welcome to my longest chapter ever, and to Milo's introduction ;)

DELILAH HUFFED AS SHE WALKED THROUGH WATERY LANE, ANGELO FOLLOWING HER CLOSELY. The redhead pushed her ponytail behind her shoulder as she stopped in front of a front door next to the betting shop. Another sigh left her lips as she knocked a few times. The De Luca siblings frowned when no one came to open the door, so Delilah opened it and walked into the household, recognizing the house from a few days prior, when Ada had given birth to her son — the same night Freddie Thorne had been taken away from his family to be thrown in prison.

"Where are you?" Delilah screamed in the house, footsteps echoing into the living room from upstairs.

Polly appeared in the staircase dressed in a black dress. Delilah crossed her arms over her chest as the woman moved to the kitchen, grabbing a warm cup of tea and taking a sip. Angelo sighed behind her and leaned against a wall.

"What's the matter?"

Polly put her cup down and ran her hand over her face.

"It appears that Ada's been asking for you," the woman explained with an eye roll. "You're the one she wants to talk to."

"We barely know each other," Delilah responded with a confused frown, glancing at her brother behind her.

"Believe me, that surprises me as much as you," Polly responded as she swung her coat around her shoulders. "But it is what it is, so you're coming with me."

Delilah spread her arms, shaking her head, but Polly grabbed her wrist harshly and tugged it towards her. Delilah's eyes widened when they met Polly's troubled orbs, their darkness filled with worry. Ever since Freddie had been taken away from his family, Ada had withdrawn into a place only Polly knew the exact location of. According to John's and Arthur's reports, the young mother had refused to eat or to talk with anyone. Every time Polly spared a visit, it was like talking to a brick wall. All she could hear on the other side of the wall were the baby's cries and Ada shushing him.

Now that Freddie Thorne was locked up in prison for God only knew how long, the Shelby family had stopped talking to Thomas since he was their prime suspect. Someone had definitely ratted on the communist man, and everyone decided that everything accused him. Delilah didn't believe in this: how could Thomas know about Freddie's whereabouts? He was with them and his brothers all evening, when did he have time to give him up? That was unrealistic.

"I have a meeting in an hour, Polly," Delilah said firmly, trying to get away from the woman's harsh grip.

"I want my niece back," the dark-haired woman snapped. "And if you're my only way, then you'd better cancel that meeting. Now."

Delilah pursed her lips and spun on her heels, facing her brother. Angelo lowered his gaze to look at her, raising one of his eyebrows in the process.

"Dì a Thomas che farò tardi," she commanded, her tone firm. "È dì agli uomini di papà di scegliere una data."

"Maybe we can try to meet them when you're back," Angelo suggested.

"Make sure to stick with them until I'll come back, then," Delilah agreed with a nod. "But before, tell Thomas I'll see him this evening."

Angelo nodded and he walked through the door, followed by the two women. They went two separate ways, Delilah glancing at her brother over her shoulder before Polly linked their arms, a basket of food around her free elbow.

"Still speaking to Thomas, then," Polly said with a disapproving snort.

"He's my business associate," Delilah responded with a shrug. "And you know very well I don't think it's him."

Polly scoffed and they walked the rest of the way in silence. They reached Ada's hideout a few minutes later. They walked a few stairs towards a little door where an old basket of food had rotten. Polly sighed as she placed the fresh basket of food in front of the door and took the old one between her hands with another defeated sigh. Delilah walked towards the front door and knocked softly, hearing movement inside of the house.

"Ada," she called.

At first, the mother didn't respond. It took her a minute to knock back on the door, her baby crying softly.

"Was it you?" Ada asked, her voice weak. "Did you snitch on Freddie?"

"Freddie Thorne isn't, and will never be a part of my business, Ada," Delilah explained. "I've never heard of him before I came to Birmingham. I came for your brother, that's all."

"Okay," Ada whispered before Delilah heard her footsteps going away. Polly shook her head in defeat and started walking up the stairs again.

"Ada!" Delilah called once again, knocking hard on the door. "You need to listen to me Ada, okay? We're all on your side, Ada, but we're worried for you. You need to eat, for your baby's health. You don't have to talk to anyone if you don't want to, but you need to take care of yourself. You're a mother now, sweetheart, it's not just about you anymore. I swear I'll find who fuckin' snitched on him, but you need to take care of your health, okay? You need to. We'll see you very soon, Ada."

Delilah followed after Polly into the street again. Their heels clicked on the pavement as they made their way back to Watery Lane, the older woman once again linking their arms together.

"I didn't know you could be so persuasive," Polly said with an appreciative nod.

"How do you think I convinced your nephew to work with me?" Delilah retorted with a snort. "She'll come back, she needs time to process everything."

When they arrived at Polly's house, the women parted ways. Delilah rushed through the streets towards Digbeth. At first, she had asked them to meet her at her place, but had changed her mind very quickly. If they were to switch sides, she needed to cover her tracks and stay careful.

She noticed her brother standing in front of a house with a man she identified as Milo Lombardi, an old friend her father had hired for protection as soon as his children had left for Birmingham. When they noticed her, Angelo raised his hand in the air, as if Delilah hadn't seen him, and she walked towards the duo, a smile blossoming on her lips.

"Milo," Delilah greeted as he wrapped her in his arms.

"Della!" he exclaimed as they broke apart, his hand firmly resting on her shoulder. "È passato troppo tempo."

"I'm sorry we haven't visited before," Delilah said with a laugh. "I have no excuse."

Milo rolled his eyes as he ran a hand through his pushed back jet-black hair. His dark eyes drifted towards the busy street, his lips twitching upwards in a playful smile. He was handsome — had always been. He was two years older than Delilah but was already a respected man: with his black suits and gold signet rings, Milo was absolute Italian perfection. When Robert had first met him, he had asked Delilah to marry him. Turned out they were too good friends to even consider falling in love with each other, which excessively disappointed her father. He thought he had found the perfect Italian husband for his daughter and had been wrong.

"I'm trying not to hold a grudge right now," Milo stated, his features void of any amusement. "Maybe it'll be easier if you kiss me?"

Delilah pursed her lips and burst out laughing, throwing her head back. Her nose was wrinkled as she hit Milo's shoulder playfully, shaking her head.

"Nice try," she said with another laugh, walking towards the house and stepping in.

Angelo took a step forward, stopping right in front of Milo. He furrowed his brows and pointed towards the front door.

"I thought you two were just friends?" Angelo asked as Milo bit his lower lip. "You missed your shot a few years ago, mate."

"You coming or what?" Delilah screamed from the inside of the house, the four other men her father had put together all expectedly staring at her.

The boys took a step towards the house, but before they could enter, Angelo grasped Milo's wrist harshly, his ocean eyes stormy as he scanned Milo's face.

"Attento, amico," he whispered. "Stai parlando di mia sorella."

Milo glanced at Angelo's hand around his wrist, quickly freeing himself from the boy's grip and stepping into the house. Delilah had spread out a map on the kitchen table, the four men surrounding her and already looking at her finger going back and forth on the map. Delilah lifted her head when the boys got into the room, crossing her arms over her chest as she straightened up.

"We almost waited," the redhead said with a disapproving eye roll. "Right, so as I was about to tell you, we'll be heading to the Worcester Races with the goal of burning their betting licenses. Any question about that?"

The Italians men shook their heads, all of them standing straight with their hands slid in their pants pockets. Milo moved from the entrance of the kitchen to Delilah's side under Angelo's careful eyes.

"Right. I was planning on going with the Peaky Blinders, but I'll go with you," she said with a smile. "So that we can all get there at the same time and we'll have some time to discuss any change of plan."

Delilah pushed her ponytail behind her shoulder as Milo leaned his palms against the table, a strand of silky black hair falling on his forehead.

"Hang on," one of the men, Alessio, demanded. "You said the Peaky Blinders?"

Delilah turned her head towards Milo, her eyes turning into tempestuous emerald orbs as she raised her hand and hit Milo's shoulder once again.

"You bastard," she swore, raising her hands in the air. "You were supposed to tell 'em!"

"I might have forgotten," Milo admitted with an apologetic smile. "Stiamo lavorando con i Peaky Blinders."

Delilah rolled her eyes as she leaned against the workplace, crossing her arms over her chest. Milo turned around and she glared at him. He pursed his lips before turned his back to her again.

"If you don't want to work with them, or if you don't trust them, you can leave now," Delilah muttered with a sigh. "I won't be mad."

Delilah held her breath as the four men all looked at each other. They seemed to consider the offer of leaving before they nodded, their hands crossed behind their backs.

"Ci siamo dentro insieme,"  Alessio said loudly, the other men nodding in agreement. "We trust your judgement."

Delilah smiled as she nudged Milo's side, her eyes drifting towards her brother who shook his head with a little smile as well. The redhead pursed her lips to hide her grin, her fingers quickly working to fold the map before she huffed.

"Now, I don't have the details of the plan yet, but I'll arrange another meeting when everything will be in place," Delilah explained. "So you're all free to go back to your business. Thank you."

The men got out of the room quickly, the front door closing behind them. She waited until they were gone to turn back towards Milo, a disapproving look covering her face. Her red dress flew around her knees as she turned around, a few of her red strands escaping her elegant high-ponytail and brushing her cheeks.

"Stronzetto," she grunted. "They could've all left us! You're just as bad at memorizing information that you are at conducting a fucking birthday party, and yes, I remember that."

"I fucked up," Milo admitted as Delilah sat down on a wooden chair. "Mi dispiace."

Delilah ran her hand through her ponytail and huffed, her golden rings shining under the morning light. The three of them stayed silent for a moment before they burst out laughing, Delilah chuckling every time she made eye contact with her brother.

"At least they stayed," Delilah stated with a smile. A knock resonated through the house, all of them looking at each other curiously. "Is it them? Did they forget something?"

Delilah stood up from her seat and moved to the front door, the boys hot on her tail. She grabbed the handle and opened the door.

In her lifetime, Delilah had met plenty of tough gangsters and aggressive policemen. She had always predicted them. For the first time in her whole life, Delilah De Luca could tell she had been surprised.

The door was barely open, but the policeman had been ready for five minutes already. As Delilah was exposed, a hand grabbed the collar of her dress and threw against one of the outside walls, her back harshly hitting the stone. She felt her bones crack as she was held by the throat tightly, the large hand that was keeping her into place tightening as seconds passed by.

She felt the air escaping her lungs as her chest burnt, tears forming in her eyes with every breath she couldn't take. Her feet were kicking in the air but were unable to reach the policeman's leg or groin. A groan escaped her lips as her fingers reached for the hand, trying to make it lessen its grip, but it only constricted even more. The policeman took her off the wall only to crash her a little harder against it.

Black spots appeared in front of her eyes as they moved towards an older man standing on the porch, a bowler hat covering his hair and snake-like eyes staring intently at her as she was suffocating. Her ears started to ring as the man approached her, speaking to the policeman. Delilah was unable to identify any sounds as the policeman's hand tightened one last time before he let her fall down on the solid ground, her body hitting the concrete with a loud thud.

She immediately coughed, a coughing that worried her and hurt her throat. Her lungs were still burning as she tried to inhale as much air as possible all at once, but the coughing wouldn't let her. Her eyes watered and tears rolled down her cheeks as she propped up on her elbow, her muscles giving away with the lethal lack of oxygen.

Her eyes focused on the older man through her tears as he crouched beside her, his face coming close to hers. His white moustache was covering his lower lip but wasn't hiding any part of his satisfied smirk as he grabbed a fistful of her hair and held her even closer to him.

"Now, ye might reconsider your business with the Shelbys," he whispered, his Irish accent hinting at his identity. "Don't make me start an investigation over ye, Miss De Luca."

He let go of her hair and she fell back on the road. Delilah laid on her side as her brother and Milo were released from the policemen holding them away from her. Before they left, the one that had strangled her turned around and spit on the ground next to her.

As soon as Angelo and Milo reached her, Delilah grabbed the sleeves of their shirt, using them to straighten up slightly. She coughed, her brother rubbing her back soothingly as Milo stroked her hair, her eyes focused on Chester Campbell's retreating figure.

"That bitch," she muttered, her voice hoarse as Angelo hushed her with murmured words.

ஜ۩۞۩ஜ 

The night had fallen on Digbeth for a few hours. People had come back home to their wives and kids, making the neighborhoods safer than in daytime, when lots of people — lots of enemies — were travelling through the streets.

Delilah walked down towards Garrison Lane, her throat hurting her with every breath she took. Shortly after Campbell had left the house, Milo and Angelo helped her inside the house and she had noticed the finger-shaped purple bruise marking her porcelain skin. She hadn't been able to talk for about an hour before she had tried, her voice coming out hoarse and her throat hurting more than she thought it was capable of.

When she had told Angelo she needed to meet Thomas at the Garrison, he had vehemently offered to walk her there, even if he would have to turn back after she would have stepped into the pub. However, Delilah had just as strongly forbidden him to do so. She didn't want to be deprived of her freedom because of that human-snake. She couldn't believe she hadn't seen that coming.

Campbell must have had a good informant.

When she finally made it to the Garrison, she pushed the door open only to find the pub completely empty, except for Grace who was standing behind the counter, cleaning up a couple glasses. The blonde lifted her head and met the redhead's troubled eyes, a frown working its way on her face when she noticed the bruises around the woman's neck.

"Are you okay?" Grace asked as she put down the glasses.

Delilah opened her mouth and closed it shortly after, deciding to clear her throat so she would have a clearer voice. However, as she performed the action, she felt like her throat was torn apart, and she winced as it hurt even more than speaking.

"Is it too late for a whiskey?" she whispered as she approached the bar, placing a few coins on the wooden counter. "I know you're closed, and I don't want to argue with you right now."

Grace nodded as she grabbed a clean glass on the counter and turned around, outstretching her arm towards a bottle of whiskey. When she was holding the bottle, Grace spun around and put it down on the counter, her eyes softening when Delilah adjusted her coat around her neck to try and hide the bruises from her view.

"Maybe you shouldn't drink alcohol," Grace advised. "It's gonna hurt even more."

"You're right," Delilah agreed, trying to talk louder. "Then, what do you advise?"

Grace's lips twitched upwards as she took the glass away from the redhead and filled it with water. The blonde couldn't help but wonder if Campbell was the reason behind the redhead's bruises, and suddenly she felt bad for snitching up on Delilah. Maybe it was a mistake. She didn't have any place within Chester's investigation, and her conscience slowly processed the fact that she would have been responsible for the woman's death if it had come to it.

"Here," Grace said as she placed the glass of water in front of Delilah. "It's not as good as whiskey, but it'll keep your throat hydrated. It's gonna be less and less sensible."

"How do you know about that?" Delilah asked as she brought the glass to her lips, savoring the cold water running down her throat and efficiently soothing the wounded area.

"It's good sense," Grace responded as she watched the redhead place the glass back on the counter, a shaky sigh escaping her plump lips. "What are you doing here so late?"

"Looking for Thomas, as usual," she answered as she placed her forehead between her hands, rubbing it harshly. "I didn't realize it was so late."

Grace nodded as she poured another glass of water for the redhead. Delilah took it gratefully, muttering a 'thank you' before she was drinking it, slowly, enjoying the feeling of her throat being hydrated. Once she was done, Delilah put the glass down with a sigh of relief, a tiny laugh escaping her throat. It wasn't a moment to be laughing at, but it was a delayed nervous reaction, her nerves finally giving up her mental health. When her laugh grew louder, Delilah placed her hand in front of her mouth with widened eyes, mindful of the bruises on her neck.

"I'm sorry," the redhead said as Grace only smiled back, her palms flat on the counter. "It's really not funny. I'm sorry."

Grace nodded as Delilah slowly calmed down, her fingers playing with a strand of her hair. She wanted to apologize for their previous altercation. Maybe Grace didn't deserve it, but she wanted to make amends for the words she had said. Perhaps she had even been wrong about Grace when she had thought she was only living through Thomas's eyes.

Delilah opened her mouth as Grace tilted her head to the side. Before she could say anything though, the pub door was abruptly opened, making the two women jump slightly in surprise. Thomas entered the pub, his eyes troubled when they found Delilah's. He didn't notice the bruises circling her neck as he quickly made his way to the counter.

He looked like a lion pacing around the pub, checking the rooms and leaving the door wide open. When Grace offered him a drink, he denied it, which brought anxiety into Delilah's body. She jumped from the stool she was sitting on and approached him, enough to make sure he would hear her.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice coming out hoarse, which made her grit her teeth in frustration.

Thomas looked down at her, taking sight of the bruises around her neck and her empty eyes. As always, she seemed to be far away from the pub even though she was rooted in the action, her hands shaking slightly at her sides with every second of silence passing.

"Are you expecting trouble?" Grace then interjected, taking a hesitating step forward. She was also worried about what was about to happen — every tense movement in Tommy's attitude made her assume the worst.

"Yeah," Thomas responded truthfully, his eyes drifting towards the blonde — he was afraid to be fully distracted if he carried on staring at the wounded redhead in front of him.

Delilah spun on her heels when Thomas moved to the tables, moving some chairs to rearrange the pub at his convenience. The redhead frowned as she nervously bit on her lower lip, waiting for the right answer.

"At this hour?"

"Midnight is as good an hour as any," he responded, taking a second to admire his rearrangement before he took out his gun and counted his bullets.

"Thomas," Delilah called as she moved towards him, placing her hand on his arm delicately to catch his attention. "Who is it?"

"When the St Andrews' bell strikes midnight, two IRA men are going to come through that door," Thomas explained, motioning towards the opened front door. "When they have what they want, they plan to kill me."

Delilah's eyes turned cold in a second. She was craving to scream the oh so satisfying 'I told you so'. However, she contained herself as she turned around, rushing towards the counter to push Grace's body towards the back door.

"You need to go, love," she said as Grace tried to resist. "Now."

"W-What?" Grace exclaimed as she pushed the redhead back slightly. "I can't leave you here! You're barely able to speak!"

"Listen to me," Delilah commanded as she placed her hands on the blonde's shoulders. "I've been through worse than that, and I want you to fucking go before it's too late, okay? I'll be fine. Now, go."

As Grace made her way towards the back door reluctantly, grabbing her purse in the process. Delilah turned around and pushed the bottle of whiskey that was still placed on the counter towards Thomas, slamming three glasses for him to take. It looked like he was setting a table for a friendly meeting. Delilah shivered.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Do you have a gun?" he asked back, ignoring her previous question.

"Yes, of course, I carry a gun in the middle of the street at any hour of the day," Delilah retorted with an eye roll. "But I guess there's one somewhere."

Delilah crouched down and looked under the bar, hoping to find a flaw in the furniture. However, as she was walking carefully, she tripped on a wood board and tried to lift it, finding a black revolver hidden under it. She smiled as she grabbed it and raised it in the air in victory, replacing the board and finally straightening up.

"Before you ask, you know I can use a gun," she said with a raised eyebrow. "Now tell me, what am I supposed to do?"

"You're going to be in that back room," Thomas explained, pointing towards a closed door. "I'm going to be sitting there. When I make a toast, you're going to come out with that thing raised. Don't shoot, just point. I'll do the rest. Remember, they need them alive."

"Yeah, right," Delilah muttered as she turned around towards the front door, narrowing her eyes.

Before she could add something else, St Andrews bell chimed, filling her ears with noise. She shared a look with Thomas and nodded, sliding on the other side of the counter, her body brushing against his as she made her way past him. Words twirled in her mind as she rushed to the back door, but she held them back. The warnings died on her lips when she heard the front door being opened, and she hid further behind the back door, holding her breath.

Her hands were tight around her revolver as she listened to their conversation. It had been a long time since Delilah had held a gun in her hands for a business matter. Usually, she was more of the diplomatic type, but you didn't want to joke with the IRA. They weren't here to talk, and she knew it would ultimately go south. She had understood it the second Thomas had mentioned the organization. Nothing could be easy with them.

Delilah placed her ear against the wooden door, listening to the Irish men's laugh as they told Thomas to make his peace. Once again, Delilah's grip tightened around the revolver, careful as what Thomas was about to say. She reminded herself that the men needed to stay alive before Thomas finally made his toast.

"To the angel in disguise."

Delilah kicked the door open and raised the gun at eye level, her ponytail falling slightly on her right shoulder. She pointed it at the man in front of her as she stopped by Thomas's side, her hands stable as she found herself familiar with the weapon. Since she had learned to hold a gun, she had never lost the habit. Her shots were lethal from her past training and the meetings that went down in seconds back in the days.

Her eyes drifted towards the man's face. She raised her eyebrow, not paying attention to Tommy's speech, her eyes piercing through the Irishman's soul. Fear was what she read at first. That man was afraid of her, and she enjoyed the feeling. A chill ran down her spine when her brain processed the mischievous glint in the man's eyes, reminding her of London gang leaders who would simply refuse to surrender. She tilted her head to the side, and before she had time to think this through, she was pulling the trigger.

The shot resonated in her ears, echoing through the pub as she realized what she had just done. Her hands still didn't shake, even when she figured out the significance of her impulsive action. While she was processing the mess she had put Thomas into, the two men went to the floor, the Irishman fastly gaining the upper hand. When Delilah came back on Earth, Thomas was held on the floor, strangled by the IRA man.

Once again, she pointed her gun in the man's direction. The Irishman saw the shifting in her position and before she could shoot, he kicked her in the shinbone and the force of the blow sent her right into the counter, her gun sliding on the floorboard until it bumped into a chair and stopped. Delilah's body collapsed against the counter and her head hit it. For the second time in the same day, the redhead felt dizzy, her head spinning a little and her vision turning blurry.

She blinked a few times and when she was back, she stared at Thomas, stabbing the man with a broken bottle of whiskey. Her eyes widened when she realized the shifting in Thomas's attitude: he wasn't the man she had known anymore. Just like her, he was a monster, an animal. A killer. An unstoppable beast that seemed out of control as he stabbed him repeatedly, until Delilah groaned when she straightened up, leaning against the counter for support.

He stopped then, breathing heavily as his hands went limp by his sides. He let go of the broken bottle, his hands bloody and his face stained with the man's blood. He stared at Byrne's unrecognizable face for a second, the slaughter he had made out of him scaring him. A shaky breath broke past his parted lips as he turned his head towards Delilah, who was slowly straightening up, her hand tightly clutched on the counter.

When she turned back towards him, he noticed that her cheekbone was damaged, streams of blood running down her face as she stared at the man she had shot, her green orbs cold and untroubled. It looked like she wasn't even shocked about what happened: truthfully, she was used to it. It was kill or be killed, and she wasn't about to give up on her life because she was afraid of shooting a man in the chest.

She wasn't, anyway.

Thomas stood up, tripping on Byrne's limp body in the process, and rushed to her side, tugging her wrist gently. She jumped, her eyes focusing on his face as she noticed the blood drops on his face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice void of any emotion.

"What happened?" Thomas asked, brushing the blood dripping from her cheekbone away with the pad of his thumb. "Why'd you shoot?"

"Because this is who I am!" Delilah screamed, her voice breaking at the end of her sentence.

He engulfed her into his strong arms as Delilah frowned, unable to process the kind gesture. She wrapped her arms around his waist instinctively, biting on her bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

"I'm sorry, Thomas," she whispered within his embrace, holding him tighter between her little arms. "I-I, I just, I didn't -"

"It's alright," Thomas responded, keeping his voice low. "You're alright, love."

They broke apart when the front door swung open, policemen walking into the Garrison with disapproving looks. Delilah recognized the one who strangled her back in Digbeth, and her eyes once again hardened as he approached them.

Thomas turned around in a heartbeat, hiding Delilah behind his taller frame.

"You were supposed to come on the sixth chime. You were supposed to come on the fucking sixth chime!" he screamed, his voice breaking a little as he leaned against the counter. "They refused to surrender. They fought well, they were brave men."

"Sergeant Moss," Delilah whispered as she remembered Milo's curse after their assault.

He moved towards the dead bodies, inspecting them both before he turned back towards them, the right corner of lips quirked upwards slightly.

"Shot. Fucking torn apart by a wild animal," Moss recounted with a raised eyebrow, his eyes moving towards Delilah who took a step forward. "Quite the fight. Still, this never happened. They were never here. Who cares?"

"Get the bodies out of here," Thomas ordered as Delilah glared at the policemen's lack of acknowledgment for human lives.

"Are they making the lady uncomfortable?"

Delilah stepped forward once again, escaping the little hiding she had behind Tommy's body.

"I bury people like you every fucking day, figlio di puttana," Delilah snapped.

Moss took a step towards her and Delilah couldn't help but back down slightly, bringing a smirk on the sergeant's face.

"That's what I thought," he said, amusement shining in his eyes. "I'll leave you two lovebirds to it, then."

Delilah gritted her teeth to contain a sharp reply. She watched as the two policemen took the bodies out of the pub, Moss winking at her on his way out. She shivered when the door closed behind them, crossing her arms over her chest to hide her discomfort.

Thomas turned towards her, his fingers gently brushing against the bruises around her neck. Delilah closed her eyes and sighed.

"What happened?" he demanded quietly, referring to the purple marks on her soft skin.

"That's a story for another day," she responded in a whisper, looking at the mess around them. "We have to clean that up before tomorrow morning. God, I can't believe he fuckin' winked."

When Delilah came back home that night, she closed the door and locked it up. She heard Angelo's footsteps upstairs before he ran down the stairs, scanning her face and falling on the cut on her cheekbone.

"What's happened?" he asked as he approached his sister.

Before she could answer, Delilah collapsed in her brother's comforting arms, ugly sobs hurting her throat as they escaped through her lips, her tears soaking Angelo's shirt.

Little did she know who was hiding in the shadows of the pub, watching the entire slaughter and planning on reporting it to their boss.

Italian words:

Dì a Thomas che farò tardi = tell Thomas I'll be late

Èdì agli uomini di papà di scegliere una data = Tell Daddy's men to choose the date

È passato troppo tempo = It's been too long

Attento, amico = careful, mate

Stai parlando di mia sorella = that's my sister you're talking about

Stiamo lavorando con i Peaky Blinders= we're working with the Peaky Blinders

Ci siamo dentro insieme = we're in this together

Stronzetto = motherfucker

Mi dispiace = I'm sorry

figlio di puttana = son of a bitch

MILO LOMBARDI

portrayed by ALEX TURNER