basically i wanted to make this author note before you dive into the chapter! be prepared for delilah being the biggest bitch ever with the biggest ego in the world; that's also a part of her character. also, the altercation is quite short, but don't worry loves, it's just the beginning

BIRMINGHAM, 1919

DELILAH WAS LEANING AGAINST THE WORKPLACE, HER HANDS WRAPPED AROUND A HOT CUP OF TEA. Angelo ran down the stairs and appeared in the kitchen doorway as Delilah's eyes lifted to meet her brother's.

"Jesus Christ," Angelo scoffed with a raised eyebrow. "You really did it this time."

"Did what?" Delilah groaned, taking a sip of her tea — which was mixed with whiskey. 

"Met my equals," Angelo laughed as he moved towards the kitchen table, cutting a slice of bread and spreading strawberry jam on it. "You're fucking hungover."

"Tell me about fottuto equals," the redhead mocked, finishing her tea in one gulp. "They're fucking addict, that is. How could they even stand?"

Angelo almost choked on his food as Delilah slammed her cup of tea on the kitchen counter, triggering an awful ear-ringing. Her hair was tied in a fishtail braid falling on her right shoulder and a strand of hair was falling on the left side of her face. Her eyes were slightly redder than usual and her hands were shaking a little, but it would only last a few moments. Until the mixed tea would operate.

"You're just not a part of the league is all."

"Bloody alcoholics," Delilah muttered as she rubbed her forehead with her hand. "The lot of you."

Angelo snorted as he took a seat on a wooden chair around the kitchen table. Delilah turned around and crossed her arms over her chest, closing her eyes and breathing out slowly. It seemed like every noise was amplified in her ears, and before she could think this through, Delilah opened a cupboard and took out a bottle of gin.

"What do you think you're doing?" Angelo screamed as his sister poured the translucent liquid into her cup. "You're only gonna make it worse, stupida!"

Delilah drank the cup in one gulp and placed it carefully on the counter, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before she turned on her heels to face her brother.

"Listen here, mascalzone," she snapped, pointing a shaky finger at her brother. "I need to look fucking sober, alright? I hate to lose, and whatever happened last night never existed. I need to fucking look sober."

"And you think you're gonna look sober while drinking even more?" Angelo pointed out. "Perfect sense. Plus, you're gonna smell like alcohol. I can smell it from here."

The redhead rolled her eyes as she took a step towards the staircase. She hit her brother's arm before she walked up the stairs. Ever since she had opened her eyes after their festive evening, Delilah had known she was screwed. She looked like a standing corpse, and it was unusual. She walked into her bedroom and stared at her reflection in the wardrobe mirror and her heart almost stopped.

Her skin was translucent and purple bags could be seen under her eyes. Her cheeks were paler than they had ever been, and her eyes seemed puffy, as if she had cried most of the night. Her usually vibrant green eyes were lifeless and red. She truly looked like she had been through Hell, when she truly had had too much of a drink — and she looked dead, now.

"For fuck's sake!" Delilah yelled, kicking the wardrobe with her foot, which caused another deafening ear-ringing and throbbing pain in her skull.

"I told you so!"

Delilah gritted her teeth and shook her head slowly. She opened the wardrobe and exited a crimson dress. She put it on rather gently, as not to cause too much throbbing in her skull. She kept her hair in the braid and slid a pair of heels on her feet. Before she started to walk, she checked if she wasn't feeling nauseous in case she would throw up right in front of her brother — and add to his mockery. 

She carefully walked down the stairs, her hand never leaving the railing, and she put her thickest black coat on. Angelo turned around, a smirk already painting his lips as he swallowed his mouthful of bread.

"So you're able to walk by yourself now?"

"Fuck off," Delilah mumbled.

She slid her hands in the pockets of her coat and opened the front door. The wind engulfed their house, sweeping away Delilah's hair and sending a cold shiver down Angelo's spine.

"Oi, close that door!" the young man yelled as Delilah blinked the fog away from her eyes, feeling the gin finally warming up her veins.

She stepped out of their shared home and shut the door behind her. Angelo scoffed as he soaked a piece of bread in his coffee. 

"Fucking dumbass," he whispered with a laugh. 

Grey clouds had accumulated in the sky and they were promising a slight rain later in the afternoon. Delilah walked on the paved streets, keeping her head high as she passed by closed shops and kids running down the street with their parents hor on their tails so they wouldn't be late for school. Delilah followed the people with her eyes, her mind carrying her into one of London streets, where she would run at full speed to be in class on time. Jessica De Luca would never let her kids be late for school, but the redhead had taken the habit of playing cards with her girl best friend until the bell would ring and indicate the start of classes.

Thinking about her mother triggered a slight ache in her heart and she cleared her throat, speeding down to the street to reach Garrison Lane.

She turned around a corner and spotted the Garrison, the memories of their previous night flashing in her mind. How she had laughed when John had lost when they were playing cards, how Angelo and Arthur had argued over a drinking game, how she and Thomas would lean closer to one another when she had told him she thought John was cheating and had confronted him.

He was, indeed, cheating, and had screamed at the top of his lungs when he had been caught.

She breathed out and opened the door of the Garrison, the clicking of her heels echoing through the empty pub. Delilah sighed and was about to turn around and leave when Grace's blonde head appeared through a doorway at the end of the room. She turned her head towards the inside of the room before she exited it totally.

"Hello, Grace," Delilah greeted as the blonde walked behind the counter, grabbing a rug from under the bar. "Is Thomas there? I need to talk to him."

Grace opened her mouth to answer but was cut off by Arthur Shelby exiting the back room with a smile growing up on his parted lips. His hair was pushed back on his head, as usual, and he was wearing a light brown three-pieces suit. His peaky hat wasn't placed on the top of his head, and Delilah realized he might have left somewhere in the room he had come from. 

"Still alive, eh, love?"

Delilah rolled her eyes with her hands resting on her lips. Of course, Arthur wouldn't forget about her outburst of the previous night and wouldn't leave it alone. No wonder Angelo had had so much fun with him. Delilah was grateful it wasn't John though: she had shown off and paid the price for it. 

"Barely," she admitted, deciding that recognizing her defeat would probably shut him up. "I didn't realize I was competing with a bunch of alcoholics."

"Everything's in endurance, sweetheart," Arthur said with a wink, referring to her mockery of the previous night. "What are you doing here that early anyway? Obviously not asking for a drink, right?"

Delilah sighed and chuckled.

"Looking for your brother, as I told your charming barmaid right there."

Grace almost snorted when the redhead spoke. How charming was she compared to the gorgeous woman in front of her? Self-doubt wasn't usual in Grace's heart. However, the blonde thought it was a common thing for other women to feel insecure around Delilah. It wasn't even the redhead's fault — even though she was doing everything in her power to make Grace feel uncomfortable until the barmaid would break. The blonde was frustrated that she was feeling this way. She had nothing to envy to the redhead, but she couldn't help being wary of her. 

"And as I was about to tell you," Grace interjected as she cleaned a glass, "he's not here. Yet."

Her voice was firmer than what Delilah had been used to with her. Her tone seemed unbreakable, though Delilah guessed it was an impression the blonde wanted to give. Women like Grace were living through a man's eyes, and every time someone else would steal the show, they were showing their teeth like a fighting dog. It was frustrating to Delilah, who wanted nothing more than women to be independent and proud of themselves. Maybe her ego was too big, but she wished Grace would realize how powerful and free she could be if she wanted to. 

"Merda," she said with a dramatic sigh. "I really need to talk to him now."

"Yeah well, it'll have to wait now, doesn't it?" Grace muttered.

Immediately, the tension in the room increased. Even Arthur could feel it. Delilah's lips twitched upwards slightly and she took a step closer to the counter, her manicured hand resting on the polished surface.

"How are you qualified to know what can or cannot wait, tell me?" Delilah asked, raising her perfect eyebrows. "I'm sorry, but if I'm right, the only thing you're qualified in right now is serving whiskeys to fucking drinkers and giving the eye to a guy who's just trying to find peace for his shattered soul."

Arthur frowned as Delilah snapped, his brain processing the fact that the redhead indeed had a temper. He didn't believe Angelo when he had told him. 

Grace pursed her lips in anger, her eyes flashing with hurt and annoyance. She was a spy, for God's sake, and one of the most talented ones — after all, Chester Campbell had chosen her to help him catch the Peaky Blinders. She wanted to scream at Delilah for underestimating her and her abilities. But even the anger boiling in her veins wasn't worth being exposed, for something bigger was awaiting her: gratitude, honor. Power, even. Grace was powerful, and she had been clever enough to steal a part of Thomas Shelby's heart — regardless of how tiny that part was — and to bring him to trust her.

Grace Burgess was someone as well.

"What about you, then?" Grace shot back, putting her dirty rug down behind the counter. "Only here for business matters, never going to lay a hand on the man she's been dreaming of ever since she met him... Do you think you're doing better than me?"

"Let me tell you something darling, between you and me," Delilah whispered, laying her head closer to the barmaid. "You can believe whatever your desperate heart tells you, but let me add something in the picture: business will always come before love. Why do you think he'll never hesitate when I ask to meet him, even when you're speaking with him? It's not a competition, but if you want to make it one, then you're way out of your league, love. Your good looks don't compete with a brain, and if I were you, I would think about what I do a lot more. And I would practice my lying abilities a lot more."

"What do you think you know about me?" Grace snickered as Arthur quietly made his way out of the pub and back into the cold street, scoffing at Delilah's bold replies.

"I know a lot more about you than you think," Delilah snapped. "And for your information, I won't deny my interest in Thomas Shelby, Miss Burgess. It's not near the same interest as you can put in him. It's the kind of interest that would take precedence over the rest. Again, you can believe whatever your emotions want you to believe."

Delilah opened her mouth to add something but was interrupted by the pub door swinging open, the man of the hour stepping within the establishment, oblivious to the overwhelming tension between the two women.

"Delilah," Thomas spoke as he opened the snug door for her to step in. "An Irish bottle of whiskey, please."

Grace placed the bottle in front of Delilah, slamming it against the wood a little harder than necessary. The redhead wrapped her hand around the bottle and pointed her finger in the blonde's direction.

"Don't you ever dare to speak to me like that again," she said, a threatening note appearing in her command. "Non sei altro."

She then walked into the room with two glasses Grace had given to her after she had spoken. Delilah sat down on the red booth while Thomas took the chair at the end of the table, and she poured them two glasses of whiskey, her hands shaking with barely contained rage.

It was always like this when Delilah was finding herself in the middle of an argument. She needed to stay calm and to act wisely, but she had a lot of trouble keeping her anger shut down. After every argument she had had, her hands were shaking due to the hard effort of containing her emotions. Ever since she had come back from France, it seemed like her anger issues had only worsened, making it even harder to be in possession of her faculties.

Delilah took her glass in her trembling hand, bringing it to her mouth and downing her drink in one gulp. She pinched the bridge of her nose and breathed out shakily, quickly taking her box of cigarettes and lighting one up. She couldn't seem that troubled in front of him, and however, that was exactly what she looked like. Unable to contain her emotions. 

"Let's begin," Delilah said softly, playing with the tip of her braid. "Tell me about Stanley Chapman."

Thomas cleared his throat and crossed his hands on the table, slightly bent over as usual. His voice was barely a whisper when he spoke.

"Campbell wants Freddie Thorne," he explained. "The man who fuckin' knocked my sister up. I couldn't give him up, right? I decided to give Chapman instead. We received information concerning his whereabouts, and we gave him up."

"Did it work?" Delilah then asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke through her pink plump lips.

"Polly saw Freddie shortly after," Thomas responded. "Told her Chapman didn't know about his address or anythin'."

Delilah exhaled and put her head between her hands, the red strand of hair that had escaped her braid brushing against her delicate fingers.

"Quello stronzo," she swore between gritted teeth, lifting her head to stare at the snug door. "Fuckin' Campbell wants his guns and the agitator. What about the guns? Where'd you keep them?"

Thomas scoffed and shook his head.

"You think I'm gonna show you where?" he sarcastically asked.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm thinking, wanna know why?" she asked, annoyance taking over her faster than she thought it could. "Because I need to know, and I'm pretty sure I already know. So if I'm right, you're not risking anything, and if I'm wrong, what the hell do you think I'm going to do? I'm already planning on betraying one of the most powerful men from London, plotting against the Government, and planning to send a threat right to Chest Campbell. If only someone asks the right questions to the right people, I'm gonna get sentenced to the death penalty. And it's not as if I wasn't putting my family's safety on the line either."

Thomas sighed, contemplating the idea of taking her to Danny's grave. If she was honest, then he wouldn't risk anything; that woman probably had a worse criminal record than he would never achieve to get. Even with a deal with the Priceminister, she would never be pardoned. Sharing the secret with someone as smart as himself was also a great perspective, in case he wouldn't be able to take care of it if the guns were to be discovered. Someone like Delilah could completely handle the situation as well as himself.

"Am I going to regret this?" he demanded before he stood up, grabbing the half-empty bottle of whiskey and leaving the glasses on the table.

Delilah followed after him but stopped at the counter. She exited a golden coin from her pocket and placed it on the counter, sliding it until it stopped near the blonde barmaid.

"For the great service," the redhead explained as she spun on her heels and joined Thomas by the door.

He took her to Small Heath cemetery, perched on the hill. Graves were lining up around a small dirt path, allowing the visitors to walk easily from one grave to another. As she looked around, Delilah noticed the view they had of the neighborhood. The wind was a little bit harsher than down there, so she slid her hands deeper in her coat pockets. She followed Thomas down the path until he stopped in front of a particular grave, a little bit further on the hill. Delilah stepped towards the grave, crouching down to have a better look at the inscription engraved in the stone.

"Daniel Owen," the redhead read out loud. "1895-1919."

Delilah straightened up as Thomas held the whiskey bottle towards her. She grabbed it and took a sip, her eyes never leaving the gravestone. She sighed and gave the bottle back to its owner, the wind making her dress float around her knees.

"That's a smart one," she then stated with an impressed nod.

Thomas took a sip of whiskey as Delilah exited two cigarettes from her box, offering one to him. He took one and she lit up her cancer stick, taking a long drag to make sure it wouldn't burn out because of the wind. Smoke exited her lips when she exhaled, and she held her cigarette between two fingers as her other hand went back into her pocket to warm it up.

"They were going to the IRA," she then spoke, breaking the comfortable silence. "That's why Campbell wants them so bad, right?"

"A means of pressure," Thomas responded quietly, placing his cigarette between his lips.

"Until you'll make sure your sister's safe," she guessed, nodding her head once again. "Maybe the IRA will show up before Campbell. What will we do if they come?"

Thomas shot her a surprised glance. Ever since these guns had been found by Charlie Strong, he had felt like it was his burden to take care of. After all, he was the one who had decided to keep them when everyone else told him to put them back in the Cut and to forget about them. And now, it was his duty to make sure they wouldn't bring trouble down on his family.

But now that he wasn't sure whether they were to be discovered or stay buried in Danny's grave, the idea of Delilah offering her help was a blessing. Maybe the redhead wouldn't be able to do anything more than Thomas had been able to do himself, but at least he had support, whatever he would decide in the end.

 "It depends on what they're offering," he finally responded as Delilah took the last drag of her cigarette, letting the butt fall by Danny's grave.

The redhead sighed and bit her bottom lip nervously. The IRA wasn't an organization she was willing to deal with. Of course, if necessary, she wouldn't hesitate, but they would need to come up with a good business plan so that they wouldn't end up dead in the Cut or God knew where.

The whole time she had worked in London, Delilah had never met someone like Thomas Shelby. Like she had told Grace earlier, it wasn't a matter of looks, regardless of how good they were. It was about two brains connecting deeply to one another, working the same way, and finding support in each other. It was almost chemistry; they couldn't help finding something they were missing everywhere but in each other. Understanding, thinking, smartness; they were very much alike.

As they stood in front of Danny Owen's grave, listening to the grass blades brushing against each other and staring at the clouds accumulating in the already greyish sky, Delilah De Luca felt relieved. She had made a perfect choice, despite her father's wariness and her brother's fear.

As for Thomas Shelby, thinking about his old friend alone in London taking care of his business and gathering information, thanks to Delilah's men's protection, he thought that maybe he had found more than an associate in the redheaded beauty: he had found someone he could put his faith in, someone who was understanding his thirst for power and was matching it with her own. For the first time, Thomas Shelby felt attracted to a woman for something else than her face. For the first time, he had looked past angelic features to find a really interesting woman, and he sure as hell didn't fully know her yet. 

His eyes drifted towards his face as she stared at the town below, and he found himself once again forgetting about the barmaid who was desperately waiting for him to return to the pub. Though Grace Burgess had one more trick up her sleeve. 

She wasn't going to give up that easily. 

ஜ۩۞۩ஜ 

Delilah walked through the front door, a sigh of exhaustion escaping her lips. She kicked off her shoes and left her coat on the coat rack by the entrance before walking into the living room. She collapsed on the couch, her eyes closed and her hands resting on her stomach. She could hear Angelo's footsteps upstairs, and realized she might just have walked into her house while his brother was having fun with someone when lighter footsteps echoed through the living room.

Her brother rushed down the stairs and she opened one eye, noticing a brunette's head turning towards her slightly. Angelo rushed the woman out of the door and closed it shortly after the poor damsel had been kicked out of their house.

"Della," Angelo greeted while spreading his arms. "Che piacevole sorpresa!"

Delilah ran a hand down her face and sighed heavily. She closed her eyes once again and rested her head on Angelo's shoulder when he came to sit beside her.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, having rarely seen his sister so limp.

"I'm drained," the redhead confessed, moving her head to rest more comfortably. "I regret each and every drink I had yesterday."

Angelo scoffed as he stared at their family picture hanging above the fireplace. It was Delilah's favorite photograph, taken right before the war, where they were still happy kids. Where they were still oblivious to the pain the human kind could provide. When they still believed everything was possible, and when they thought the world was theirs.

"Yet, you're still smelling like alcohol," Angelo hummed as Delilah moved away from his shoulder, glaring at him viciously.

"I might have drunk a bit of whiskey with Thomas," Delilah admitted, knowing there was no point in lying.

"With Thomas, huh?"

"Business is business," Delilah replied with a tiny smile. "I'm still feeling shitty though, I thought I'd be feeling better with a drink but I don't."

 "Well, I hate to say it, sorella," Angelo started with a wink, "but I told you so."

"Who'd you think you're lying to?" Delilah aggressively barked, throwing her head back and sinking in the plush cushion. "You're just being a bitch. You could've told me to stop drinking, you evil brother."

Angelo laughed as Delilah tried to untie her braided hair, her fingers stuck in some knots. The redhead groaned as she moved her hand frantically to free her fingers from her devilish hair, but fell back into the sofa when she couldn't do anything.

"That wouldn't be fun at all, sorella," Angelo disapprovingly responded to her attack. "And to say that you mocked John..."

"I met Arthur at the Garrison, and he remembered that," the redhead whined as she hid her face behind her hands. "I'm not gonna lay a hand on a drink, or else he'll kick me out of his wedding."

"Yeah, that's for — wait, his wedding?"

Delilah placed her hand on her forehead and sighed. She didn't understand how she could be so tired while she hadn't done anything that day, except arguing with Grace over stupidities and following Thomas to a graveyard for a bunch of guns. Fortunately, John's wedding was in a week, so she would have some time to recover. However, Delilah couldn't be sure Thomas wouldn't come up with a meeting out of nowhere, and of course, a meeting his brothers would surely attend. She was fucked.

"Ask Thomas if you can come with me," she commanded before she stood up, balancing herself. "I'm going to bed."

"Della, it's three in the afternoon!" Angelo shouted as his sister made her way up the stairs. "How am I supposed to talk to Thomas anyway?"

"Like all of us do," Delilah responded as she bent over slightly to see her brother through the wooden boards of the staircase. "You find him in the Garrison. And if he's not there, well, you're basically fucked."

Angelo cursed under his breath as his sister disappeared upstairs, her light footsteps echoing through the living room until all he could hear was the creaking of her bedsprings as she laid down. 

ITALIAN WORDS:

fottuto = fucking

stupida = idiot

mascalzone = rascal

Merda = fuck

Non sei altro = you are nothing

Quello stronzo = that motherfucker

Che piacevole sorpresa = what a pleasant surprise

sorella = sister