so i messed a little bit with the timeline, therefore in this chapter: the meeting between solomons and sabini takes place a day before the peaky blinders go to london, and thomas' meeting with chester campbell happen when delilah is still away (but you'll see why soon enough)

TRAVELLING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY WAS NOT THE WAY DELILAH DE LUCA LIKED TO MOVE — SHE CERTAINLY PREFERRED THE SILENCE OF THE NIGHT, BUT AT THE MOMENT, DAYTIME PROBABLY WAS SAFER. She was sure that, if she dared move town during the night, Sabini and his men would find a way to attack her. And who would ever bother to do some research about a murder that had happened on a bleak night when they could concentrate on shoplifting during their work hours?

And so, right after the sunrise, she had hit the road, sharing her car with her brother and right-hand man, while the Shelby brothers were following in their jet-black Fiat. First, they stayed silent, contemplating what to say to each other. The weight of Sabini's threat weighing on their shoulders. It was heavy, heavy enough to stop them from speaking. Their unspoken fears stretched and turned in the heavy atmosphere.

"So, back to London we go," Milo uncomfortably spoke, his eyes remaining on the road.

"I wish it wasn't to prevent a war," Delilah chuckled, bringing her cigarette to her lips. "But I mean, coming back to our roots? That's something I appreciate."

Angelo laughed as he tickled her side, the steering wheel turning on the right as she tried to avoid his hand. Her giggles were contagious and they all seemed to forget for a moment the importance of the journey. They couldn't even visit their families, it was too dangerous. They couldn't risk exposing where their siblings and parents had found refuge to escape Sabini's supposed steel hand. But he would never have the upper hand. Never.

"Let me drive, for fuck's sake!" she chuckled, slapping his hand away. "You're going to scare the boys behind!"

"Fuck them!" Angelo shouted, exiting his head by the open window and staring at the car following them until Arthur decided to imitate him, a playful grin already plastered on his lips. "Fuck you, you bastards! Fuck you all!"

Arthur's booming laugh echoed from the outside, bringing a small scoff out of the redhead's throat. Angelo settled himself in his seat while giving the finger to the boys. She heard them blowing the horn behind, swiftly imitating them. She wasn't about to lose the match.

It was two hours later that they decided to take a quick break. In the middle of the countryside, right beside infinite fields, the two shiny cars seemed quite out of place. The four men standing beside each other while smoking a cigarette in their fancy suits even more; the woman sitting on the hood of the Bentley, pale legs crossed and sunglasses on her pointy nose, could only be a creature a painter had imagined. She was real though, tilting her head towards the sun to enjoy the few moments she could turn her pale complexion to a slightly darker one. Maybe Delilah wouldn't look like a fucking corpse if she added some colour to her cheeks.

"So, who are you going to meet, then?"

Dragged out of her reverie by Tommy's rough voice, Delilah pushed the heart-shaped sunglasses on the top of her head with a little smile, leaning forward to stroke the man's cheek fondly.

"Well, Alfie Solomons for starters," she responded with a shrug, flattening her hand on the hood of the car once more. "And then hopefully we won't run into Sabini and his men. Fucking stronzi."

"Either way, if they dare to show up, we are prepared," Angelo assured, lifting his coat to reveal a gun by his side, quickly imitated by Milo and Delilah, the latest revealing a holster strapped to her thigh.

"One step ahead," the redhead affirmed, replacing her dress over the silky skin of her legs. "Or maybe not, but at least we can shoot."

"Are you doubting yourself?" Thomas asked and as Delilah's eyes fell on his face, he simply smirked and placed a cigarette between his lips.

"Don't doubt her, Shelby," Angelo assured, his hand finding its way to the man's shoulder and squeezing slowly. "She knows what she's doing."

She truly didn't. But at least, she kept it inside her chest, holding the burning secret against the deepest corner of her soul. And as she leaned forward to kiss Thomas one last time before they would hit the road and finally arrive in London, she wondered whether he could see it on her face. The doubt, the fear, the incertitude. Maybe he simply ignored it. She had simply decided to protect them from the threat but there was nothing she could do to assure their safety anymore. And it did scared her. 

Fortunately, though, no one figured anything.

ஜ۩۞۩ஜ 

Camden Town was busy. People were roaming around, unloading boxes from various boats, shouting around. The sun was partially hidden by some white clouds, the kind of ones you hate but adore because, even if they hide the warm rays of sun from you, you know it's not going to rain anytime soon. Delilah would have thrown herself from the bridge if it had rained on top of everything. She wasn't happy to be back to London, seeing the circumstances, and she could tell her brother felt the same. Milo had never been one to maintain contact with his family, so he wasn't particularly scared for their well-being — to be fair, Milo wasn't scared of pretty much anything. Even death couldn't scare him away.

After all, he had decided to come with them regardless of the consequences. That was pretty bold and courageous.

"Aye, Delilah!"

The redhead turned towards Johnny Dog standing close to a boat, multiple boxes being loaded onto the deck. She knew what they were (hidden bottles of the finest alcohol, shipping for the countries where prohibition had been voted), but she didn't say anything about them. As long as Thomas's business was expanding, she was doing her job right and filling her part of their contract. Certainly, he would not abandon her because of money, but if their roles were reversed and he wasn't filling his part of their contract, she probably would. So, she respected his business and showered him with opportunities.

"Hiya, Johnny," the redhead greeted, stepping closer to the shorter man to hear him correctly. "How have you been doing? Is London treating you well?"

"Unloading boxes, y'know the kind," the gypsy man answered with a shrug, soon spitting on the ground as Thomas shuffled closer to her. "How 'bout you?"

Delilah quickly found herself being distracted by two men dressed in black, wearing fancy suits — the kind of suits you usually don't see in Camden Town for fear that they would get stained by the factory's smoke. But they didn't seem to be afraid, and that could only mean one thing. Either they didn't care, which could be probable, or they weren't there to watch over the traffic.

"Yeah, it's been going well," Delilah vaguely responded, sliding her hand around Tommy's forearm. "Who are these guys?"

"Why should I know?" he shot back, diverting his eyes from his cousin to the two standing men a few feet away from them.

"Oh, fuck," Delilah sighed, soon whistling to catch Angelo and Milo's attention. Once they heard her, they walked towards her, stopping mere centimetres away from her and hiding her from view. "I think we might have to move quicker than I expected."

"What's happening?" Angelo asked, placing his hand on her shoulder delicately.

"You see these guys, over there?" she demanded, not daring to glance towards them any more than she had to. "Well, I guess they're working with Sabini or someone. They're not supposed to be here. I have to see Solomons quickly so we can get away from town as fast as possible."

Milo turned his head slightly, glancing at the men standing by the harbour. They clearly didn't seem to be threatening from that distance, but Delilah was right to be careful — after all, who knew what could happen? They had been careful enough to get to London during the day, not to tell anyone except the people who truly needed to know, though words travel fast. Faster than they could have guessed, apparently.

"I agree with her," Milo stated, glancing at Angelo. "We should bounce."

"Right, right. Okay," Angelo finally agreed, running his calloused hand through his dark strands of hair. "Let's go, then."

Placing a hand behind his sister's back, he pushed her towards the exit of the harbour, only for Thomas to grab her hand and hold her back just for a moment. Softly, he kissed her lips, his eyes closing and his body enjoying the warmth of her hand on his chest, right over his beating heart. For once, the noise wasn't overwhelming. Thomas believed that, even into the most deafening silence, she would make it quieter. Less heavy. Even the bombs in his head had stopped falling after a certain period of time when he had been used to her presence between his bedsheets. Sometimes, even when she wasn't here, the simple thought of her would erase each trace of a bad memory.

"Stay safe," she whispered against his lips, kissing them just once more before she moved away.

"You as well," he pleaded as she was carried away by Angelo.

The three Italians walked until they reached Alfie's distillery, Delilah's heart beating so strongly she believed it might just get out of her chest. With a deep breath, she pushed the wooden door open and stepped in, instructing Angelo and Milo to stay outside. They could play guard, that way, and could prevent any event from turning to shit. Or so she believed.

Delilah slammed the door behind her, making her presence known. In less than a heartbeat, Ollie appeared before her, gesturing with his hands for her to show her weapons. And so, she did, lifting her dress to show the jet-black revolver around her thigh. It was always in the same place — she couldn't exactly tell why she liked it here, but she adored the feeling of it rubbing against her soft skin. That way, she always remembered it was there, and she felt safe.

"I'm sorry about that," Ollie apologized, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh, no, don't apologize. I get it," Delilah responded with a bright smile. "Procedure."

Ollie nodded and she waited for a short moment. Alfie Solomons' office door swung open, revealing the grumpy man dressed in what only could resemble pyjamas, with his usual beard and slicked-back hair. When his eyes fell on her, she saw something glimmering in the chestnut orbs. And she recognized it instantly.

Regret.

Sabini had beat her to it.

Or at least, had talked to him. But it was her turn. She could still outsmart him.

"Miss De Luca," Alfie greeted, frowning slightly. "What do I owe the pleasure?"

"I'm sorry for coming unannounced, Mister Solomons," she apologized, a sweet grin working its way on her lips. "But I am in possession of new information that I'm afraid I have to discuss with you. It is a kind of emergency, actually."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Alfie agreed, motioning for her to step before him into his office, where they could talk in private. "O' course. After you."

When Delilah had first started business with Alfie Solomons, she had noticed that he had a habit of talking way more slowly and a way better English whenever he was just around her. Maybe it was her background that made him feel obligated to have better elocution or the simple fact that he felt inferior when she was opening her mouth, but it was a pleasure to be able to understand every word he could say.

Once she had settled on a chair and Alfie, after he had served them a glass of white rum each, had sat on the leather chair behind his desk, Delilah decided that she would go full bluff on Alfie. After all, the only true piece of information she had was the glimmer of regret in the man's eyes, and that was certainly not a reliable source. So, she made the decision to talk shit until he would eventually bite and spill the beans.

"I heard your bookies were to come to Epsom, in the end," the redhead spoke, raising a red eyebrow at the man. "I thought they weren't since, you know, Sabini has decided to send his instead, with the war between the two of you and everything."

"They could, yeah," Alfie half-admitted, nervously shifting in his seat. It was interesting to see him almost folding before her.

"So that means you are at peace with Mister Sabini, now, am I correct?" Delilah asked, bringing her glass of rum to her lips.

"I could be," the man vaguely answered.

She cleared her throat and lit up a cigarette. She couldn't believe she had picked on something as small as a glimmer, but after all, who was surprised? She was the greatest and she was just proving it over and over again. Though, she hadn't been the greatest at preventing her biggest associate from making peace with her now biggest enemy. She still had some time left before Epsom, the place she knew she was the most at risk, but not enough to review her entire contract with Alfie Solomons. All she could do was threaten him and make him feel stupid for believing a thing exiting Sabini's mouth.

"I apologize, then," Delilah chuckled, letting the ash of her cigarette fall into the ashtray. "I didn't take you as someone who would kneel down and accept such a disrespect."

"What?" Alfie asked, raising a blond eyebrow at her, his hand trembling threateningly.

"I mean, he knew he could play the war card with you because you were losing," Delilah explained, hoping her reasoning would make enough sense for it to seem plausible. "And you fell for it. For what, bookies in Epsom and the promise of peace? I bet they had a good laugh after this meeting. I would have."

Alfie frowned and she could tell her tactic was working. Maybe not enough for him to break his contract with Sabini right away, but enough for him to reconsider and for her to plant the seed of doubt in his flourishing mind. She almost smiled, but it would blow her cover or pass for a true mockery. She couldn't afford that.

"I get that he's offering you something big, but you are the losing party in this contract," the redhead chuckled, bringing her cigarette to her lips. "When I, along with the Peaky Blinders, offered you the full chance to win this war and to be a winner. I guess you've made your choice about that already, I am not trying to convince you to play your cards differently."

"I never said I wanted to play cards differently," Alfie defensively argues, his voice an octave louder with both shame and anger.

"No, you didn't, I am just assuming that the weight of being a loser would eventually get to your brain," Delilah replied with a shrug, crushing the butt of her cigarette in the ashtray. "I don't work with losers. Alfie, you are my biggest business associate and for the sake of our developing friendship, I would agree to keep carrying on and transferring you pieces of information if you give up on your peace with Mister Sabini. We both know I can guarantee access to Epsom for your bookies."

"So you are threatening to break our contract, but is that it?" Alfie asked, unimpressed by the redhead's try at seeming intimidating. Which she was, but he wasn't ready to admit that in front of her.

"Yes, I am," Delilah confirmed, pushing the ashtray away from her and standing from her seat. "But you should also reflect on the consequences of your contract with Sabini. The Peaky Blinders and I can offer you security, information and access to the races. What does he offer you, apart from the very clear message that you are a loser, Mister Solomons? Are you a loser?"

At that point, she had leaned forward, a few inches separating their faces. She could feel Alfie's breathing fade on her cheek but she didn't care that it smelled like a mix of old rum and too many cigarettes (though she was well aware that Alfie Solomons was everything but a smoker), all she cared about was being intimidating enough to manipulate him into surrendering to her reasoning. Because, even for her, it made some kind of sense.

"I think the question is not about who you are betraying or which side you are on, neither is it whose blood will be on your hands," Delilah whispered, biting down on her lower lip when she felt his eyes lingering there. "I think the question is, aren't you betraying yourself, in the end? Aren't you leaving all your winning morals and grand discours out the door? Where is the powerful, vengeful, unforgiving Alfie Solomons I started working with?"

"I —"

"Oh no, you shouldn't answer right now. This is a big question that demands a bit of reflection, Mister Solomons," she assured, her delicate finger finding its way under the man's chin to force him to stare at her in the eyes. "I'll show my way out of here, thank you very much for the time you let me borrow from you, Mister Solomons. You should ask yourself the good questions." 

Delilah exited Alfie's office and slammed the door behind her. Ollie was waiting by the entrance for the moment she would exit the distillery and she did swiftly, wishing him a good day. She waited until she was outside, witnessing the sun shining brightly in the sky, to let a sigh escape her lips. Angelo and Milo glanced at her curiously but she only motioned for them to follow her to their next stop, one she would have prefered to avoid: the Eden Club, where Arthur and Thomas would probably be hanging out. Hanging out or talking business, she couldn't quite know yet.

During their walk to the Eden Club, Delilah had all the time in the world to reflect on what had just happened. First of all, she had been outdone by Darby Sabini and even if she had managed to plant the precious doubt in her associate's mind, she could never be truly sure whether he would take it seriously and decide to act on it or not. Second of all, she had felt, for the second time since she had started working with the Peaky Blinders, that she was losing the upper hand. And, lastly, she decided that, after all of it, she was more enraged than she was disappointed, and that explained her sudden change of behaviour when she stepped inside the Eden Club.

 "Arthur!" she screamed into the bar, making the oldest Shelby brother jump in his seat.

Thomas turned around and stared at her, barely registering Angelo's confused expression as his redheaded sister stopped by the boys' table. She slammed her palms against the wooden surface, her eyes sending daggers to everyone — something she couldn't quite control, it was always this way when she was upset. And at that moment, she wasn't only upset, she was ready to burn everything down. Thomas cleared his throat as Arthur slowly lifted his eyes to meet Delilah's enraged gaze, emerald turned liquid.

"I need the books," she requested, raising a red eyebrow at the man. "The old ones, all of them. Right now."

"Why?" Arthur asked with a sigh, pointing at Thomas who had one displayed right in front of him.

"I don't have time for your useless questions, I need them now," she snapped, straightening up when she saw a waiter passing by. "You! Get me the old books right now. I'm only going to ask once."

The waiter nodded. "Follow me, please."

With one last glare toward the people accompanying her, Delilah followed the waiter through a back door, soon finding a box with dozens of books inside. Unfortunately, she had no way of finding out which year they were from at first glance, so she would have to open them all in order to find the ones she was looking for. With a defeated sigh, she sat down at the only table in the middle of the room, opening book after book until she finally found the interesting year — the one she knew she'd eventually find the most compromising pieces of information.

"What happened?" Thomas asked as Angelo stopped by his side, his eyes focused on the back room his sister had just stepped into.

"I don't think her meeting with Alfie went the way she expected it to go," Milo responded, running a hand through his jet-black hair and sighing afterwards. "She didn't talk on the way there, so I can't tell you for sure."

"What's left to do in London anyway?" Angelo asked, changing the subject and avoiding the upsetting part of Delilah being outsmarted by Sabini — he had guessed it the second she had stepped out of the distillery, crestfallen.

"Well, I have to travel to May Carlton's mansion," Thomas answered, "you're all free to go as soon as she's done with her books."

"No," Delilah responded, holding a book in her hand and walking way more calmly towards the group. "I'll go to May. It's no bother, and I can deal with a girl's chat anyway. I'd rather have you guys at home than travelling around during the night."

"What about you, though?" Milo demanded, raising a dark eyebrow at his best friend.

"I'll take the Bugatti, you can take the boys' car with them, there's enough room," the redhead assured, passing the book to Angelo. "And make sure this book is on the kitchen table by the time I'll be back, don't lose it, please. It's important."

Angelo nodded, holding the book carefully in his hand. They all remained silent for a second until Delilah picked the car keys in her brother's coat pocket and left the Eden Club without a glance, slamming the door behind her. The only noise permitting the boys to tell she had been there was the echo of the door hitting the embrasure, reverberating against the walls. Thomas silently sighed and ran a hand over his face, Angelo soon placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

ஜ۩۞۩ஜ 

May Carlton's house resembled more a castle than it did a mansion. To be fair, Delilah wondered how a single woman could even occupy half of this property by herself — she guessed she had maids, but even with a hundred of them, she couldn't see how the house could ever be full. With a sigh, Delilah stopped the car in the front of the mansion, turning off the engine and exiting the vehicle gracefully, soon joined by a frowning maid.

"Can I help you, Miss?" the older woman asked as Delilah approached her, tightening her black coat around her shoulders.

"Actually, yes, I believe that you can," the redhead answered, her Londonian accent more than reassuring to the woman. "I'm looking for May Carlton?"

"Is it you she had been expecting? I was told she would receive a visit of a certain Thomas Shelby," the maid warily demanded, even if she was just stating the obvious at that point.

"Yes, he was supposed to, but I was sent instead," Delilah responded with a kind smile, the kind of grin only she was able to produce. "My name is Delilah De Luca, I am actually an old friend of Miss Carlton's."

The maid nodded and motioned for the redhead to follow after her. If the house was absolutely magical from the outside, it was a whole other story on the inside. Delilah had visited a Renaissance-era castle in Sicily, and she could only compare the place to it. With shining wood from the prettiest trees in the country, paintings hanging on the walls, and the longest hallways she had ever seen, the house was so well-decorated that Delilah was ashamed of her house back in London.

They stopped at the entrance of a reading room, where May was sitting comfortably on a sofa and holding a book with yellowing pages — even the book alone cost more than Delilah's outfit, and that was saying something. May's dark curls were held in a glamorous hairstyle the redhead had never cared to reproduce but looked ravishing on the brunette, her pale-pink gown hiding her body but revealing the delicate curves of it — no doubt, May had been waiting for Thomas instead of her.

"Miss Carlton," the maid called from the entrance, Delilah sticking by her side as May lifted her eyes from her book, a mix of disappointment and relief shining in her eyes. "Miss De Luca is here to see you."

"Of course," May responded, gesturing towards the redhead for her to step into the room. "I heard Thomas would be visiting, but I guess there was a change of plans?"

"He actually had to go back to Birmingham for important matters," Delilah shortly explained, not bothering to give any details. "I figured I could stop by and report to him what's going on with his filly. If you don't mind, of course."

May shook her head, adjusting the little cardigan around her shoulders to hide her cleavage from the redhead's view. The redhead tried her best to ignore the multiple scenarios flourishing in her mind in which Thomas would have walked in the house with May looking like this — even if Delilah had always known she was a beautiful woman and had used it to her advantage, she could still recognize a pretty woman when she saw one.

"Absolutely not," May replied, grabbing an empty glass and filling it with an ambered whiskey that looked delightful. "I believe you drink the same thing as the rest of your friends back in Small Heath, right? Unless you'd rather have some gin, which I can get you."

"Whiskey will be just fine, don't worry yourself," Delilah was quick to reassure, grabbing the now full glass May was outstretching her way. "I have to address this, you have a wonderful house, May. Do you mind if I call you May? We haven't seen each other much."

"That's all right," May affirmed with a wave, bringing her glass to her lips. "It is a beautiful house, even I have to admit, but it is too big now that my husband is gone. It feels lonely, both during the day and at night."

"I can only imagine," Delilah sighed, taking a small sip of her whiskey. "I heard your husband passed away during the war. My sincere condolences."

May flashed her a kind smile, one Delilah didn't hesitate to return. "Thank you. It's been hard, you know, but I have to live with it now. I heard you have been in the war yourself."

"I did, not at Ypres, though," the redhead affirmed. "I was in Verdun, working as a nurse."

May nodded, once again taking a sip of her drink. They stayed silent for a second, a silence that seemed to weigh a ton on their shoulders — a second of silence for each fallen soldier, these courageous men being May's husband or Delilah's patients. They had both lived through the grief of people they knew would never return, and they both had to live with the feeling for the rest of their worthless lives — considering these men's sacrifices, the two women's lives were nothing, dust in a much bigger cog.

"So, the filly," May spoke, breaking their solemn silence, "she's doing good. You have the papers here if you care to read them, it's the report."

Delilah picked up the paper, reading carefully each word written on the page. "Will she be ready for Epsom? I know Thomas was wondering and would really hold a grudge if I didn't ask."

"She would, with a lot of training," May responded, raising a dark eyebrow at the other woman. "I didn't realize Thomas was the kind to hold grudges, to be fair."

"Well, he usually doesn't, but he can be kind of exigent with the things he truly cares about," Delilah admitted, finishing her drink in one swing and shaking her head when May silently offered a refill. "And I know he does care about the filly, and the races, of course."

"I gathered that," the brunette chuckled, placing her empty glass down. "He seems to be a passionate man."

"He is," Delilah agreed, barely hiding the fondness in her tone. "Look, May, I'm sorry I've been cold or maybe disrespectful the last time we saw each other, it wasn't my intention. I just happen to be passionate myself, and when I care, I tend to get wary of everyone."

"I didn't take it the wrong way, don't worry yourself," May affirmed, standing up and brushing some invisible dust from her shoulders, "I gathered you were only protecting yourself and your family. Would you like to see the filly? You can make a detailed report to Thomas, that way."

"Absolutely."

And with an apology and a kind smile, it felt like Delilah and May weren't enemies anymore. 

ஜ۩۞۩ஜ 

When Delilah set foot in the Garrison after what had seemed like hours of driving — it had been —, she found the place to be even busier than usual. Of course, it was payday for the workers around Birmingham, and so secretaries and businessmen of all sorts had gone to enjoy for a minute their shiny coins and use them to buy drinks and forget about their month. It was nothing unusual, and the redhead found herself pushing the door of the Shelby's private room rather quickly, people letting her go through without so much of a fight. It had started; she was now a name people were scared to pronounce, even in Small Heath. The thought brought a smile to her face.

It was Michael and Isiah's that made her lose her amusement, though. With blood splattered on the collar of their shirts and their knuckles split, the boys both proudly stared at her, no doubt having been waiting for her to make an appearance — and avenge the Peaky's youth, as she should. She slammed the door behind her, letting the black coat she had swung around her shoulders fall to the ground as she rushed towards the two young men, Arthur scoffing at the booth.

"What the hell happened to you two?" Delilah asked, bringing one pale hand to Michael's cheek and the other to Isaiah's growing black eye.

"Isn't it obvious?" John reckoned, soon slamming his finished glass of whiskey on the wooden table and pouring one for his best friend. "You might want to have a drink before we go, Della."

With a sigh, the redhead straightened up from her crouching position and grabbed the full glass, swallowing the liquor in one gulp. Thomas stared at her empty face for a moment, contemplating whether he should question her now or later. She wouldn't be willing to answer with the task at hand, he was sure of it; but maybe she would be more inclined to speak with their friends around them. After all, May could have very well talked about what she had found appealing in the gang leader — Delilah was not really the kind of woman to share.

"Where did you guys go?" the redhead questioned, raising a red eyebrow when Michael lowered his head. "I'm not mad, unlike your mother I suppose."

"The Marquis of Lorne," Isiah answered, his tone proud. "We couldn't let them insult me without a fight."

"You shouldn't, on that one we completely agree," Delilah affirmed, placing her hand on the boy's shoulder. "That's tragic news, though, I liked the Marquis."

"Yeah, me too," Arthur agreed, placing his own glass down gently. "Which one of us is to strike the match tonight? I've lost the fucking count."

The two boys debated for a moment about who was to set the Marquis on fire, the two of them soon coming to the realization that it was Delilah's turn to set a pub on fire. Delilah took advantage of the time the boys were offering her to pick up Tommy's burning cigarette from the corner of his lips, taking a long drag before she replaced it correctly and bent over to peck his lips. The gentle kiss wasn't enough for Thomas, who always craved more of her, but he decided to enjoy what he had before she would snap and decide to kill them all.

"What was the name of that guy?" she quietly demanded, staring at Isiah while stroking Thomas's cheek affectionately.

"I'm not sure I want to tell you, to be honest," Michael admitted, facing the redhead completely. Seeing the fire burning in her eyes, he quickly complied, "Paddy. I heard the barman call him Paddy."

"Thank you, Michael," Delilah said, bringing her right hand to his hair to ruffle it, "I appreciate it. You're a good boy. Tell your mother not to be too hard on you, eh?"

John and Arthur both stood up, Michael outstretching his injured hand towards Delilah's abandoned coat. He handed it to her and she gracefully slid her arms through the sleeves, swishing her hair out of the collar. With one last glance towards Thomas, who had chosen to remain with the boys and no doubt congratulate them on their courageous fight, she exited the snug, followed by the two Peaky men who slammed the door behind them.

"What are they going to do?" Michael innocently asked, too young to understand how Small Heath worked.

"Burn the pub to the ground," Isiah explained, shrugging his shoulders and bringing his glass to his lips. "Shame. Delilah's right, it was a good pub."

Thomas nodded, a scoff escaping his lips. "And she'll be the one burning it down."

It had been a while since Delilah had set a pub on fire alongside the Shelby brothers, and even longer since she had tortured and left a man burning alive as a punishment for disrespecting one of her own. She found that she had missed the thrill greatly, and with one hand wrapped around a bottle of whiskey, her right arm hooked around John's, their laughs echoing around the streets and the warmth of the fire lingering on her rosy cheeks, she realized just how badly she needed to be active again.

Delilah De Luca missed everyone, especially her own brother, but she imagined that if she had the occasion to take someone's defence — in that case, Isiah and Michael's — and bring justice to the world like only a God could, then she could take advantage of a little more alone time and do what was right. 

"You didn't have to do this for me!" Michael called when they passed him by on their way back to the Garrison, keen to enjoy a drink before they would call it a night and go back to their own homes.

"We didn't do that for you, Michael," Arthur responded, not even glancing at the boys.

"We did this for the good name of the company," John added as Delilah snickered.

"I did that for you, boys, that's not my bloody company after all!" the redhead shouted, John covering her mouth with his hand with a playful laugh.

"None of this happened, all right?"

ஜ۩۞۩ஜ 

The front door opened, revealing the inside of the De Luca's residence completely in the dark. From upstairs, Delilah heard her brother snoring in his bedroom, which she guessed had its door open in case something would require a quick reaction. With a sigh, she let go of her coat which fell on the ground and she discarded her high heels. The redhead walked into the kitchen, uncorking a bottle of whiskey and taking a swing directly at the bottle, not bothering to prepare a glass. She needed immediate liquor, and she certainly hadn't had enough at the Garrison, despite the many shots John had served.

"So, drinking in the middle of the night now, are we?" Tommy's deep voice asked from the couch, making her jump and spill a little bit of alcohol on her dress.

"Well, technically, it's more the morning than it is the night," Delilah corrected, loudly placing the bottle on the wooden kitchen table. "Who fucking cares anyway?"

"Well I do, otherwise I wouldn't be here, would I?"

Delilah scoffed, feeling venom accumulating on her tongue. "No, don't even start with that. You're here because you want to know what May told me, and what happened with Alfie Solomons, that's all. And I don't blame you for that just please, don't come to my house and tell me that you're worried about me drinking more than usual."

"Alright, so what happened with Solomons, then?" Thomas complied, questioning the redhead like a cop — he hated being the one asking for answers but it seemed it was a common pattern these days.

"Well, I've been fucking outsmarted," the redhead calmly explained, moving with the bottle in her hand to sit beside him on the plush sofa. "Sabini got to him first and convinced him that the Peaky Blinders are a menace for London which is absolutely true, at least for him. So, they signed a written peace and kept a contract each — can you believe that?"

Thomas scoffed, staring as she took another swing of the hard liquor, her nose wrinkling in disgust. It was a miracle she was still able to stand or talk properly after everything she had had to drink throughout the day — the redhead herself was quite surprised she wasn't collapsed on her bed and snoring her lungs out in a spitting image of Arthur at that moment.

"May I remind you that you made me sign a contract when we first met each other?" Thomas joked, raising a dark eyebrow when she outstretched her hand and turned the lamp beside the couch on, casting some light around the gloomy living room. "Quite the Italian tradition, apparently."

"That's something else entirely," Delilah affirmed, catching the smirk he sent her way at her quick response. "What? I didn't know you at the time. Plus, it's important to sign a contract, so that the clauses are visible. Signing a peace contract doesn't make any sense unless you have conditions to maintain the peace. Which makes sense, in this situation, but still."

Thomas chuckled. "What happened next?"

"Well, I told him he was a loser, dead in the eye," Delilah carried on, laughing when Thomas silently clapped his hands, "I know, pretty bold of me. And then, I ended the meeting by telling him I wouldn't work with a loser and that was it. But look what I've found."

The redhead stood up, carefully setting the bottle on the table, and she rushed up the stairs to her bedroom. Unsurprisingly, Angelo's bedroom door was open and so she closed it, picked up the Eden Club's book on her bed and she walked down. She was aware of her drunken state and so she remained careful of every step, afraid she might fall down and end up dead on the ground if she didn't pay enough attention.

"This is the book I borrowed from the Eden Club earlier," she explained, sitting cross-legged beside Thomas and opening the book on their laps. "Look at these numbers."

Thomas took a second to read the numbers manually scripted on the book. "Oh my God, these are —"

"Astronomical," Delilah agreed, turning her head to look at him. "These are actually astronomical amounts of money. Now, do you remember when I told you I had a greater goal by doing business with you, Tom?"

"I do, yes," the jet-black haired man confirmed, sliding an arm on the back of the sofa.

"Well, Sabini is working with a family, the Changretta family," she started, her voice barely above a whisper in case her brother would wake up and eavesdrop. "It's a Sicilian family just like mine, and we've been rivals since the beginning of time. I met the now sacred leader of the family once or twice, Luca, and it hadn't been such a pleasure, but I need to defeat them. I need to, but for that, I have to defeat Sabini first, do you understand?"

Thomas nodded, letting the redhead gather her thoughts for a second. Bringing his hand to her face, he casually replaced a strand of her red hair behind her ear, his lips carefully kissing her forehead before he returned to his initial and more comfortable position.

"These numbers, they're payments for protection. Close protection," Delilah explained, "and they're paying a lot more. It's just the expanses they made on the club's account. Which is why this is interesting because it means there was something at risk at the Club. I highly doubt that it is still there, but maybe if I can discover what it is, I will be able to put pressure on Sabini."

"Couldn't it be drugs?" Thomas proposed, raising an eyebrow.

"It could be, but it wouldn't make any sense to pay that much money for drugs when he has policemen on his payroll," the redhead shrugged. "I think it has something to do with the Changretta's business."

Thomas hummed but didn't push the subject forward. He needed to tell something to his beloved redhead, something he dreaded to keep inside of him, and he had finally made up his mind and built up the courage to speak up. There was not much else he could do anyway if he wanted to honour their honesty part of the contract — both concerning business and their relationship, seeing that the killing Campbell had been plotting could put both at risk.

"I have to tell you something important and I need you to listen to me very carefully," Thomas started, making the redhead turn around to face him, putting down the whiskey once more.

"What is it?" she worriedly demanded, not used to such a grave tone coming from her lover.

"There are a few reasons why I haven't told you about it sooner, but I won't go into them," the man responded, running a hand down his face. "I don't have enough time either. Inspector Campbell asked me to assassinate Henry Russel, a Field Marshal, under the order of Winston Churchill."

"What are you talking about?"

"This, I'm talking about this," Thomas said. "A few weeks ago, Campbell asked me to kill Henry Russel, and that is the reason why I met O'Donnell and Henry, the Irish. He's making me kill Russel, Delilah, and that's something I may not be coming back from."

"What do you mean?" she asked, raising her hand to place it on his cheek, a frown creasing her forehead.

Thomas exhaled, lowering his eyes for a moment. It was hard for him to come clean about everything, especially about the assassination — he could die, for God's sake, and nobody had seemed to care about that while coming up with the plan. Then again, who would care about his death except for his family? He couldn't tell.

"His house is surrounded by the police, I passed by earlier to check on it," he recalled, "and I can't imagine how protected he is in general. If I try to kill him, there is a high chance for me to die as well. I've had to write my will and settle my affairs just in case."

"Tom, this is..." Delilah whispered, running her hands through her hair before placing them on his cheeks once more, forcing him to look at her in the eyes. "This is something serious! Why the hell did you accept it?"

"Because otherwise, they were putting me in prison for good," he replied, closing his eyes for a second. "You have to understand that I didn't have a choice, no way out of this. It was either this or hanging the following morning."

Delilah let go of his face, burying hers in her hands for a moment. She had no right to be angry or sad, she wasn't the one at risk in this situation — but damn, why all these people tended to gravitate around Thomas Shelby amazed her. How had he managed to meet so many bad — intentioned people in his short lifetime?

"There's something else," he carried on, willing to expose all of the truth if he had to, "I received a letter, with a phone number on it. So I called, and it was Grace."

At that point, Delilah felt like her whole life was falling apart before her very eyes.

"What the fuck did you just say?" she asked, lifting her emerald gaze to meet his icy blue one.

She was intimidating, looking at him like that. Like she was ready to murder all of them herself. Not that she hadn't tried in the past; who was he to suppose she wouldn't want to finish what she had started?

"What am I supposed to do with that information, mh?" the redhead snapped through gritted teeth, already standing up from her spot and grabbing the bottle of whiskey to take a swing. She pointed her finger at him when she carried on. "I've tried getting rid of her, for fuck's sake, I should've known!"

"I don't want to rekindle with her," Thomas affirmed, sighing when the redhead brought the alcohol to her lips, "but you could."

"Why the fuck would I want to befriend Grace fucking Burgess?" she roared, only lowering her tone when she heard Angelo groan upstairs.

"Because there are a lot of things we still don't know about this woman," he explained, leaning his elbows on his knees so he could stare at her fully. "Who sent her, where she's from. This could be of interest to us, and you'd be the one paying her a visit. Of course, she'd be expecting me, but —"

"I swear to God, I am going to murder you if you don't shut up right now," Delilah threatened, walking to the kitchen so she wouldn't have to face him any longer. "For God's sake, I tried to kill her! And now, you're asking me to casually visit her in London to, what, ask her questions about her past? She was a spy, she went from Belfast, she betrayed all of us, what else is there to fucking say?"

Thomas sighed, settling himself more comfortably on the couch. He couldn't possibly try and join her now that she had fled and found refugee in the kitchen, her bottle of whiskey as a company — he understood, though. It was unfair to her, to be thrown to the wolves like this, almost one year after she had tried to shoot Grace and Chester Campbell in a train station. Blinded by her ultimate wrath, with a hatred that devoured her, she had tried to protect her life and theirs by getting rid of the people that would ultimately destroy it; and he was asking for her to deal with her emotions and face the blonde for information.

"I swear to God, if I'm not strangling you right now, it's simply because Polly would have my head on a stick if I do," the redhead scoffed.

"Listen, we could know who she was working with so we can prevent any more spies from coming into our lives!" Thomas shouted, unable to stop himself from getting unnerved by her lack of understanding. "If you want to kill her in the secret of your meeting point, I won't stop you. You're free to decide that she deserves to die, I don't care. I just want to know what was up with her."

"Hang on," Delilah commanded, raising a hand in the air to silence him — and he obliged. "Are you asking me to go because you are scared of going yourself? And I am not talking about being scared of Sabini or whatever menace we've been facing these days, but are you actually scared to see her?"

Thomas scoffed, throwing his cap on the couch and leaning against the doorframe, cerulean eyes turning ice-cold the longer he stared at her. He couldn't believe she was playing with the history he had with Grace, as short as it had been.

"No, that's not that, why the hell would I burden myself with you if I still thought about her?" he growled, only realizing the words he had employed when she scoffed, slamming the whiskey bottle on the table. "You know that wasn't what I wanted to say."

"Well, first of all, you did say it," Delilah affirmed, running her hands over her face exhaustingly. "Listen, I don't want to argue with you, all right? You want me to go? Then I'll go, not because I want to, but because you do. And if I kill her, I'll call you to take care of her body for me, that works for you?"

Thomas sighed, shaking his head as he grabbed his cap and coat, swinging the piece of clothing around his shoulders without a word.

The redhead sighed as well, realizing that he would be leaving an argument — yet again."There are so many things I want to do with the time I have left, okay? With Giuseppe, the whole Sabini business, and you being under death threats, things haven't been the same. When was the last time we had a peaceful, sane conversation that didn't end in violent sex or one of us slamming the door on the other?"

"Yeah, well, you can't put all of this on me," Thomas affirmed, adjusting his coat on his shoulders to protect himself from the wind. "I get that I can be difficult, but you have to also admit that you're not always easy, Delilah."

"I get that, and that's fair, but you have to put yourself in my shoes sometimes," she pleaded, wrapping her fingers around the liquor bottle and swallowing another swing. "Things haven't been easy on my part either, and I am sorry for taking all of this on you, this is my fault too. We've been building unhealthy bonds these last few days, which I don't particularly want to live up to, and this is not us, has never been."

Tommy nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're not wrong."

"I'm exhausted, and I imagine you are too, so I'll let you go and think about what it is that's troubling you, and come to me if you feel like you have to," Delilah whispered, placing the bottle on the workplace and stumbling past him, turning the lamp off. "I'm going to think about the Grace situation, and I'll soon come up with an answer. Tomorrow morning, I suppose. Have some rest, you need that."

Thomas couldn't leave her on bad terms — never could, never would. So, he slowly made his way towards her and, placing a delicate hand on her neck so as not to frighten her, he bent over slightly and let his lips crash on her forehead, even closing his eyes to enjoy the sensation. She sucked in a deep breath, pulling away and tiptoeing instead so she could kiss his lips as gently as possible. She wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him closer to her, and she let him go as quickly as she had grabbed him.

Delilah cared about him; no, she did love him. And even if Grace had hurt them, even if she could be the reason why they would fall apart, she would comply. Whatever he needed from her, he could have it. She guessed it wasn't such a healthy way of thinking about a relationship, but she couldn't help it; she'd die for him. Facing Grace Burgess for a short but threatening visit couldn't be worse than dying, she assumed, and she would make sure that the ancient barmaid would never, ever be a burden again.

Even if she'd have to commit yet another murder to be sure of that.

ITALIAN WORDS:

stronzi = assholes