DELILAH STOOD IN THE MIDDLE OF THE BETTING SHOP, HER EYES FOCUSED ON A PIECE OF PAPER DOWN ON THE DESK AHEAD OF HER. Thomas was standing close to her, close enough to let her know he was still there but not enough to touch her in any way. Ever since they had woken up in Tommy's bed after a night spent between kisses and cries, Delilah had been in her head, seemingly worried about something and Thomas didn't find it in himself to bother her.

"It looks like I am the last one again," Polly Gray announced as she walked through the room, standing beside her youngest nephew in the corner of the room.

"Where is Michael?" Delilah only asked, lifting her ice-cold eyes towards the older woman.

"He is waiting outside," Polly replied, lighting up a cigarette on the edge of her lower lip. "There's no business in here for him."

"Go get him," Delilah ordered, but when Polly didn't make a move, she straightened up. "Michael! Get in here, sweetheart!"

"What the fuck are you doing, Delilah?" Polly snapped, making the redhead raise an unimpressed eyebrow.

Michael stepped inside the room, glancing at everyone around him. Polly huffed, crossing her arms over her chest with her eyebrows furrowed, but she seemed to understand there was nothing she could do to stop Delilah from speaking with Michael. At least, she was there and they were to listen to the same thing.

"Alright, now that we are all here," Delilah started, running a hand through her tangled red curls and glancing at her brother and best friend for reassurance. "Something happened to our prisoner, Sabini's son. Which means we don't hold him for information anymore. He sadly passed away and I took care of it."

"What do you mean, he passed away?" John asked, raising an eyebrow at the redheaded woman. "He was under your surveillance."

"It doesn't really matter, and the less you all know, the better," Delilah assured with a nod that silenced the little group. "What I want you to know, however, is that nowhere is safe anywhere anymore. I want everyone to carry some kind of weapon to defend themselves in case of an attack. My men, thanks to our kind friend Milo over there, are patrolling more often and they will watch over your houses permanently."

"No more private life then," Polly scoffed, taking a drag of her cigarette.

"Well, Polly, if you'd rather have a private life than safety, it's your call," the woman retorted with a shrug. "You have the total power to send them away if you want to but I wouldn't advise that."

"They're trained not to spill a word about what they see on mission," Angelo interjected, Milo nodding in support. "So if you're worried they'd say anything about your dirty little secrets, unless they involved direct threat, you can sleep on your two ears."

"Most of them don't even speak English anyway," Milo chuckled, running a hand through his charcoal hair.

"In the meantime, I will keep my eyes open for any kind of threats and moves from London," Delilah reassured, raising a hand in the air as if taking an oath. "Arthur is also being handled there and will be coming back home very soon, in the light of this new threat. I probably will have to go to London soon as well. I want you all to keep an eye out for each other and to be very careful."

Silence fell upon the group. Angelo and Milo leaned against a wall while Polly only scoffed, shaking her head with her cigarette hanging between her fingers. Delilah released a sigh, soon enough escaping the betting shop and its heavy atmosphere. She was nervous about London, nervous about Sabini finding out his son's corpse in the middle of a crowded harbour, nervous about her family being endangered because of an action she only condemned. What if it was all for nothing?

Thomas soon sent people on their way, with the precise advice to be very careful and trust Delilah's judgement, guilt settling in his guts. It was all his fault if Giuseppe had died, and now he had to trade with the consequences of his actions as well as deal with the newest killing Chester Campbell had commanded. The heaviness of the secret weighed on his shoulders and he thought he wouldn't be able to hide it, at least not to Delilah anymore. Maybe she could help him with that, help him get out of Campbell's iron hand.

It felt like the weight of their actions not only separated them from their respective families but was slowly drifting them apart.

ஜ۩۞۩ஜ 

If there was someone Delilah had long since forgotten about though, it was May Carleton. In the two days that had separated their last meeting, the redhead had been too preoccupied with Sabini's business to recall her offer for the brunette to visit Birmingham, and she found herself paying the price of her short memory when she stepped into the betting shop not longer than an hour after the family meeting, finding Esme with her arms crossed across her chest and a very obviously confused May outstretching her hand in the gipsy's direction.

As both women directed their chocolate gazes towards the newcomer, Delilah cursed under her breath, running her hand through her red curls and plastering a fake smile on her plump lips.

"May Carleton," she greeted, taking a careful step towards the brunette, "I haven't been expecting you so soon."

"Yes, well I decided to take upon Mister Shelby's offer to train his filly, in the end," May explained, turning towards Esme with a confused expression on her posh face. "But I can see that he isn't here right now."

"Mr Shelby takes his proper meetings in his other office," Esme blurted out, glancing at the redhead by the entrance for support.

"That was the address he gave me," the brunette responded, "he said it was a gambling den. I told him that I'd wanted to see one since I'm always reading about them in the papers. Quite the big scandal in The Telegraph lately. Anyway, he said that I could come and have a look. And now I feel like a bit of an idiot because I'm early and he's late and I have no idea how to behave."

Delilah could see that just by the way May was standing at that moment: shame from not knowing what to do next was written all over her pretty features. Feeling out of place probably had never been something the brunette had been used to.

"In a gambling den?" Esme asked, and the redhead could decipher the mockery behind the gipsy's words from a mile away.

"I'll wait in the car," May decided, turning around and taking a step forward, avoiding eye contact with Delilah.

"If I open the door again, they'll all want to come in," the brunette sighed. "Like flies."

"She's right," Delilah agreed, walking away from the door to join Esme's side. "Besides, Thomas is almost always late, that is what business life looks like."

Silence fell upon the three women before Delilah realized that introductions were probably due —  God, she was forgetting her London posh manners now.

"Pardon me, Esme, this is May Carleton," the redhead introduced after she had lit up her cigarette. "She is training his racehorse, the one from the auction, for Epsom. May, this is Esme, John's wife."

"You know horses?" Esme asked, almost admirative.

"Yes," May answered awkwardly. "You?"

"Born riding. I slept in a manger when I was a baby."

"I was born riding too."

It took everything in Delilah's power not to burst out laughing right then and there and to contain herself enough only for a snort to escape her. May snapped her head towards her as Esme tried to hide the smile at the corner of her lips while burying her face in the betting books. Just when the redhead thought May was about to say something to put her back in her place, the betting den door flew open and Thomas stepped inside, slamming the door behind him.

"Well, it looks like you won't have to wait for your meeting any longer, May," Delilah assured, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared at Thomas walking towards them.

"Sorry I'm late," Thomas excused himself as John entered the room, his eyes devouring May up and down. "Esme, keep it locked up for a minute. I'll show you around."

Not really wanting to witness what Thomas was to do with May Carleton —  or whatever the brunette could say to the man she had so longingly waited for —, Delilah decided to take a walk towards his office, grabbing John's sleeve while doing so. Without even glancing at Thomas behind her, she pushed John inside and slammed the door behind them, knowing he would be waiting for her to be gone to start with the business.

"So what about — "

"Not right now," Delilah cut off, raising one pale hand in the air. "I don't want to talk about that bitch right now. What I want to talk about, is Giuseppe, however."

"Are you finally gonna tell us what happened, then?" John asked, crossing his arms over his chest while Delilah sat down in Tommy's comfortable leather chair.

"All of you, no, but you, yes," the redhead answered with a sigh. "Nobody knows yet apart from my brother and Milo, obviously, so you better shut the fuck up or else I won't be able to trust you anymore, understood?"

John mimicked locking his mouth and throwing the key over his shoulder with a smirk before he regained his seriousness, sensing Delilah's turmoil even if he could quite never get a grasp of her moods. That woman was a mystery, even after all the years they had spent together and the strong friendship they had built.

"I sent Giuseppe's corpse to London, directly to his father. On a boat."

"What?" John asked. "Why would you do somethin' like that?"

"To send a message," Delilah responded. "The message that we are not to be messed with, but apparently, I didn't think about it enough because Arthur is still in London and I have no idea when Sabini will receive my little present. I am making sure both Ada and your brother are under close surveillance as well as my family, but these snakes are smart, not smarter, but smart enough to figure something out and try something. If they do, we're all as good as fucking dead."

"And here I thought you were concerned about a posh lady stealing your man," John chuckled, quickly sobering up and releasing a heavy sigh.

"May Carleton represents absolutely nothing to me and if she wants to fuck Thomas, she can be my bloody guest," Delilah retorted with a shrug. "He knows what he has to do if he wants to keep the original posh lady. If he does something wrong, she's gone, it's that simple. And you'd better not try to fuck that lady either, because your wife is waiting for you every night and worrying about you while raising your kids, which I can assure you no fucking London lady will ever do, regardless of your name or good looks."

"What's happening to you, Della?" John asked, walking to the desk and leaning on his palms. "You haven't been the same these days."

"Well, my first true love just died in the hands of the man I currently love, my dear," Delilah admitted, lighting up another cigarette and taking a drag. "I'm telling you, John, and this is an important lesson I learned the hard way: when you love someone, you don't fuck up with them. Otherwise, you'll only realize you loved them, even if a tiny bit, when they'll be gone forever."

ஜ۩۞۩ஜ 

Night had fallen upon Small Heath, bringing its late dancers and rivers of alcohol with it. Delilah was sat beside an overjoyed Arthur at the Garrison, in their favourite snug, impatiently waiting for Michael to arrive and celebrate his eighteenth birthday with his new family, though he didn't know right about now that he had the job Thomas had offered to him (that had had to remain a secret, even if according to Polly, the pay was consequent enough for her to agree and bring him into their business for good). Thomas was sitting on a chair beside her, smoking a cigarette while she played with a curl of her hair until, finally, the door opened, revealing the boy of the hour behind it.

They all stood up, clapping their hands while Tommy shook the young boy's, his cigarette laying between his lips.

"Happy birthday, Michael," he said with a smile.

"Eighteen years old, you're a man today," Arthur cheered. "Give him a drink, John."

"There you go," John said as he outstretched a glass full of liquor towards the boy.

"And after that, we will go and find you a lady of the night!"

"Arthur!" Polly growled, glaring at her nephew.

"Michael," Thomas called, taking away the boy's attention with a little box. "So you're never late for work."

Opening the tiny box, Michael found a little pocket watch, the same one each one of the Shelby brothers was wearing, resting inside. Realization seemed to hit him at once; he was now both a member of the Shelby family for good, and a working member at that.

"Welcome to the business, Michael," John cheered while the boy hugged his mother.

"Welcome to the family, dear," Delilah added with a smile of her own, squeezing the hand Michael had outstretched towards her. "Boys, maybe it is time to get him drunk, now."

"Oh, don't try and play the cool aunt on him now, Della," Arthur playfully retorted while wrapping an arm around the redhead's shoulders. "You know we're the coolest."

"Whatever you say, Arthur," Delilah laughed, clinking her glass with his as he winked at her. "We both know I am above all of you and that is a fact."

John tapped his glass against hers playfully as Thomas lit up a cigarette and carefully placed it between her plump lips, the contact of his rough fingers burning and gentle. How could the touch of a killer feel so soft?

As always, the party was shortly interrupted by Angelo and Milo, always ones to be late. No one seemed to mind as they had found their way inside to wish Michael a happy birthday and drizzle the occasion with their good old whiskey. Surprisingly, and despite her broken heart, Delilah seemed to be one of the people having the most fun.

"Don't you think you've had enough to drink?" Thomas asked, his hoarse voice a whisper in her ear. "You've drunk more than the birthday boy himself."

"Well, it's not that hard, to be fair," the redhead responded, leaning towards her lover with a laugh. "And I believe I am entitled to have some fun, don't you think?"

To that, Thomas didn't add anything, probably finding it best to keep this conversation for when they would be alone again. After all, they did have much to say.

"You'd better be able to work properly tomorrow, Michael," Delilah teased much later in the evening, her hand wrapped around Thomas's.

The night was bleak, the only lights being the street lights surrounding the little group. Michael, though very much still able to walk in a straight line, didn't seem to be able to look her in the eyes and instead focused his attention on a wall behind her, probably too drunk to be able to exactly see where her face was. Polly had wrapped her arm around his, slightly pulling him towards her while John, Arthur, Angelo and Milo were having a good laugh about the boy a few feet away from them.

"You probably will be the one una-able to see clearly in the morning," the Gray boy slurred as he was jerked away towards their car by his disapproving mother.

"That's enough, Delilah," Thomas called as she tried to follow after Michael, pulling on her arm softly and therefore bringing her closer to his side.

Surprisingly, she closed her mouth and remained silent until they reached the Shelby's residence. She lifted her gaze towards the windows upstairs, the lack of light making her shiver at the eerie atmosphere. After all, if Polly was right, ghosts were real, and obviously didn't only lurk in the shadows and dark corners of rooms and houses. She had plenty of ghosts of her own, and she wasn't keen to see them before her right about now.

John was bragging about how he would fuck his wife to oblivion for the rest of the night, waving the rest of his clan away. In their minds, all three remaining people figured he would most likely pass out atop of poor Esme right after he had woken up the baby with his loud and drunken footsteps.

She stopped in front of the entrance, blankly staring at the dark wooden planks composing the front door. From the corner of her eye, she noticed her brother and her associate carrying on their way, stumbling on the road but quickly pushing each other on the sidewalk so they wouldn't cause a lethal accident that night. As Arthur stepped inside of the house, giggling when he tripped on the carpet and stumbled into the couch, Delilah retrieved her trembling hand by her side, twisting her fingers nervously.

"Come on," Thomas encouraged her, but she simply shook her head. "What's wrong?"

"I can't sleep," Delilah vaguely answered, her eyes focusing on the living room couch where Arthur had finally decided to settle himself and sleep peacefully. "I have to stay near the telephone."

"You have to tell me what's wrong," Thomas said softly, his voice quiet and his eyes glimmering with an obvious plea she had rarely seen within his usually cold orbs.

"I will. But I have to stay near the telephone, alright? Take me to your office and I'll tell you."

With a sigh, Thomas wrapped his palm around hers again and dragged her to his office, right through the double doors opening in the betting shop. They didn't talk, even when his office door was slammed closed and he had leaned against the desk. Delilah released a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding, once again fidgeting as Thomas all but intensely stared at her.

"You don't talk to me anymore," Thomas said, digging for a cigarette in his coat pocket. "Why don't you just talk to me anymore?"

"No, I don't. But can you blame me, though?" Delilah all but scoffed, running her hand through her red strands of hair. "How am I supposed to talk to you when I can't even trust you?"

Thomas took a few steps forward, stopping right in front of Delilah. His eyes stayed focused on hers. He could decipher her drunken state just by the simple act of staring at her. Her eyes were sparkling maliciously, not the kind of maliciousness he usually liked, however. Thomas was afraid he would soon be the victim of the redhead's short temper and he couldn't find a way to escape it.

"So you don't trust me but you can trust the rest of the world, right?" Thomas laughed, the sarcastic sound sounding astonishingly nerve-wracking in the redhead's ears.

"I trust the rest of the world, yes," she responded, suddenly wrapping her hands around Thomas's collar, "because they don't kill my prisoner when I specifically trusted them with him!"

It was surprising how strong Delilah actually was, or maybe it was the liquor making her stronger with each gulp. Whatever it had been, the tiny redhead spun Thomas around until his back hit the wall forcefully, her hands still gripping onto his clothes and seemingly unwilling to let go. Whether she truly wanted to see him suffer or was just trying to be impressive, Thomas couldn't know. But he could admit he was astounded by her strength and the way she was using it. Against him, that is.

"You fucking killed him when I told you not to even fucking touch him!" she screamed, wrapping a manicured hand around his neck forcefully. "Why would you do anything like that, for fuck's sake? After I fucking trusted you with him!"

He couldn't take it anymore. Giuseppe Sabini was a fucking plague, worse than his own father, and fucking dead. Even six feet under, he couldn't let Thomas live his life without haunting him. He had made a mistake, he had killed someone who could have been precious to their business —  nothing more, nothing else. What was he supposed to say about Delilah trying to shoot Grace at the train station, two years ago?

Out of anger, he found enough strength to push her hand away from his skin, placing his strong arm around her neck and pushing her against the wall, reversing their positions. This time, he held power over her, the poor redhead seemingly out of breath and trembling when his palm found its way around her delicate neck, barely clamping but squeezing strongly enough for her to realize he was literally holding her life in his hands. It was that way that he liked her the most, dangerous but vulnerable, on the verge of dying by his own hands but not quite giving up on life though he could see it in her eyes. The yearning for him to take her life. She would never find a more heavenly way to die than by Thomas Shelby's hands.

"So this is what it's all about, mh?" Thomas demanded, his deep voice threatening as her deep orbs melted into pure rage.

"Of course, what else do you think?" she retorted, escaping the grip his left hand had on hers to grab his collar and bring his face closer to hers.

"I wouldn't have killed him if he hadn't provoked me and you know that," Thomas said through gritted teeth, his tone of voice much calmer than Delilah's.

Untangling herself from Tommy's strong grip, Delilah flattened her hands against his chest and pushed him away from her, moving towards the desk with crossed arms. Her cheeks were reddened by anger, fuel for hatred, one Thomas couldn't tell whether it was towards him or at herself for letting the whole situation happen.

"I'm so fucking tired of seeing your sad face because of that fucking rat," Thomas scoffed, unable to contain himself any longer. "People telling me to look after you because you look so broken and, fuck, if you loved him, than you shouldn't have let him between my hands. You should've known better than to trust him and should've guessed he would provoke me. Just fucking go! I'm not imprisoning you. You loved him? Then just fucking get away, eh?"

He had barely registered her taking steps forward until she was facing him, their bodies mere inches away. What he registered though, was the harsh slap her hand offered his cheek, one that made his face turn to the left and his cheek burn uncomfortably. Never once did a woman raise her hands on him, and there she was, making it both a first time and a lesson to learn.

"First of all, do not disrespect me. Ever," Delilah spoke, a scoff escaping Thomas's throat.

"I am the disrespectful one, now," he laughed, throwing his peaky hat at the other side of the room and running a hand through his ebony hair.

"I had to send his corpse in a box all the way to London a few hours after he died," Delilah carried on, ignoring him as he stopped nervously walking and kept his eyes focused on her broken face. "And yes, yes I did love him once upon a time, but that's not the case anymore, and sure I still cared about him. We grew up together, Tommy, I was supposed to marry him before he fucking left for the war! He's my business partner's son, the one I was supposed to quietly betray and now everything's ruined and I have to take the consequences and there's nothing I can do to make it better."

Her voice was pleading, her eyes filling with tears she had a hard time containing. She didn't want to cry, not for him, not again, but she couldn't think of a way to explain to him why she was hurt. Why did he have to kill someone she had cared about enough to ask to bring him to Birmingham alive? Why did he have to believe what Giuseppe said? Why did she have to leave him with her first lover, the very one she had left behind years ago but who couldn't seem to let go of their shared memories?

"Why do you have to doubt me, Thomas?" she whispered, stepping closer and placing the palm of her hands on his cheeks adoringly, softly. "Why can't you just believe what I say?"

"How am I supposed to, eh?" he replied, his voice significantly quieter as he let himself drown in the ocean of tears sprinkling in her eyes. "You keep everything locked up, you don't talk to me anymore. I don't even remember the last time you slept beside me or simply kissed me on the cheek, for fuck's sake Delilah, give me something."

She simply stared for a second, taking all of his beauty in. And delicately, slowly, she tiptoed and closed the space between their bodies, her lips connecting with his softly. At first, they didn't add anything to the mix, simply enjoying the contact of their lover against them, their warmth, their breaths mixing together.

And they lost control.

It happened in a second, like a snap of their fingers. Thomas's hand found its way through her long locks, pulling slightly to tilt her head upwards and have better access to her tongue. Delilah moaned against his mouth, her hands sliding from his cheeks to his shoulders where she grabbed his coat and threw it off of him. As she gripped onto his broad shoulders, her nails digging into the fabric of his button-up shirt, Thomas lifted her from the ground, pushing her against the closest wall.

Her back painfully hit the wooden boards and in a fit of slight pain, she bit down on his lower-lip, drawing a little bit of blood she gladly tasted on her tongue as he groaned. She let him take care of her underwear while she fiddled with the buckle of his belt, and once she had successfully opened the belt, he discarded his pants somewhere. She didn't pay much attention to the exact place they landed on, too preoccupied with Tommy's lips to look somewhere else.

Once he had slid into her, she released one of the loudest moans he had ever heard against his mouth, soon throwing her head back against the wooden wall when he started thrusting. On the other hand, Thomas didn't waste time and bit down on the soft skin of her neck, leaving red marks he was both proud of and already regretting. Viciously, she wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck, crescent marks lingering on the skin when she would dig her nails into it. Finally, her lips found the way towards his again, kissing him with a passion she hadn't felt these last few days.

Thomas slammed her back against the wall once again, making her tear away from his lips to bite on the skin of the hand supporting her around his shoulders, soon finding his own skin to bite in. It was way more satisfying to hear him groan when she would go a little harder than usual until she threw her head back once, her mouth wide open and eyes in the back of her head.

"Use your words," Thomas commanded, wrapping his hands around her neck and squeezing —  how he could still hold her in place was a mystery to the redhead, but once again, she wasn't particularly thinking about it.

"I'm afraid I don't have any," she panted, gripping on his shoulders a little harshly. "But please carry on."

"Ah, so you did miss it," Thomas affirmed, his movements slowing down as he stared at her, his hand lifting to push a few strands of red hair away from her face.

"Please don't stop," she whimpered, crashing their lips as she moved her hips against him to encourage him.

But he did stop, only for a second, letting her down on her feet and turning her around so she was facing the wall. Delilah's cheek leaned against the wall as she opened her mouth, her palms flattened against the hard material. She couldn't grip anything anymore, only relying on her balance and Thomas's hard chest behind her to keep her standing. Intertwining their fingers together against the wall, he used his other hand to flatten it next to hers, keeping them both steady.

Once again, Delilah moaned, her eyes glancing over her shoulders to see just a glimpse of Tommy's face. Which she saw, cheeks red and mouth opened, leaning his face against the back of her head as he groaned behind her. In a wave of pleasure she had a hard time controlling, she pulled on their fingers, soon regretting it when Thomas detached their hands to wrap it around her neck.

With a violent thrust, he pressed Delilah's body further against the wall to the point where she couldn't decipher what part was hers and what part was the wall. Throwing her head back, she once again noticed a glimpse of Thomas behind her. This time, he kissed her forehead gently, a trembling breath escaping his mouth as he noticed her eyes. There had always been that look on her face when he was fucking her, that faraway look. He couldn't tell if she was still fully there or just in another dimension, away from this world, a paradise created by her own mind and the pure adoration glimmering in her deep pupils. Thomas had always loved her eyes, but he loved them even more when they were making love. Speaking a hundred words in the thickest silence.

Flipping her around so she was facing him, he decided to once again lift her in his arms, this time throwing her on the desk. Seeing her face was delightful, especially when she was so close to her release. Delilah outstretched her pale hand towards him, she grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer, almost as if trying to seal their bodies forever. Once his mouth was closer to hers, she moaned, trying her best to keep staring at his eyes — she found out that she couldn't.

"It's you," she whispered, the last part of her sentence being pronounced in a moan. "You've got me."

"I know, love, I know," he responded, a smirk plastering his lips as she wrapped her hand around his forearm and sunk her nails in his skin. "You've got me."

She captured his lips with hers, moaning one last time as she finally reached her point of no return. In his mind, Thomas congratulated himself for being the only one able to touch her, satisfy her, steal each one of her moans and swallow them, keeping them inside of him whenever he would question what he was doing with her.

Delilah was his golden gate to a brighter future, through love and hatred, happiness and anger, in a bed or on a desk, in Birmingham or in London. Everywhere she went, he would follow her in the shadows.

"You are never, ever getting rid of me," Thomas whispered, watching adoringly as her back arched from the wooden surface of his desk. "I am never letting you go away, you hear me?"

It was the loud moan she let out right after that sentence that sealed their devilish deal.

ஜ۩۞۩ஜ 

"Why did you have to stay near the telephone?"

Delilah lifted her eyes from the dress she had tried her best to rearrange, her pupils drowning in Thomas's ocean orbs.

"What?"

"You told me you wanted to stay near the telephone earlier," Thomas scoffed, motioning towards the object on his desk. "I am good, I'll admit, but if you lose memory every time, it will ultimately lead to bigger problems."

"How funny," Delilah replied, rolling her eyes at the taller man. "They're going to call when they find the corpse. It could be any moment now. I need to make sure I receive the message, not anybody else."

"Why not? Don't you trust us with the message?"

"It's not that I don't trust you with it," Delilah denied, stepping closer to Thomas and wrapping her arms around his waist, holding him closely. "It's because I don't ever want him to know neither of you was involved."

Thomas frowned, delicately lifting her chin with two fingers so that she could look at him. Her cheeks were still a bit red and her hair was messed up, but the tiny smile on her lips told him everything he needed to know.

"What do you mean?" Thomas demanded.

"I saw what he did to you, remember?" the redhead asked, running her hand through his jet-black hair. "I don't want that happening again, and they can't get to me. Ever. So I'm protecting your family and my family will protect me."

"But I don't want you to do that," Thomas argued, placing his warm hand against her cheek. "You can't do that, I killed him!"

"You don't get to decide, Tom," Delilah stated, her voice soft but authoritative. "Besides, it is a strategic decision. I am fucking immortal, Thomas, and Sabini will have to learn it the hard way."

Despite the fact that Delilah was everything but immortal, Thomas decided to remain silent, only bringing her closer to him. He wanted to put their bodies so close together that they would be one and only. That way, it would be so much easier to protect her from the bloodthirsty gangsters roaming around. Whether they would attack her or him, it would be the same: he would protect and defend, the same way she had silently made up her mind and chosen to keep his name out of the whole Giuseppe situation.

This woman would be the death of him, but as long as she wasn't dead, he reckoned he could accept that dreadful fate.

In the early hours of the morning, Delilah opened her eyes in Thomas's office, his arm wrapped around her. If the pain in her members was anything to go by, she guessed they had slept on the floor, and she was right. At least, Thomas had settled himself on the carpet and probably wouldn't suffer as much as she did —  or so she hoped.

The reason why she had woken up appeared obvious when she heard the loud ring of the telephone on the desk. With a grunt, she stood up from the ground and swiftly grabbed the phone, bringing it to her ear. She remained silent though, until all she heard were distant sobs and heavy breathing on the other side of the phone.

"I promise you, I will track you down and I will kill all of you fucking gypsies," Sabini's trembling voice spoke.

"It wasn't the gypsies," Delilah responded. "It was me. The Italian. This is war now."

"I hope you're happy, now," Sabini added, sniffling. "I bet you couldn't wait to get rid of him. At least, now he won't have to fight enemies knowing that his bride-to-be had abandoned him, right?"

"I never planned on breaking my vows," the redhead argued. "He left for the war, so did I. I chose a different path from him, and that was it. He was a threat to both me and my family, and I had to do it. Now, it doesn't change anything, Giuseppe's dead. I hope you die with him very soon."

"Unless you do it before I find you, I strongly suggest you hide, each and every one of you," the old man said. "Because if I happen to find you, I swear on Giuseppe's grave that you'll wish your life had ended the same way as his."

"Send my regards to your wife," Delilah demanded, ignoring his latest statement. "May Giuseppe rest in peace."

And with that, she hung up the phone. Drifting her eyes away from the telephone, Delilah noticed that Thomas was still peacefully asleep, and she reckoned it would take a few more minutes for him to wake up. So, she composed another number, placing the phone close to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Mother, you have to listen to me very carefully, I don't have much time," Delilah barely explained, staring at the wall in front of her.

"Della, you do realize it is early in the morning, right? What's wrong with you?" Jessica demanded.

"Giuseppe Sabini died a few days ago, Mamma," the redhead announced. "It wasn't me, but I know who did it. I sent the corpse to London to his father, and I just had some news from him. The message was well sent but it's the start of a war, a true one. You have to protect yourselves in London, and I'll have to be even more careful in Birmingham. In the meantime, don't go out alone, never leave the house abandoned, don't go to the Eden Club, carry a gun or a knife, I don't know."

"Care to explain what happened?"

"I don't have time, as I told you," Delilah denied. "Just know I love you both and please, stay safe."

And for the last time, Delilah let go of the phone, her head falling in her hands as tears ran down her cheeks. She lifted her eyes, staring at Thomas slowly waking up on the ground. Just like her a few minutes prior, he first seemed utterly confused at where he had fallen asleep, and almost jumped to the ceiling when he realized she wasn't lying beside him anymore. He found her sitting at his desk, staring silently at him, with tears running down her cheeks and a mischievous smile covering her plump lips.

"What happened?" he asked, taking a few steps and stopping on the other side of the desk, his large hand stroking her cheek comfortingly.

"I guess I am going to war now," she responded with a shrug, tilting her head to the side to kiss the palm of his hand. "On the bright side, my family now knows about the whole thing. Not in detail, but enough for them to protect themselves. It's just Sabini and me, now."

"No, it's not just you and him," Thomas argued, leaning forward and kissing her forehead, his thumb wiping the tears under her eyes. "We'll be by your side."

Delilah nodded, capturing his lips with hers. What he didn't know yet was that she was already planning the battle, not counting on anyone but herself, only her and her great brain to manipulate and make everything shine brighter again. She would get him.

She would beat Sabini at his own game.