[thank you everyone for 15.5K on this story! i love you all]

WAKING UP WITH THE SUN WAS SOMETHING DELILAH TRULY MISSED. Back in the summer, in Sicily, all she did was open her eyes on another sunny morning, the sunrays' heat softly hitting her bare skin appreciatively. At that moment, she felt like she was back in these good days, her epidermis slowly warming up with every minute she spent on her mattress. Her eyes fluttered open with the noise of someone making breakfast and a soft smile blossomed on her lips when she remembered that, yes, her brother was still alive.

These past two days, she'd been having dreams. Nightmares. Of her brother dying underwater, his foggy eyes opened to reveal his lifeless body. A creepy smirk was spreading his lips as all she could do was scream louder than the thoughts inside of her head, and the suffocating idea that if she could see him where he was, then she was there too.

She hadn't spoken about these dreams to anyone, except Polly. Of course, her older friend simply told her that it was related to the trauma of seeing her brother jump from a bridge in hope of ending his life, but she felt like there was more to it. Guilt, probably. Guilt of letting it happen, guilt of being so oblivious to her own sibling. Guilt of not paying attention and being so selfish that her brother felt like he wasn't supported enough to end his life instead of talking about what was troubling him.

Delilah blinked the intrusive thoughts away and got up from her bed, quickly extending her arms above her head and opening the window to let the fresh morning air fill the bedroom. She swung a robe around her shoulders with a sigh and ran her hands down her face exhaustingly.

When she reached the kitchen, bare feet padding on the wooden floor, she noticed a figure she'd recognize everywhere sitting at their table, Angelo's back turned to her as he stared at a knife sinking through the bread he'd probably bought a few hours prior.

"Good morning," she greeted, placing her hand softly on Milo's shoulder and bending down to kiss his cheek fondly. "I didn't think I'd see you around, dear friend."

"Well, I didn't think I'd need to visit to see if my best mates were still alive," he calmly replied, a chill running down Delilah's spine at the words' implication.

Angelo slammed the knife he had been holding on the counter, startling every other person in the room. He spun around and pointed a finger in Milo's direction, his brows quickly frowning and a snarl forming on his usually calm face. To say that he had been traumatized was an understatement.

"We don't talk about that," Angelo firmly stated, taking a threatening step forward.

"Jesus," Milo sighed, running his hand through his hair.

"You need to get dressed for our morning at the shop," Delilah interjected, afraid to trigger her brother. "Get upstairs, I'll make breakfast."

For the first time, Angelo listened to his younger sister, rushing up the stairs and slamming his bedroom door shut. Delilah let out a soft breath, her hand working her hair in a bun at the base of her neck before she walked to the spot her brother previously stood by.

"Ask me," Delilah pleaded, her hands joined in front of her. "Just don't talk about that in front of him. He's traumatized."

Milo scoffed and leaned back in his chair as if mocking his friend's behaviour. Delilah raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest.

"You weren't even there," she said, her tone harder than she thought it'd come out. "You don't have anything to say, you weren't there for him, or for me, for that matter."

"You're joking, right?" Milo replied while frowning deeply. "He didn't need me, he needed you. Don't try and put your mistakes on me. If you're feeling guilty, that's good, because you're a part of the problem here. Whether you wanna hear it or not, you are, and I'm sorry if I'm hurting you, but it's true."

Somehow, that speech was the reason why Delilah loved Milo so much. Even when she was wrong, he would tell her and wouldn't beat around the bush because he'd be scared to hurt her. If he did, then he was sorry to do so, not to say what he was thinking. He was always coming with the best intentions towards her. But he would always slap the truth into her face when she needed to hear it — which she precisely needed at that moment.

She was responsible for her brother's suicide attempt. She never meant to lead him there, but she paid too little attention to the signs and he almost died because of this. Now, Delilah needed to understand that sometimes, people weren't like her and needed their loved ones around when they were feeling overwhelmed. And Angelo needed her despite him being the oldest, or the most courageous.

Angelo loved his sister and needed her by his side.

"You're right," she whispered, bending over to lean her elbows on the table. "But I still don't want to trigger him by talking about it non-stop. So, please, keep all your remarks to yourself and give him enough time to be ready to talk about it."

"But what if he's never ready to talk about that again?" Milo asked, worry taking over his facial features. "I don't want to see him shutting us down like he did after the war. You both did when we came back, and it was scary. Don't let that happen."

Delilah closed her mouth when she heard her brother's footsteps down the staircase. She wasn't ready to push him to talk to them, and obviously, she wasn't ready to talk about the war either. She was only ready to joke around and jump from a bridge to stay by Angelo's side even in death.

"You ready?" she demanded as she straightened up, running her hand through her hair.

"Yeah," Angelo answered and before Delilah could join him by the door, he lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Milo's neck, who was still sitting on the chair. "Thank you for being a good friend."

Milo snorted and nodded, his own arms holding his friend's over his shoulders.

"You're welcome," he whispered back, a genuine response Delilah felt her heart clench at. "Now go before we all start crying again. I'm guarding the house."

ஜ۩۞۩ஜ 

It appeared that working at the shop was funnier than Delilah had expected. Despite Polly being obviously hungover — and mad, too —, the boys made her laugh a lot. John was screaming all around her at the moment while Arthur was mindlessly messing with her older brother.

"Why are you screaming so fucking loud?" Delilah exclaimed as John once again shouted near her ear. "Jesus, I'm gonna turn deaf with you around."

"It's part of the job, sweetheart," John replied with a laugh while Arthur approached her, leaning his elbow on her shoulder. "But maybe if you speak instead of me they'll listen a bit better. Wanna try?"

Delilah frowned and shared a confused glance with Arthur. He simply shrugged, taking his arm away from her and pushed her towards the little wooden stage where John was standing at. She walked the three stairs carefully, sliding her hand in the one John outstretched in her direction, and once she was safely stationed by his side, the men around the betting den actually did quiet down a bit.

"They wouldn't want to scream around a pretty lady," John laughed.

"Polly and Lizzie are pretty ladies but they do shout around them," she snapped, making John's laugh intensify. "Just because I'm young and unmarried, that is."

"Polly's unmarried as well, Sunflower."

"Fuck off!" Delilah mumbled, pushing John slightly away from her. "What the hell am I supposed to say anyway?"

John stopped laughing but a smirk lingered on his lips. He stared at her, amusement shining in his ocean orbs, whilst Delilah was awkwardly glancing at the people around her. Her hand delicately pushed away a strand of red hair when John bent slightly over to whisper in her ear.

"So, now the independent woman needs advice, eh?"

Even if she knew it was a joke, Delilah took his remark as a pure provocation. So, instead of admitting that she actually needed help to understand what she was supposed to do, she cleared her throat and stepped away from John. She glanced at the chalkboard behind her for a second, taking all the horses names and bets in, before turning back to the crowd.

"Do you know who placed a bet on that horse?" she asked, pointing at a name — Petal, which was absolutely ridiculous.

"We don't need to know that," John argued, shaking his head slowly.

"Those of you who bet for Petal, on that side," she ordered, making the men move with annoyed grunts.

Heels clicked on the hardwood floor and Polly emerged from the crowd, her shoulders hitting a few men so they could get away from her. She stood in front of Delilah, her arms crossed over her chest with her brows furrowed, dark curly hair falling on her forehead.

"Who decided to have her up there?"

"I did," John responded with a widening smile. "And she's doing a pretty good job, don't you think?"

Delilah glared at him but didn't waste her attention because Polly was once again staring at her with dreadful eyes.

"She's not," she stated. "And I need her now, so just let go of her, for fuck's sake. Work needs to be done."

"You're gonna pay for this," she muttered as she slid past John and made her way down the stairs to join Polly's side.

As soon as she set foot on the ground, Polly linked their arms together and the men took back their places around the stage. Delilah sighed and followed after the older woman, sparing a glance at Thomas's office. The door was closed, and she didn't have time to question his whereabouts since she was shoved into a room and the door was quickly locked behind.

"That's a kidnapping, you can't do that," Delilah said playfully, regardless of Polly's hardening orbs.

"I fucking can, actually," Polly argued. "Besides, it's not like you were very useful up there."

Delilah rolled her eyes and sat down at the chair in the middle of the room. She exited her box of cigarettes from her cleavage — very unladylike, she had to admit — and brought one to her lips. She struck a match and lit up the end of the cancer stick, the smoke filling her lungs for the first time this day. Apparently, when she hadn't evil plans to come up with, her mind wasn't dying for a cigarette anymore.

"How was London?" Polly finally asked, the words burning her lips as they passed through.

She'd been wanting to ask whoever she could about the events of that night, but neither her nephews would tell her anything. Polly was pretty sure she'd get through Arthur's hard skin if she needed to, but the truth was she wanted someone she could actually have a conversation with. Since she pretty much threatened Esme earlier that morning, all she had wanted to do was to sit down and have a chat that would take her mind off of the medium and everything else.

"Good, had a couple of drinks, beat up a couple of asses," Delilah answered with a shrug. "You know, the usual."

And maybe it was because Polly had grown to know Delilah better than she used to these last two years or maybe it was just her nephews' silence that led her to think that, but she knew Delilah was lying. That guilty glint in her Emeraude orbs was everything she needed to know.

"But what about you?" Delilah asked, barely letting Polly register the lie. "What have you been up to these days?"

"Why do you ask if you already know?"

"Because I want to hear it from you," Delilah explained as she leaned forward. "I don't care about what these old bitches have to say about you, we're friends. Maybe they're telling the absolute truth, and I know things, but there's a difference between knowing things because old rags talked about that in the streets and actually hearing the story by someone we care about."

For the first time since everything happened, Polly didn't feel like she was uncomfortable sharing this story. She didn't feel like she had to hide the truth in front of these comforting eyes. Even if she still wanted to protect herself and her story, she felt like she could tell everything to this girl that had been there for so long to help them.

But at the same time, who was she to judge Delilah? Since when could she be sure she was genuine?

"I lost my daughter," Polly announced, not even trying to hide the tears sparkling in her dark eyes. "A long time ago, and that's why I went to see that woman. To confirm it."

Delilah felt her heart clench in her chest and she outstretched her hand to place it on Polly's wrist comfortingly.

"I'm terribly sorry, Polly," she whispered, moving her chair to be closer to the older woman. "And I can't begin to understand how you're feeling right now. But let me tell you, these people are wrong about you, whatever they say, they're wrong. You are a very strong woman, Polly, and I'm sure you were a very good mother."

Polly shook her head but didn't say anything as she simply stood up and left the room in a blur. Delilah stayed in the room, sitting in her chair and staring at the empty seat in front of her. Her fingers reached for a strand of hair to nervously play with.

"Are you alright, Sunflower?"

Delilah lifted her eyes to meet John's concerned orbs looking at her. She managed a smile on her lips and she stood up, running her hands on the little creases on her dress.

"Yeah, I was just thinking about something," she responded with a nod. "Let's go back to the shop so you can teach me how to work."

And if it's not the answer he'd been expecting, John didn't say anything and simply wrapped his arm around her shoulders to guide her to the little stage again.

ஜ۩۞۩ஜ 

It was late in the night. Delilah knew she should be sleeping by now, but something was wrong. She couldn't tell what exactly but her guts were telling her not to fall asleep in case something had to wake her up. So she'd let her brother go up to his room and she stayed downstairs with a book and a glass of whiskey.

Delilah couldn't remember anything she was reading so she put the book away from her and closed her eyes for a second. Silence filled the room without the noise of the pages turning one after another, and she found comfort in this silence. The house was cracking sometimes but it was such a soft noise she couldn't even determine whether she invented it or not.

She sighed and stood up from the couch. Her glass clinked against the golden rings wrapped around her fingers when she picked it up and downed it in one gulp. She moved to the kitchen and left the glass on the counter. Delilah stayed standing still in the middle of the room, her eyes staring at a stain on the wooden floor mindlessly. She couldn't take away Polly's words from her mind, the guilt she'd seen in her eyes and the self-hatred that probably came hand in hand with that guilt.

A loud noise tore her from her thoughts and she rushed to the front door, Angelo's loud footsteps already echoing through the hallway upstairs and down the staircase. Delilah grabbed the gun by the entrance and opened the door quickly, outstretching the gun in the people's faces.

Her ponytail swished in her back as she lowered the gun, meeting John Shelby's crazy eyes looking at her in disbelief. As if she wasn't supposed to be here, or maybe she wasn't supposed to point a gun at someone simply knocking on the door — that should be it.

"You two need to come with me," John ordered, and when neither of the De Luca siblings moved, he grabbed Delilah's wrist to drag her along. "Now!"

Delilah followed after him, too exhausted to even question what was going on, and she zoned out the entire time John drove them through the darkened streets. Her eyes would sometimes close and snap open when she'd hear her brother talk, even though she wasn't able to comprehend a word he said.

Everything she understood when they reached their destination was this: she was right when she decided not to sleep in case something would happen.

Delilah snapped back to reality when John and Angelo dragged her through a hallway in Small Heath Hospital. Delilah frowned when they stopped in front of Polly, who was crying in a waiting room, and Arthur who was curled up in a ball on a chair, his eyes staring at the emptiness in front of him. A nurse walked towards them and Delilah spun on her heels, her ponytail landing on her left shoulder as she glared at the younger nurse.

And she felt it again. The weight of his absence on her shoulders, just like the moment she jumped from the bridge two days or so ago. Like he'd been taken away from her and might never come back to all of them. Because, now that she was paying attention to her surroundings, Thomas was missing within their group. She now remarked the way all of them were glancing at her every so often as if she would lose it for some reason.

And maybe they were right to be worried. Who knew about her, now? For fuck's sake, she'd jumped from a fucking bridge. She might as well pursue whoever had hurt someone she cared about at this point. Perhaps she also needed to keep her mental health a priority, now that she was thinking about it.

The idea of him being dead made something snap inside of her. Something she didn't know, something she couldn't control and made her almost grab the nurse by the collar of her blouse for some answers. Polly harshly pulled her away from the younger girl, securely wrapping her arms around her middle so Delilah wouldn't move anymore.

"He's still in intensive care," the nurse spoke up, nervously glancing at the redheaded beauty shaking in Polly Gray's arms. "They don't know whether his life is still endangered or not, unfortunately, there's no way to tell at the moment. I'll come back to you as soon as I'll have new information. You can wait here if you want."

Polly nodded and silently thanked the nurse. She slowly let go of Delilah's shaking body but kept a hand on her shoulder in case the redhead would once again cause a tantrum in the middle of the hospital, where troubled souls were resting their poor bodies before going back to their daily lives.

"What happened?" she asked, ignoring John's concerned glance. "Just tell me."

"This afternoon we received a note at the shop," Polly started, words coming out mechanically. "It was a threat directed at Thomas. And an hour ago we received a call from the hospital telling us Thomas had been registered in and was in a critical state. Apparently, from what they told us when John went to get you both, he was beaten up severely and has a few broken bones. He could stay unconscious for like days or weeks, they can't know."

"What do you mean by a note? Who was it?"

"You truly have no idea?" Arthur demanded, a slight accusation beneath his hard tone. But when Delilah simply frowned, he sighed. "Darby Sabini."

Here's the thing: Delilah had been trained to reason logically. And right now, the idea that Darby Sabini travelled all the way from London to Birmingham without her knowing and without her parents shaking the whole town down to prevent this departure was impossible. It was seriously out of her logic. There was no way Sabini could've moved from London undercover and landed here without anyone reporting it to her.

And at that thought, her mind led her to Milo. Milo was the one informing her of everything, and there were only two reasons why Milo wouldn't have informed her of what was going on: either he didn't know about it, or he'd been hurt as well to make sure he wouldn't talk.

And now that the idea had popped up in her mind, she tried her best to shake it off, remembering that Milo had left their household before they could ask him anything about his afternoon. 

"That's impossible," she blurted out, lifting her eyes to meet Polly's.

"Well, it happened, so we're way past the 'it's impossible' phase right now," the older woman responded, her dark eyes murderous as they landed on the redhead. "Care to explain how he moved here without you knowing?"

The accusation was like a slap across the face. Her knees buckled and Angelo barely had time to extend his arm to catch her that she was already on the ground, her palms flat against the cold tiled floor. Her eyes slowly filled with tears of the frustration of not knowing what had happened and couldn't even prevent it while it was her job — it was what she'd been doing since she came back from the war, and now, she was failing everything.

Thomas could die on that hospital bed, and it would be her fault.

At the simple thought, Delilah's right hand curled into a  fist and she was slamming it against the floor. Pain radiated through her wrist but it wasn't enough to punish her for what she'd done. She'd just push her friend into the Lion's den and she hadn't had any idea about that. Everything she once feared was now playing in front of her helpless eyes.

"Della," John called, catching her fist so she wouldn't seriously hurt herself too. "He'll be fine, alright? We're going to find what went wrong, and we're going to make it right, okay?"

Before Delilah could reply, Polly was crouching in front of her and she grabbed her face with her hand harshly, desperately trying to get her out of her daze.

"Listen to me," she ordered, her dark orbs never leaving her Emeraude ones. "Thomas will be fine, and we'll find whatever fucked everything up. I swear we will, but right now, I need you to fucking put your mind at work. We need to find a way to have revenge on them bastards, and you're the only one who can come up with something big. So just do, alright?"

Delilah's face fell down as Polly let it go. Slowly, John got her up and sat her down on a metallic chair, all of their eyes only leaving her troubled features when the nurses would stop by to give them some information about Thomas's state. With every word she heard, Delilah felt hatred grow up in her chest to the point she understood she couldn't take any more or she would explode.

John sat down beside her and brought her against him, Esme's worried eyes settling on her face. Delilah let her head rest on John's shoulder appreciatively, closing her eyes for the first time since she'd arrived at the hospital. Tears leaked out and rolled down her cheeks as she heard someone else sitting down beside her.

They were definitely all worried about Thomas and those old bats telling stories about Polly Gray would never actually make her believe she didn't like her family. All of them, impatiently waiting for Thomas to get out of intensive care so they could work on a new plan was uniting them, all of them curling against one another and slowly falling asleep all together. Until the nurse would once again step in the waiting room to inform them about something concerning Thomas's health, and all of them would fall asleep right away.

It wasn't until Delilah and Polly were the only ones still awake the following morning did she dare speak again about Polly's troubles.

"I kind I've started to understand how you feel tonight, Polly," she whispered, catching the woman's attention. "Because now, I'm responsible too."

Polly frowned and shuffled closer to the redhead, gently putting her hand on her shoulder. Delilah dropped her head and stared at the ground, feeling unworthy of whatever comfort Polly was trying to bring her when the following words left her mouth in a whisper:

"It's my fault, Polly."