CHELTENHAM, 1919

EVERYTHING WAS BREATHTAKING. Crystal glasses of champagne on silver trays were graciously being passed around the crowded marble mansion. Women in their most beautiful dresses and men wearing their most expensive suits. Hundreds of high heels clicked against the marble floor while a slow song was playing, and couples reunited to close the distance between their bodies and dance until the sun would rise again. Perfect, curled hair falling on shoulders graciously, bodies moving in a perfect mosaic. Perfect evening, perfect people.

Perfection resided in one person, in particular, that night. A woman, standing beside the buffet, not moving from her spot. Her hands were wrapped around a glass of champagne, thin golden rings shining under the bright light all around the pretty mansion. Strong voices were covering the soft sounds produced by the band singer, especially one nasal thing that hurt her ears every time it would reach them.

She turned around slowly and placed her finished glass on the table softly, as if not to break anything. God only knew what these little hands had been able to do in the city, what they still could do. She ran her tongue over her plump, pink lips before facing the crowd once more, her arms crossed over her chest. Red hair was falling in perfect waves in the small of her back, green eyes wandering through the ballroom for him.

A hand was wrapped around her wrist and startled her. She lifted her eyes to meet her brother's. His eyes were focused on a table a few feet away from them, where two men were discussing animatedly — probably a business talk — and the corner of his mouth slightly quirked upwards.

"l'ho trovato, sister," he whispered as she put her hand over his, squeezing it slightly in appreciation.

She narrowed her eyes towards the table before she was taking her hand off of her brother's forearm and stepped forward confidently.

"Thank you, fratello," she said softly as she pushed a curl of red hair behind her shoulder. "Remember I'm doing the talking, alright? Just keep an eye on that damn man over there, so we don't get interrupted."

He nodded and stood still, his hands crossed behind his strong back in a manner girls had always been fond of. She excused herself when a couple slightly bumped into her, trying to ignore the man's stare lingering on her face, and carried on her way until she reached for the table she had been looking for all evening.

When she finally was close enough to speak and be sure she'd be heard, she stopped in her tracks, her long fingers reaching for a cigarette pack left on the table.

"I hope everything's to your taste."

He slowly took his eyes away from where they had lingered on a blonde woman slow-dancing with the nasal-voiced man —  Billy Kimber, she was afraid — and faced her fully, cerulean pupils analyzing every detail composing her whole face.

"Are you the party thrower?" he asked, taking the cigarette he was smocking away from his plump lips, his thumb brushing against the bottom one softly.

She scoffed and sat down at the other side of the table, snatching a match to light up the cigarette she had also taken from the abandoned pack of cigarettes on the table. Once she was able to take her first drag, she lifted her eyes once again, meeting the ocean pupils she had heard so much about.

"Of course not," she responded. "I'm a lot more fancier. Not enough diamonds."

He didn't smile. In fact, he didn't say anything, only staring at her and smocking his almost consumed cigarette before he cleared his throat.

"I guess you're not here to discuss the party," he finally stated, and she was pleased by the sound of his deep voice and its calmness. The power behind this casual behaviour was overwhelming, even for her. For a second, she felt scared that he might just shoot her before she could even think about beginning her sentence.

"Infatti." Her shoulders tensed when he raised a jet-black eyebrow at her native language and the way the word rolled on her tongue. There was no way she was faking it. "We've heard a lot about you Birmingham people up there in London. The first thing I heard about you was very unpleasant, but then I started hearing different things, and these ones caught my attention. So right now, I'm seeing if you're as captivating as you seemed to be in people's mouths."

He leaned forward slightly, lighting up another cigarette.

"And who am I talking to? 'Cause you slightly remind me of someone over there with these words."

She smiled and took a drag of her cigarette, Kimber's face flashing in her mind.

"Except that he's afraid you'll take his kingdom away from him," she whispered as she leaned forward, as if telling him Earth's biggest secret. "That's probably where I differ."

They stared at each other for a second, and time seemed to freeze. Not in a good way though as she thought about what his hands could do if he was frustrated; she had heard thousands of stories about razor blades cutting flesh for a wrong look, shot men lying down on the pavement with lifeless eyes staring at the foggy sky for days until finally, policemen on payroll would take the body away to throw it down the Cut.

Birmingham monsters were nothing compared to London's, but they were getting more and more similar day after day.

"At first I didn't believe you'd be bold enough to even try," she explained, grabbing a full glass of champagne on a waiter's plate. "Then I asked around. And then I realized you're bold enough to be interesting. To be useful."

He raised a curious eyebrow at her statement before grabbing his glass of whiskey and taking a slow sip.

"I don't know why I could be useful to you," he finally said. "And I still don't know who you are."

She outstretched her hand over the table graciously, pushing a strand of perfect red hair behind her shoulder with the movement.

"Delilah De Luca."

He leaned forward slightly to shake her delicate hand in his calloused one, slightly wondering how such little things could be threatening enough that she had the confidence to interrupt his whole evening and slightly fuck his plans up just because she thought they'd have an agreement.

But now that he had heard the full name, he finally was able to put a face on a name — and what a face. After hearing so many twisted stories about the De Luca family, he was ready to meet a forty-year-old man with calloused hands just like his, and probably with a knife at his belt. Instead, he was facing one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever laid his eyes on. A young woman, probably about John's age, a warm and dimpled smile, porcelain skin, flame-like hair, and pink dress. A pair of emerald eyes that were stone cold, just like his own; she was just able to create an emotion on her face while he was totally emotionless.

"Thomas Shelby," he responded before letting go of her hand. "So they sent you to talk business."

Delilah laughed. The sound ran around the room as if it was the new music, couples slowing down to listen to its tempo.

"No one's sending me," she argued. "I'm sending myself."

Thomas leaned back in his chair and brought his cigarette to his lips, diverting his eyes from the beauty sitting in front of her to the pretty barmaid dancing with Kimber not too far away from him. He was already hating his own guts for what she would go through later that day.

"Did you bring her here to impress her, or because she's a clause?"

Thomas' eyes fell on her face again, and Delilah couldn't help but smirk most devilishly. This look she was witnessing on his face was exactly why she came in the first place. The heated look that was known all around Birmingham, scaring her fellow Italians working over there and shaking them to the core. Those cold eyes that could pierce your soul and shatter your body to pieces — this stare that had been shaking London for a few days were everything she needed, and finally, she had it.

"Alla fine!" She exclaimed, clapping her hands for a second. "That's what I've been looking for, that look in your eyes. This is what I've heard about."

"Let me ask you something," Thomas demanded, his hands crossed on the table. "What do you want from me?"

Delilah glanced at her brother over her shoulder before focusing again on the Devil's human face. It was true that this man was pretty, and the way he was staring intently at her as if searching her soul — if only she had one — only increased the feeling of power coming out of him. The strawberry blonde could bet her own life that people were shaking just by hearing his footsteps in a corridor.

"We have the same goal, Mr.Shelby, whether you already know it or not."

He raised a dark eyebrow at her words, but before Delilah had the chance to carry on the conversation, Billy Kimber's tall frame stopped by his new friend, his hands brushing his suit nervously. Whatever had brought the De Luca siblings at Cheltenham could not be good, especially if the redhead had waited until no one was near to discuss with the Peaky Blinders' leader.

"Am I interrupting something?" His nasal voice wondered as one of his large hands found a place behind Thomas' chair.

Delilah smiled and stood up, her delicate fingers crossed on her stomach. Her hair was falling all around her face like a fiery halo, bringing colour to her pale cheeks. Her front row of teeth dug into her plump bottom lip as Thomas spared a glance at the blonde barmaid impatiently waiting by the buffet, a cigarette hanging between two of her fingers.

"Of course not," she responded, her voice powerful enough to shut Kimber up. Once Thomas' attention was on her again, she leaned forward enough so her voice wouldn't be heard by someone else than him. "I heard there's only one place we can find you, the Garrison. Expect me there. Soon."

As soon as her breath faded on Thomas' cold cheek, Delilah was up again, staring at Kimber with a side smile on her face. If he was honest, the dark-haired male could tell how troubled Kimber was by the ginger's presence. As if to confirm his thoughts, Kimber's voice trembled when he addressed her.

"Send my regards to your parents, Miss De Luca."

Delilah seemed pleased by the little shake in his horrible voice as an open-mouthed smile blossomed on her lips.

"Of course," she agreed, slightly turning her head to face her brother. "Andiamo!"

In a heartbeat, a man who shared a few features with her was by her side, his emotionless eyes glancing at the two gang members while she wrapped her delicate hand around his upper arm. With one last closed-mouth smile, Delilah and her brother were on their way to exit the building, the rich fabric of her dress softly brushing Thomas' grey suit.

"Well, I guess it's a habit of yours to get yourself in trouble, Shelby," Kimber said, lighting up a cigarette. "Though I wouldn't say no to that kind of trouble."

Thomas wondered why he didn't dare make that kind of comment when the woman was still there — fast enough, he guessed that she probably would have his head on a stake if he had even opened his mouth about her.

As his ocean eyes followed her retreating form through the ballroom, Kimber leaned forward and snatched the untouched glass of whiskey in front of Delilah's previous seat. His eyes devoured Grace's body from head to toe.

"Now, let's talk about business."

ஜ۩۞۩ஜ 

Delilah walked through the carpeted corridor, her feet digging in the soft ground. The glass of gin she was holding in her hand was the only thing that provided her enough courage to face her father, knowing he wouldn't be really happy with her idea — but it was the only way to sort everything out.

The strawberry blonde quietly made her way into her father's office. It smelled like him, whiskey, smoke, and leather; his office was also a spitting image of him. Grand and well decorated, with family pictures hanging on the wall — famiglia prima di tutto. It was more than a rule in the De Luca family, it was a whole value. Something you couldn't pass on.

"Good evening, papà."

Robert De Luca lifted his eyes from the paper he was reading, probably a document full of numbers Delilah was too tired to even think about. His lightless, cold eyes found the half-empty glass of liquor in her hand and he cleared his throat, straightening up and crossing his hands on his desk.

"How was Cheltenham, mia figlia?"

Delilah took a sip of the hard liquor, enjoying the way it burnt her throat before reaching her stomach and warming up her entire being. She felt confidence running through her veins as she rested her hand on one of the chairs facing her father.

"Well," she started, pursing her lips. "It went good, but not as good as I expected."

"Which means?"

The golden ring around Robert's index shone under the soft light. Memories of the ring hitting her cheek every once in a while as a child sent a chill down Delilah's spine.

"I'll have to visit Birmingham."

Robert sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose painfully. A piece of his straight hair fell in front of his dark eyes, and all Delilah wanted was to disappear in the deepest hole ever and to never be seen again.

"Do you really believe it's a good idea to set foot in his territory to come to an arrangement, or are you just stupida?"

Delilah swallowed her sip of gin and her eyes focused on her father's face. If there was something that could define her, it was the way her brain worked. In a matter of seconds, she was able to figure out how a person was thinking, acting, and how to predict them. It was the main reason why she was sent to meet with their future associates: she could understand them pretty easily, and then, their minds were at her total disposal.

Everything she had ever done had either been made to hurt or to serve her interests. Nothing more, nothing less.

The only time she recalled herself being selfless had been the war — and it wasn't the type of shit she wanted to remember at all.

"I want him to feel in control," she explained quickly. "I want him to feel safe, to think that nothing can hurt him because he's home."

Robert pursed his lips and stood up, towering over his daughter.

"Listen, I know what I'm doing, okay? If he feels threatened, he'll get wary. And that is not a way to conclude an agreement, now, is it?"

"Ragazza intelligente."

Delilah turned around to face her mother while her father straightened up and stared at his wife.

Jessica De Luca stood up by the door frame, her shoulder leaning against it with her arms crossed over her chest. Her red hair — which Delilah inherited — was falling on her shoulders in glossy waves, some of it brushing against her cheeks when she moved to stand by her daughter.

"This is the reason why we, women, are in charge here, mio amore," she added as she placed her delicate hands on Delilah's shoulders. "Because we think, isn't that right?"

Delilah lifted her head to lock eyes with her mother. It was scary how similar they both were. If Delilah didn't know any better, she'd think that her mother had made her alone. However, she had her father's unpredictable temperament and those cold orbs of hers. Both were all him, and him alone.

"Yes, mamma," she responded.

Robert sighed but didn't add anything, choosing to sit back on his chair instead. Jessica squeezed her daughter's shoulder before stepping behind her husband and putting her hands on his shoulders.

"Now, be an angel and go to bed," she ordered, and it didn't leave any place for an argument. "I have a lot of things to discuss with your father."

Delilah nodded and went to exit the office, closing the door behind her quietly. She walked up the marble stairs leading to the De Luca's children's quarters. If there was a place she was feeling comfortable in, it really was her bedroom. Ever since the war had ended, it had been her one and only shelter from the world, a place where she could be quiet and still be noisy, a safe place where she could express her fears and still be strong. Behind these four walls, Delilah De Luca could be herself, not the cold and calculative gang member she was supposed to be outside.

As she walked by her little sister's bedroom, a little voice calling her name stopped her in her tracks. Delilah moved backwards to stand in the doorway and narrowed her eyes to see Marylena's blonde curls falling on her skinny shoulders as she sat up to face her older sister.

"Della?" the little girl called again, as if unsure to be speaking to the right person.

The redhead cleared her throat.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

Delilah's eyes widened when Marylena shot up from her bed and ran straight to her sister, her tiny arms wrapped around her legs tightly.

When Delilah left for Verdun, Marylena was barely able to walk and Angelo had been gone for months. Even though they all were siblings, they all had little time to get to know each other, and Marylena grew up without her older siblings to look after her or even play with her. Ever since they came back from France, their little sister had been distant towards them — after all, she didn't know them. The only moments they shared were dinner and sometimes ten minutes to play then and there. They never had the opportunity to connect.

"What's the matter, Lena?"

The blonde girl lifted her head to meet her older sister's eyes, the only feature they were sharing.

"Are you and Angelo Bello staying at home tomorrow?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "So we can play!"

"Yes, I can manage that," Delilah whispered as she kneeled in front of Marylena and ran her hand through her blonde curls. "But for now, you're going to bed and having a good night, yeah?"

Marylena nodded profusely and wrapped her arms around Delilah's neck, planting a kiss on her cheek, before she ran back into her bedroom and threw herself in her bed.

Delilah sighed and straightened up, walking back to her bedroom. Once she was inside, she shut the door silently behind her and moved to her wardrobe. Delilah swiftly got off her heels and removed her dress, letting the fabric slide around her body and onto the floor. Chills ran down her spine as she slipped into one of her father's old shirts.

The redhead pulled her hair into a low bun against her neck and shifted to her bed, quickly grabbing a whiskey bottle from underneath the furniture. The finest, she was told. Frankly, Delilah wasn't drinking for the taste, but to forget the bombs exploding in her head, and the screams, the blood-chilling screams she was hearing so often at night.

Delilah uncorked the bottle and took a sip of the amber liquid, the usual burn running down her throat easily decreasing the tension in her shoulders. Her head quickly fuzzed; no matter how often she could drink, Delilah had always been quickly drunk. It was a good thing though, since it was faster to forget everything until she had gone through the whole crisis and finally was able to sleep again.

Once she had swallowed enough liquor for her first swig, Delilah let the bottle rest between her crossed legs and closed her eyes, the buzzing in her ears increasing for a second. Her head started to spin and she threw her head back, exhaling loudly.

A knock against her door resonated into the room, forcing her to come back to Earth. She opened her eyes slowly, and tried to let her voice get out of her throat without shaking, but miserably failed.

"Yes?" she croaked.

The door cracked open and Angelo's head appeared, peaking through the gap.

"Mind if I join you?"

Delilah shook her head and motioned for him to come inside. Once the door was safely closed behind him, Angelo rushed towards her king-sized bed and laid down on the mattress, the slats creaking under his weight.

"Mind if a dead man takes a sip?" he then demanded, pointing at the bottle between his sister's thighs.

"You're not dead yet, asshole," Delilah sighed as she outstretched the bottle towards him.

Angelo sighed as he grabbed it and took a long sip, closing his eyes as the liquor slipped down his throat.

"I wish I was," he muttered while placing the bottle between them.

"No you don't," Delilah argued, running her fingers on the soft fabric of her sheets. "Otherwise, you'd be six feet under already."

Angelo scoffed and nodded.

"Then I wish I could just take the noises away, how 'bout that?"

Delilah sadly smiled as she leaned on her headboard.

"You're not the only one, brother," she whispered back.

A sigh escaped Angelo's parted lips as he glanced at his younger sister. He would be lying if he said that she looked the same as before. Wrinkled had appeared on her forehead for the time she had spent worrying for the wounded soldiers lying down within white sheets, and her eyes were cold. Emotionless. She hadn't been herself ever since Verdun, always trying to occupy her mind with the family business and risking her life to feel alive, even for a second. Delilah still was breathtaking, as she had always been; but she just wasn't the same girl he left for the war.

He wasn't the same boy either. When fighting in the trenches with grown-ass men, Angelo had learned to be brave and to forget about death. It was at every corner, he just couldn't escape it, whether he wanted it or not — the soldiers dropping like flies on the field were the perfect image of what he would one day be. A corpse among so many others, nameless and cold, probably swallowed by the mud. He could still hear his comrades screaming while witnessing another murder — he was even dreaming of it at night. Memories of his own friends kneeling on the ground after they had been shot, spending their last glance towards their remaining friends before they completely fell.

It was just a habit to see people's lives being destroyed by the war. He had also been devastated by the battlefield. And had tried to get back on his feet, no matter how hard it could be, while looking after his sister. He had been supposed to protect her, and had failed when she left and witnessed the atrocities he had been so hardly shielding her from.

Delilah stared at the ceiling for a moment before letting her eyes drift towards her brother again.

"I'll have to go to Birmingham," she finally spoke. "Soon."

"You? In that rathole?" Angelo snickered, turning his head in her direction.

Delilah scoffed and raised an eyebrow.

"I know it could be surprising," she admitted, raising her hands in surrender.

Angelo rolled on his side and took the bottle, swallowing a gulp of the strong liquor.

"You'll do great," he then stated as he passed her the bottle. "You're the best to make deals. They won't resist you."

Delilah caught a drop that had escaped her mouth with her tongue and swallowed the whiskey as well.

"If I ever need to move there for business, you'll be my bodyguard, right?"

The two siblings stared at each other for a long second. In the De Luca's household, they had never been the type to express their feelings. Whether it was before or after the war, whether it was the parents or the children, they had never been good at saying the magic three words. Not that they weren't meaning them in their hearts and souls, it was just not a habit of them to tell it.

It had always been that way. The siblings had never known another way. They were showing their love for each other by looking after one another, making sure they were safe and always protected, doing as well as they could. And if not, they were getting drunk together, hiding from their parents to avoid any argument. Playing cards and sharing old memories, sometimes even laughing when they were feeling like they could. Most of the time, they were just together during a hard time, making sure they'd never be alone.

And that was the reason why Angelo smiled so widely and placed his large palm on his sister's knee, squeezing it lightly.

"Yes," he answered. "Per lei sempre, sorella."

Italian words: 

l'ho trovato = i found him

fratello = brother

Infatti = indeed 

Alla fine = finally 

Andiamo = let's go

famiglia prima di tutto = family first

mia figlia = my daughter

stupida =  idiot

Ragazza intelligente = smart girl

mio amore = my love

mamma = mommy 

Per lei sempre, sorella = forever for you, sister