat and rested his hat on the stand, straying automatically towards the whiskey decanter across the room.

“Luca?”

He turned toward you, taking a sip, ignoring the faint burn in his throat.

“Yeah… I…I’m sorry,” he shrugged, frowning as you let out a dry breath of laughter.

“You’re sorry?”

“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ sorry,” he snapped.

You stared at him for a moment, your eyes cold and hard. “Do you even know what you’re sorry for?”

He let out a frustrated sigh. “Jesus, Y/N, do you need me to fucking say it?”

You stood up, throwing the end of your smoke into the fire, your hands clenching at your sides. “I need to know that you understand what you did to me,” you bit out harshly.

“Alright, fuck!” He ran a hand through his hair, sinking another large mouthful of his whiskey. “I was too rough with you that day, alright? But I was angry - you went behind my fuckin’ back with Polly Gray.”

You shook your head with incredulity.

“Too rough with me? Too ROUGH?”

You walked across the room, running your hand over the panelling where it had happened, fighting hard to control the emotions it brought up within you.

“You raped me, Luca. Right here,” you whispered.

“The fuck you have to be so melodramatic for, Y/N?! You’re my wife!”

You twisted on the spot, anger flaring in your eyes. “And so what? You can do what you want to me, is that it?” Tears blurred your vision. “I begged you to stop, Luca. Begged you. But you didn’t.”

He opened his mouth but the words wouldn’t seem to come. Your desperate, plaintive cries echoed in his ears.

“Do you remember when we were kids?” you said quietly into the silence between you and he lifted his head, catching your eye. “When I would show up early at school, or your house after it, and your mother would take care of me?”

He nodded fractionally.

“Until he got too sick to move, my father made my mother’s life a living hell. He would beat her for everything and nothing. And when he got tired of beating her, he would take it out on me. Once he whipped me with his belt so much that I couldn’t lie on my back for a week. He broke my wrist - both of them actually, different times - and my ribs. He tried to avoid my face though, so it would be less obvious.”

He remembered the bruises and the way you wore long sleeves at school, even in summer. He dropped his gaze to the remaining amber liquid in the glass that rested in his white-knuckled grip.

“I don’t want to be my mother, Luca,” you whispered, eyes shining with tears. “I don’t want to wake up every day terrified of what my husband might do to me. I don’t want to be afraid for my daughter.”

His head snapped up. “I would never lay a finger on Chiara.”

“I never thought the man I married would lay a finger on me but yet, here we are,” you countered, gesturing at your neck.

He wanted to shout and deny your accusations but the weight of shame settled on his chest, crushing the air from his lungs so he couldn’t form words. And there was no denying that he could see the distinct imprint of his own fingers and thumbs branded onto your delicate skin.

He set down his glass and crossed the room. You sucked in a breath and tried to move away but your back hit the panelling as he stopped in front of you. You could feel your heart beating too quickly, panic making you light-headed. He was too close, much too close.

“No, please,” you stuttered, your hands against his chest.

“Ssshh…I’m not going to hurt you, piccolina,” he murmured, reaching to gently cup your chin, tracing his thumb over your lips. “I’m sorry, Y/N. Truly I am - it will never happen again. I love you.”

He leaned in to kiss you and you felt bile in your throat, the familiar smell of his cologne transporting you to the last time you were this close to him. As his lips grazed yours you pushed hard against his chest, finally succeeding in wriggling away from him. Darting across the room, you took deep, slow breaths as you tried not to be sick.

“I’m sorry, I can’t.. it’s too soon for that,” you forced yourself to apologise, clutching the back of the armchair as black dots swam in your vision.

He moved slowly to stand behind you, slipping his arms around your waist, resting a large palm against your stomach.

“Tell me you forgive me, principessa,” he coaxed.

You squeezed your eyes shut and dug your nails into the fabric of the chair.

You’re doing this to stay alive. You’re doing it for Chiara, you chanted to yourself inside your head.

“I… I forgive you, Luca. I just need a little time.”

You felt his hands tighten around you as he made a little grunt of approval.

“Tell me you don’t love him.” His breath fanned across your ear as he brushed your hair back from your shoulder.

A stab of pain hit you, picturing Tommy with Lizzie, their new baby. You didn’t have to work to lie.

“I don’t love him.”

He nodded against you, nuzzling your hair, and your stomach turned over. You needed his hands off you but you couldn’t move.

“We will be a family again, Y/N. You will forget about Tommy Shelby. When my son is born, we will be as we once were,” he murmured, pressing his lips into the crook of your neck.

“You’re mine, amore mia.”

You stood, frozen and mute against him as tears slid silently down your face.

*****

Streaks of cold, grey dawn began to paint the sky as Tommy watched them from the bedroom window, smoke swirling around his head. Behind him stood the bed where only two weeks ago you had slept next to him, the gentle rhythm of your heart against his chest calming the shovels in his head in a way that no one before or since had been able to.

Since you had been taken he had only been able to snatch brief hours of fitful rest.

But today it would end. One way or another.

PART 26

ARE YOU READY??!?! I’m not sure you are. Stay tuned for the next instalment very soon - at least one person is going to die 😬

As ever, I live for your feedback so please do stop by and let me know what you thought. Given this week is a little different, I don’t mind if you want to batch your review with the next part but either way, I’d love to hear from you! xx

Credit for the gif at the top to the wonderful @thesoldiersminute - thank you lovely! 🤍

Masterlists: TOMMY | SERIES | MAIN

Tag list: @runnning-outof-time , @zablife , @gypsy-girl-08 , @look-at-the-soul , @buttercupsandboys , @notyour-valentine , @valentinabloom , @elliotshelbyjones , @shelbydelrey , @theshelbyclan , @theshelbyslimited , @pintofsweets , @flyingjosephine-blog , @christinasyellowflowers , @midnightmagpiemama , @l1-l4 , @allie131313 , @star017 , @lespendy , @heidimoreton , @ladygreythethird (unable to tag) , @dragons-are-my-favorite , @raincoffeeandfandoms , @cillianmxrphy , @alessioayla , @lyarr24 , @dumb-fawkin-bitch , @forgottenpeakywriter , @kittycatcait219 , @cybernuttragedy456 , @babaohhhriley , @watersquirtpewpewboomm , @stevie75 , @padfootdaredmetoo , @moral-terpitude , @shaddixlife , @peakyscillian , @dandelionprints , @everyonesawhore , @majesticcmey , @globetrotter28 , @rangerelik , @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake , @duckybird101 , @babayaga67 , @justlulu , @sweetmilkshakeluminary , @itssamlavadaa, @quarterpastmidnight , @lothbrokcore , @silkiers , @guenievresworld , @margew76 , @fmo166 (unable to tag) , @afghancoathippie (unable to tag) , @cljordan-imperium , @cilliansangel , @vivre-dans-la-nuit , @woofgocows , @esposadomd

#tommy shelby fanfiction #luca changretta fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfiction #ddd recommends

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darklydeliciousdesires · 22 hours

Text

Trying to articulate myself on pain pills is hard, as I did read this chapter and the next last night while waiting for my laundry to finish, but my god, the emotion and the urgency and the AUDREY in this chapter... bahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!! I can feel her desperation so clearly, her need to survive it, her drive to get away from it all. I am cheering her on from the sidelines!!

Sorry for the delay on this one loves but you can blame tumblr for breaking almost every link in my masterlist, meaning I had to spend hours fixing them instead of posting this 😫 Anyway, let’s get straight into it, shall we?

Summary: Y/N tries to find a way to escape whilst Audrey demands the truth from her son, eventually bringing her face to face with her daughter-in-law.

Warnings: Usual bad language, mentions of violence and past sexual assault.

Word count: 4938 PART 23 | SERIES

Part 24: The Longest Night

After Luca left, you were alone for what seemed like an age. Or it might have just felt that way because only a short while into it, you began to need the toilet. You absolutely refused to give into the indignity of being forced to piss yourself but eventually, when no one came of their own accord to check on you, calling for help was the only alternative.

At first nothing happened. But as you were just starting to panic that you would just have to wet yourself, the door opened and there stood Matteo. It felt like you hadn’t seen him in months, not mere weeks.

“You’re still doing his dirty work then I see.”

His expression darkened but he looked uncomfortable. Which was interesting, you thought.

“Wha’d’ya want?” he snapped back.

“Well unless you want me to make a mess in here, you’re going to need to take me to a bathroom.”

He looked even more uncomfortable.

“Please, Matteo, I’m desperate. I promise if I try anything you have my permission to shoot me.”

“I don’t need your permission to do that.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well ok then, can you untie me please?”

He slipped his gun from its holster and moved behind you, fiddling awkwardly with the knots. After a moment your hands were free. Groaning with relief at being able to move your arms, you pulled your hands to your front, rolling your aching shoulders. Your wrists were red and raw from your struggles against the ropes.

Before you even think about making a move, you felt the muzzle of his revolver press cold against the base of your neck.

“You try anything and you’re dead, do you hear me? The boss’ll understand.”

You nodded carefully, holding your arms out to the side, hands in clear sight.

“On your feet.”

Carefully he guided you from the room, the gun jabbing you in the back, his other hand on your upper arm. The facilities, such as they were, were outside and the cold wind slapped you in the face, whipping your hair, as you crossed the dark yard behind the building. You were clearly in some kind of farmhouse in the middle of nowhere and it was so dark you could barely see more than a few feet ahead of you. The only light came from the open back door behind you and a weak gleam from a lamp that hung on a hook by the entrance to the privy.

“Be quick,” he instructed, shoving you inside with the lamp.

As the door rattled shut, you looked around frantically, searching for something, anything, you could use as a weapon. But frustratingly, the small, freezing out-building was bare except for a toilet and a sink and so unless you were going to dismantle the cistern somehow, there was nothing to help you.

Which would be impressive given it was several feet above you, and even if you stood on the toilet seat you probably weren’t tall enough to see inside.

That and you had no fucking idea how to dismantle a cistern.

He rapped the door, disturbing your tangled thoughts. “Get a fuckin’ move on!”

You sat on the loo, almost in tears with frustration, running your hands through your already messy hair.

Fuck. THINK Y/N!

*****

Luca squirmed slightly under his mother’s gaze, running a hand through his hair. The little black hand tattoo by his thumb winked at her through the dark strands.

“I…uhh…she took the baby away for a few days. Been cooped up here too long, y’know?” he lied and Audrey cocked her head to the side.

“She went on holiday? In the middle of a vendetta? When she knows how much of a target she and Chiara would be for the Shelbys?” She raised her eyebrows and shook her head as he reddened, aware he was caught out. “You never could lie to me, piccolino. Now, tell me the truth, where are they?”

He sighed heavily and moved to pour them both a drink.

“She betrayed us. Ran off to Tommy fucking Shelby.”

Audrey looked stunned as she accepted the heavy cut crystal tumbler of whiskey from her son. She was well aware of your past relationship with Thomas Shelby, but you loved Luca - you were besotted with each other before you came here. It just made no sense that you would run back to the man who hurt you so cruelly before.

“What do you mean ‘she ran off’? How? Where is she now?? Does she have Chiara?”

He ran a palm down his face. He was genuinely too exhausted for this tonight.

“I’m handling it. Look, it’s late mamma, let’s talk about this in the morning.”

“Answer the fucking questions, Luca!” she snapped. He bristled at being spoken to like one of his soldiers by his own mother and opened his mouth to retaliate. But he caught the fierce expression on her face and thought better of it.

“I have her somewhere safe - we attacked the place she was hiding today. She claims the Shelbys kidnapped her but it’s bullshit - she’s been working with them since we got here.”

“And my granddaughter?”

He reddened further, eyes darting left and right, avoiding hers. She braced herself.

“That’s… more complicated,” he said eventually, deciding to just tell the truth. She would winkle it out if him either way.

“Shelby had some Jew from London called Solomons abduct her - for Y/N, she’ll have talked him into it I’m sure - but the stupid fuck got played. Solomons is holding Chiara - he’s got demands we need to look like we’re working on. But as soon as Tommy Shelby is dead, I’ll take him and his business out, and we’ll get her back. The nanny is with her, she’s safe.”

His mother stared at him with narrowed eyes. Things were much, much worse than she could have possibly imagined. But something about the story niggled at her - it just didn’t add up.

“So you’re telling me that Y/N left here, to run back to Tommy Shelby, without Chiara? Why would she do that? Why are you so sure she wasn’t kidnapped?”

“BECAUSE SHE’S STILL IN LOVE WITH HIM!” he roared suddenly, spittle flying from his lips as he hurled his glass against the fireplace. It shattered to smithereens, the raw alcohol making the flames leap higher in the grate.

Audrey was quiet for a moment, shocked at her eldest son’s behaviour. He had been on edge before he left New York but this… this was something else. She was suddenly very afraid for her daughter-in-law.

“Take me to her,” she said quietly as he gripped the back of the other armchair, breath coming in sharp bursts.

“Why?”

“Because I’m your mother and I fucking said so,” she retorted, sinking her drink and standing, smoothing her skirts and looking at him expectantly.

*****

On the way back from the privy you paused on the landing by the other door, guessing it was the room where they were keeping Michael.

“Move,” grunted Matteo, nudging you with his gun.

“Let me see him,” you asked quietly, reaching towards the door handle.

He moved quickly, standing between you and the door, gun levelled in your face.

“I said move.”

“Matteo please, just for a moment. I just want to see if he’s ok,” you pleaded.

“What’s it to you if he’s ok or not?”

“I‘ve known him since he was a baby. And he’s only in this mess because of me.”

You could see him wavering. He always was a better man than Luca.

“Please, just for a moment. I know what you must think of me but please…”

He lowered the gun with a sigh, twisting the handle of the door and nudging it open with his foot.

“Make it quick.”

You hurried past him into the dingy room, much like your own prison, freezing and bare apart from the huddled form of Michael in the corner, his hand and feet bound. His face was bloody and great purple and black bruises were blooming all over it.

You sank to your knees beside him, running a hand over his shoulder and he woke with a start, flinching away you.

“It’s ok, it’s me, it’s me,” you soothed but you could hear the crack of emotion in your voice. You tried and failed not to imagine Polly’s reaction had she found him like this.

“Y/N?” he croaked in surprise. He tried to move and groaned in pain. One of his eyes was swollen shut and as he moved his arm you could see blood seeping through his shirt; his bullet wounds had reopened and were bleeding again.

Until today you had felt little towards this man, barely more than a boy still really, other than mild contempt at his habit of smug arrogance. But now, after your conversation on the hill, his attempt to save you both, what you had both endured, you felt protective towards him. You had to save him, for Polly. A surge of rage coursed through you at his treatment at the hands of your husband.

“He needs a doctor, his stitches have torn. He could get an infection,” you said sharply to Matteo, gently running your fingers through Michael’s slightly matted hair. He was already burning up.

“He’s not getting a doctor. This ain’t a fuckin’ hotel.”

You threw him a filthy look before turning back to Michael, drawing closer to whisper low enough you wouldn’t, hopefully, be heard.

“I’m going to get us out of this, Michael, I promise. I’m going to get you back home, no matter what I have to do. Just hang on for me, yeah? Hang on.”

You felt him squeeze your hand in acknowledgment.

“Michael, listen to me,” you said urgently in the same low voice, leaning ever closer. “I need you to do something to help me. Luca is going to ask you a question about your mum, about me. I need you to say yes. Can you do that for me?”

He nodded, grimacing at the pain it sent shooting through his skull.

“Alright that’s enough,” said Matteo, growing increasingly uncomfortable at how far he was disobeying his boss. He should never have let you come in here. If Luca ever found out, he was in big trouble.

“Just hold on, I’ll get us out of this, I promise,” you whispered one last time, offering Michael a soft smile, trying to fight back the burn of tears in your throat. You had no idea if that was true, and even if you could convince Luca to spare your life, could you really save both of you.

A wave of tiredness and sorrow washed over you. Today had been so long this morning, grooming horses with Bonnie felt like a lifetime ago. Bonnie… you didn’t even know if he was alive. So many people caught up in this vicious battle that was as much between you and Luca as it was between he and the Shelbys. Would he even have gone looking for Michael if you hadn’t been the lure? All those poor people at the camp, lives lost and ruined because of you.

You forced yourself back to your feet before Matteo could get any more antsy - you were nervous about how trigger happy he might be feeling - and headed for the door. You waited there for him, hands crossed in front of your body, looking down at the floor demurely. No false moves.

You were quiet for the final short journey back to your own cold, depressing room.

“Matteo?” you asked softly as you sat back down, proffering your hands to be re-tied.

“Y/N, don’t,” he sighed, able to guess what was coming next.

“Please, you could stop this right now. You know this is wrong.”

He looked away from your wide imploring eyes. Even after days of living outdoors, covered in dirt and grass stains from falling down the hill, and with a split lip and bruises, you were still completely beguiling. He had a sudden memory of meeting you for the first time, back when Luca had just begun courting you, and he hadn’t been able to stop the twist of jealousy in his stomach at his friend’s good luck.

“Matteo, you know what he did to me? Don’t you?” you whispered.

As you watched your words land he shook his head, not in disagreement but as though doing battle internally. He played anxiously with the rope, still between his hands, waiting to return to your wrists.

“Please,” you pressed. “He’s either going to kill me or he’s going to force me to stay with him. I need to stay alive, for Chiara’s sake, but please, I can’t go back there, to that life. Not after what he did. You have to get me out of here.”

Of course he knew what Luca had done to you. Barbara had told him and he believed her; he’d seen the marks on your face and neck before you were taken. Two weeks on and there were still the faintest of bruises, if you looked closely. How could he do something like that to someone like you?

But, said the other little voice in his head, it wasn’t his place to decide what happened to you. After all, you were Luca’s wife. And especially after you had betrayed the family with your deals with the Shelbys and that nearly got them all killed.

“I can’t…” he murmured.

“You can! I know you’re a better man than he is, Matteo. Please, just help me get my daughter back and you’ll never have to see me again.”

“I can’t,” he said more firmly and you could have wept.

“Please—”

“No, I really can’t. Chiara, she’s not here. Solomons still has her.”

You froze, your heart all but stopping in your chest.

“What..? But how? Did Luca not go for her??”

“No, he did but—”

“You’re telling me that my baby is still with that madman?! It’s been almost a WEEK, Matteo!”

Fury chased panic through your veins and you leapt from your seat, pacing, unable to stay still. Never for a minute had you thought Luca wouldn’t have got her back by now. He was many things but he was a devoted father. How could he just leave her there?!

“Solomons had demands, stuff that needed time to arrange, there was nothing he could do without a battle.”

“He started a war over his brother! She’s his fucking daughter!” Your eyes were bright, flashing with rage and for a moment Matteo remembered who you could be when you weren’t beaten and cowed by your husband.

“C’mon Y/N, you know he would have got her if he could. We were outnumbered.”

You opened your mouth to respond, practically shaking with anger, when there was the clear sound of tyres crunching on the gravel outside. Matteo rushed to the window and peeked out, seeing Luca climbing from the vehicle.

“Merda, please, I need to you to sit down, he’ll cut my fuckin’ balls off if you’re not tied up.”

You stopped pacing abruptly, facing him, rapidly weighing your options in your head.

“Make it worth my while.”

*****

The phone rang in the dark of the bakery and Alfie snatched it up before it could wake the sleeping child across the room.

“Speak,” he grunted in a semi-whisper.

“Alfie?”

He closed his eyes for a moment and sent a prayer that he was sure would not be listened to, because they never fucking had been before when it came to this heathen Shelby man.

“What d’you want Tommy? It’s late.”

“Why are you whispering?”

“Because there is a toddler sleeping not three fucking feet away from me and she was murder to get down tonight, so I will not have scum like you waking her up!” he whisper-shouted, glowering as he heard chuckling at the other end of the line.

“I thought you took the nanny with you?”

“Yeah, I did an’ all, what of it?”

“Well why are you the one putting the child to bed?”

Alfie sighed deeply, unwilling to explain to the Birmingham man how he, the cunning, fearsome and, if he may say so himself, handsome King of Camden Town was now in fact ruled by the tiny iron fist of the Changretta princess.

“Never the fuck you mind. What do you want?”

“Her daddy hasn’t delivered for you then yet I take it?”

Alfie snorted non-commitally in response, and sat back in his chair, looking across at the little huddled shape of the child, her dark curls barely visible above the blanket. He was suddenly very tired.

“Imagine Tommy,” he mused, settling further into his battered old seat. “Imagine that you could not see. At all - born blind. Then one day, you open up your eyes and you can see everything in the world, when before you could only touch it or smell it. There it is… the revelation, innit?”

The silence on the line was heavy but he ignored it, carrying on, lost in his thoughts.

“I’ve had one. A revelation, I mean. Yeah, I saw a beautiful house down in Margate. A great big white building, monkey puzzle tree against the blue sky. A little piece of heaven. And I thought to myself, Alfie, what are you doing? Why don’t you just sell every ounce of gold and every barrel of rum you got, and just buy yourself some fucking time, mate?”

The clearing of a throat reminded him that Tommy was still there and he roused himself slightly.

“I need to buy myself some time.”

“You’re moving to Margate, Alfie?” He could hear the barely veiled irritation in Tommy’s voice.

“I am actually, yeah. I got to get myself some rest. I need some rest,” he sighed, drumming his fingertips on his desk. “Plus the Americans are here now aren’t they so that’s it. Been that way since the war, ain’t it? Big, fucks small. Always has. Big will fuck small.” He leant on the emphasis at the end, knowing even without seeing him the tight expression on Tommy’s face.

“Well before you go, do you think you could do one last thing for me, while I end this war?”

Alfie chucked. No matter how many times he fucked this man over, he always came back for more. There was something oddly reassuring about his consistency in this mad modern world.

“Hmmm… you see though, Tommy, I already know how it ends, don’t I? Big. Fucks. Small.”

There was the pained sigh of a man who was barely hanging on to his temper in his ear and he grinned. He would miss this, driving Tommy Shelby to distraction just, for the fun of it, when he retired.

“Just hear me out, will you? For old time’s sake?”

*****

Matteo was still in the room when Luca came roaring up the stairs, bursting in.

“The fuck you doing in here? Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

“Sorry boss, she needed to go to the john.”

Luca threw you a filthy look and you did your best to look apologetic for your bodily functions.

“Get out. My mother’s downstairs, go look after her. I need a minute with my wife.”

You could feel yourself staring at him like he had grown a second head. His mother?? What the fuck was Audrey doing here?!

“Your mother is here?” you asked, unable to keep yourself quiet but he ignored you, following Matteo to the door, speaking in a low voice. Even straining as you did, you couldn’t hear what he was saying.

He turned abruptly, catching you leaning forward to try and make out his words, an evil smirk spreading across his face as he walked towards you.

“Now we’ll see your lies unravel, principessa. Let’s see you try and deceive my mother - she is no fool!”

“What’s she doing here?”

He shifted slightly and you knew him too well not to see that her arrival had nothing to do with him. In a fit of pique, you decided to turn the screw. If he was going to kill you anyway, you might as well hurt him too.

“Why haven’t you rescued Chiara from Solomons yet? Call yourself a father.”

His lip curled at the contempt in your tone. How dare you have the audacity to sit there, his captive, and criticise him? In three strides he had his hands around your throat and you were quickly regretting your actions as you struggled for breath.

“You fucking puttana, I’ll fucking—”

“LUCA! Basta! Stop!” Audrey burst into the room and he dropped you in an instant. You fell forward, pulling your aching shoulders painfully as you coughed, wheezed and gasped for breath.

“Santo cielo…” she gasped, pushing past him to get to you, gently rubbing your back as you slowly regained control of your breathing.

She ran her eyes over you as you did so. Was this the same woman she had kissed goodbye to just two months previously? Gone were your shining, perfectly arranged curls. Your clothes were rumpled and covered in dirt. As she tilted your chin up she could see dried blood on your chin, your bottom lip split above it and there was very faint old bruising on your cheek. Dark marks were forming around your neck, above another set, just barely discernible below.

“Audrey?” you croaked.

She turned, stony faced, towards her son.

“What way is this to treat the mother of your child? Untie her at once.”

“Mamma, she’s a traitor, she—”

She ignored his excuses and moved behind you, pulling at the knots, making you wince as the rope tugged painfully against your raw skin. But at last it fell loose once more. You pulled your hands away quickly, wrapping your arms tightly around your middle.

“Leave us,” she said, standing before you once more, not looking at him as she spoke.

“Ma—”

“Do as you’re fucking told, Luca,” she snapped, nostrils flaring as she spun toward him.

He cursed under his breath and stormed from the room, the door banging loudly behind him.

She turned back towards you. “My son has made some very serious accusations against you. I think you had better tell me everything. And no lies, I will know.”

You nodded, trying to work out where to even begin.

*****

It took a long time to tell her the events of the last month and, conscious of her shrewd watchful eye, you did your best to be honest, lying only occasionally and by omission. She did not need to know you had been unfaithful to her son - not that you had ever really considered it as such; in your mind when you let Tommy take you to bed, Luca was no longer your husband. Nor did she need to know just how far your feelings for Tommy had been reignited, though you suspected she could probably guess from the little you did say about your time in his house.

“And the baby?” she asked finally as your story drew to a close. “Luca tells me you’re pregnant. Are you?”

You took a deep breath.

“I am. Polly Gray told me, you know how she is? I let her read my tea leaves, for old time’s sake - it was just supposed to be a joke. I didn’t expect her to tell me that, though I think deep down I already suspected.”

She stared at you long and hard for a moment.

“Polly is never wrong about these things,” she sighed at last, and you nodded in agreement.

“Well,” she continued, exhaling tiredly. “We should get you back to the hotel and cleaned up. You must be desperate for a bath.”

Fear and uncertainty began to trickle down your spine.

“What do you mean, the hotel? I’m not going anywhere with him.”

“You’re having his child, cara mia, you’re his wife. It’s time to come home.”

You pushed off the chair and retreated back across the room, away from her.

“Did you not hear me, Audrey? Your son, my husband,” you spat the word like it left a foul taste in your mouth, “beat and raped me! And just now he tried to kill me with his own hands! I’m not going back there.”

She approached you and you backed away until you ran out of room and you found only the cold, rough wall behind you.

“I know, and his behaviour has been abominable. I will speak to him,” she said gently but you could only shudder. “But you are a Changretta, Y/N. You are the mother of a Changretta, two Changrettas,” she placed a hand on your still flat stomach. “You made a promise before our Lord. You will honour that promise.”

Tears began to prick your eyes as panic flowed through you. This couldn’t be happening. How could she do this to you? Fucking mothers and their sons.

“Please, no, I can’t go back to him. Not after what he did to me.”

She placed her hands on your shaking shoulders, muttering soothingly as the tears broke free of your control and began to slip quickly down your cheeks.

“Hush now, don’t upset yourself - it’s bad for the baby. Don’t worry about Luca, I will speak to him. I will see that he leaves you alone and behaves.”

Before you could stop her, she called out for assistance and moving as if in a trance, you found yourself being taken back downstairs. You brushed past Luca by the door and heard him call angrily to his mother as you were ushered into the back of the waiting car.

As you were driven away, Audrey’s hand on yours, you twisted to look back at the house. How would you ever explain to Polly that you had left Michael behind..?

*****

When you woke the following morning every single part of your body was screaming in agony. When you had got back to the hotel, Luca stalked off towards the bar and you fled to Chiara and Barbara’s old room and locked the door. You cried yourself to sleep, still in your filthy clothes, as you hugged one of your daughter’s stuffed animals to your chest, breathing in the scent of her that still clung to it.

Dragging yourself from the crumpled sheets you caught sight of your reflection in the mirror on the wardrobe door. You didn’t even know the woman who stared back at you, gaunt featured and sallow skinned, hair hanging loose and lank, pulled from your pins by your fall and Luca’s rough hands the day before.

Your other injuries from the fall were now also making themselves known. It was like every muscle had been pulled, every joint jolted. You stiffly began to undress, wincing but unsurprised to see bruises blooming across your hips, arms, back and legs. Angry red welts shone at your wrists and bruises had formed around your neck, another purple necklace you would have to try and hide.

You drew a bath as you tried to untangle the knots that had formed in your hair after living wild over the last few days. Audrey wasn’t wrong when she said you were ready to be clean again.

But at what cost, you thought, picturing Michael alone in that terrible place. Please let him survive, you begged a god you had long ceased to believe in.

*****

He sat in the armchairs by the fire with his mother. Y/N had refused to leave the bedroom all day, only accepting a clean set of clothes and a tray of food, the lock clunking back into place after each was delivered and she would only allow Audrey to deliver them.

“She’s a liar,” he repeated tensely.

“I could see the bruises, Luca,” she shot back. “And I’ve known that girl since she was a child. She wasn’t lying.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, taking a gulp of his whiskey. Sure he’d been rough with you. Tough. You needed reminding where your loyalties lay. But rape? You were his wife, the suggestion was absurd.

He had a flash of memory, you wailing and struggling against the wall opposite where he now sat, begging him to stop.

He shoved it away, his stomach churning.

“You need to apologise. Show her you mean it, if you ever want to be a family again when this Shelby business is over.”

He seized at the opportunity to change the subject.

“I had a note from Tommy Shelby earlier. They want to parlay.”

Audrey sat back and considered this news for a moment, swilling the liquid in her glass thoughtfully.

“And what do you think about that?”

“I think he can go fuck himself,” he spat, sinking another inch from his glass.

She studied him for a moment, this wrathful, cold man who used to be her son. She hadn’t wanted to bring Y/N back here with him but what choice did she have? He wasn’t about to let her walk away and she could hardly leave her to freeze in her own filth in that dilapidated farmhouse with Polly Gray’s boy. She was her daughter-in-law and she was pregnant. All she could do now was try and reverse the damage he had caused, help her son find the man he used to be.

“I think there is a way you can end this without further bloodshed. Providing the Shelbys cooperate. And now you have two of the people the heads of the family care about the most, you will have their undivided attention.

PART 25

It’s the showdown you’ve all been waiting for next week… are you ready?? 😬 I’m not sure I am 😂 Thank you to everyone who had been reading and commenting and sending me love for this story - you have no idea how much it means to me 🤍 Please do keep it coming! 🤍

Masterlists: TOMMY | SERIES | MAIN

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#tommy shelby fanfiction #luca changretta fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfiction #ddd recommends

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