DELILAH WASN'T USED TO BEING WOKEN UP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT BY COPPERS YELLING ALL AROUND HER HOUSE. However, it was this exact way that she was dragged out of her slumber, in the middle of the bleak night. She quickly stood up from her bed, not bothering to put a robe on and simply rushed down the stairs. There, in her living room, dozens of coppers were holding her brother by his arms, restraining him from punching any of the men in the face, and trying to reach for his legs so he wouldn't be able to kick either.

"Delilah!" Angelo screamed, desperate for the men to let go of him.

"Let go of him!" the redhead shouted, launching forward and grabbing the men's arms, her nails digging in the tender skin of their arms. "Fucking let go!"

She roared when an officer slapped her across the face, forcing her to detangle herself from his men, and they took advantage of her slight moment of confusion to take Angelo out of their house and into the quiet street, though the silence was soon broken with Delilah's shrieks and Angelo's shouts for the coppers to let go of him. He was thrown into the back of a car, and suddenly, Delilah thought she recognized the man who had slapped her; it was Moss. This circus was Campbell's masterpiece — there was no doubt in her mind that she would hear similar stories throughout the rest of the Shelby family.

"I love you, please hang on, I'll get you out of there!" Delilah screamed as Angelo tried once again to kick an officer in the face.

As the car started and drove her brother away, the only family she had left in this town that had only brought her pain and misery, she swore that she would kill them, one by one, and watch the entire city burn in flames until there would only remain the ashes of memories. Delilah De Luca had never been one to let herself be manipulated, she was the manipulative gangster; and now that she had the ultimate proof that she had failed in her mission, she would only rise from the ashes like a phoenix and make them pay for the way they had treated her and her family and the ones she cared about. She would drown them herself, watch their faces turn blue from suffocation.

They would all be dead long before her brother would, long before she would; she was animated by hatred so deep, so burning that it could only be compared to the warmth of the sun. She would never let them get away with what they did. They would never escape her.

The chase had just started, and Delilah was a damn good hunter.

ஜ۩۞۩ஜ

When Thomas stepped into the betting shop, right after his encounter with Chester Campbell and Grace's expected phone call, he noticed that the remainder of his family had been gathered, but Delilah seemed to be missing. Immediately, he wondered if she had been taken too but one glance towards Polly told him that she hadn't and probably was as safe as she could be during those times.

"John?" he asked, awaiting his brother's report on their business expectantly.

"Coppers have lifted ten of our men from Camden Town," John started, his eyes staring into space and glimmering with barely contained tears — he wasn't sad, just like the tiny redhead that had been hiding in the shadows for half-an-hour already, he was angry. More than angry. "The rest of them's on the run."

"Tom, they've taken Michael," Polly interjected, standing up from the table she had been sitting at and frantically approaching her nephew."

"Business first," Thomas muttered, cutting the woman in her rant.

"They took Michael last night," the older woman insisted, worry painted all over her features.

"Polly, business first!" Thomas shouted, silencing the brunette who quietly stood in the corner of the room. "John?"

The blue-eyed Shelby brother swallowed thickly and lifted his eyes to stare at his older brother. "They took all our whiskey, so no doubt they'll be sipping that for Christmas. They impounded our vans, put their locks on the warehouse. The Eden Club and all our pubs have been raided by the coppers and handed back to Sabini and Solomons. The Black Country boys think it was Arthur who killed Billy Kitchen because that's what the copper told 'em. So there'll be no more free passes for our whiskey boats."

There was a moment of hesitation around the room during which nobody said anything. Thomas was staring right ahead of him, his brain already working numbers and finding strategies to get back to his enemies — it was a disaster. Everything that had been going on these past few weeks had been a real catastrophe, but nothing compared to what had happened the previous night.

"I don't give a fuck about whiskey," Polly strongly affirmed as she moved from her spot to approach the table John was sitting at. "I don't give a fuck about Billy Kitchen, I want my son out of prison, now!"

"Thomas, I spoke to Johnny Dogs," Esme started, only to be cut off by Polly.

"This meeting should only be family," the older woman snapped, glaring at the younger Gypsy.

Esme didn't flinch and stared back. "I can help."

"It's family only, she's not blood!" Polly exclaimed, gesturing towards Esme with disgust filling her tone.

"Let her speak," Thomas ordered, sensing his patience running thin by the second.

"Or is this a business —"

"Enough!" Tommy shouted, lifting his hand in the air to silence his aunt. "Enough, Polly. Esme."

Even if the family could only imagine what Polly was going through, the fact that she was so stubborn and refused to let other people speak was getting on people's nerves. John was suddenly reminded of the day Esme had tried to talk in a family meeting, Delilah having been the only one to notice and encourage the woman's courage. His wife's courage. Sometimes, it seemed like she was the only one accepting his marital situation — but maybe that was because she wasn't a Gypsy, and therefore didn't understand Esme's background. On the other hand, it kept her from being judgemental, and John was grateful for this fact.

"I spoke to Johnny Dogs," Esme repeated, the silence around her permitting her to express herself without having to shout. "The Lees are kin."

"The bloody Lees!" Polly exclaimed, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of collaborating with that part of their social circle.

"They can give us men," Esme exasperatedly affirmed, trying her best to keep up with Polly's outburst.

The older woman scoffed. "We don't need more men! It's men that have done the damage. I-It is men fighting like cockerels that have put us here in the first place."

"Esme, we'll take on their offer," Tommy stated, ignoring Polly slowly turning her head towards him. "We need men."

Silence lingered in the room for the first time in what had seemed like forever. Polly was fuming, blinded by a mother's rage, one that had lost her son once and could very well lose him a second time. She felt guilty for bringing Michael into this business when she had known it would be bad for him in the end — what was she thinking? It was only the beginning, as far as possible from the end, and it had already taken the worst possible turn.

"If Michael ever gets out of prison, I am taking him away from this family," Polly spat through gritted teeth. "For good. This life is bad."

And with these words, Tommy's aunt rounded the table, leaving her nephews both staring at nothing in particular while reflecting on very different subjects, and Finn and Esme standing side-by-side and worriedly glancing at each other. If someone ever wanted to write a book about how to break a family in less than a day, the Shelbys could very well participate. They were the living proof that blood could sometimes betray you in the worst way possible.

"This life is all bad," Polly affirmed once more, linking her arm with Finn's and dragging the youngest Shelby brother out of the room with her.

Once she had left the room, Thomas moved to sit at the table across from his brother. He brought his joined hands to his mouth, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh of his fingers as Esme stepped closer to him, trying to catch his attention.

"Thomas? Should I go and speak to Queen Mary Lee at the Black Patch?" the brunette asked, her voice softer.

Tommy glanced up at Esme, lost in his thoughts. "Yes."

"She can give us soldiers for a few nights," Esme carried on.

"Good," Thomas replied, standing up from his chair. "Where's Delilah?"

The two spouses shared a worried look. Even Esme, who couldn't say that she knew the redhead really well, had been shocked to see her state when John had brought her to their home in the middle of the night. Her husband had pleaded with her to come with him and to bring her to Polly, the only one he had thought she would talk to; unfortunately, the redhead hadn't and had simply stayed locked in Tommy's bedroom, unresponsive and awake, staring at a wall.

When John had found Delilah, he had first run to her home to let her know about what had happened to both Michael and Arthur during the night. He had hoped she and her brother would come back to the Shelby's residence and help them find a solution to this situation during an emergency meeting; however, when he had opened the door, he had realized he couldn't have been more mistaken. The redhead had been sitting on the only still standing chair in the whole house, her eyes puffy and staring at nothing, hair dishevelled and the whole house turned upside down — it was a miracle she hadn't hurt herself in the process of flipping each and every piece of furniture around the house, even going as far as throwing the cutlery all around the kitchen and breaking a few glass and plates on the tiled ground.

"Upstairs," John finally answered, facing his brother's impatience. "Hasn't talked since I brought her here. Neither did she eat or exit your bedroom, for that matter. I'm not sure she was even breathing normally."

Thomas shot up from his chair, not bothering to glance back at the couple he left behind, and he rushed up the stairs to his bedroom, hands trembling and throat tightening when he realized this could be the day Delilah would finally lose the remainder of mental health she had brought with her from London, three years ago. When he reached his bedroom, he found that the door was unlocked but closed, and he slowly opened it, revealing the redhead sitting on his bed, her eyes focused on the wall in front of her. Even when he stepped in, she didn't glance his way — she was frozen.

"Lilah," he softly called, bringing a hand to her cheek to no avail. "Lilah, you need to talk to me."

It was like talking to a wall. If he hadn't known her, he would have believed that she had been mute; she didn't even react to the sound of his voice or the soft touch on her burning skin. She remained motionless, eyes in another world and watery, hair tied up in a bun at the base of her neck and hands crossed on her legs, unmoving but tight as he guessed her nails would be digging in her palms. Thomas didn't dare untangle her fingers, despite the fear that she would ultimately hurt herself creeping into his mind.

"Delilah, you need to tell me what happened so we can find a solution," he all but pleaded, his voice breaking at the end of his sentence.

"We tried talking to her as well," Esme spoke from behind him, startling him. "No one could reach her, it's like she doesn't even hear us. She didn't even talk to John."

"Was her brother there with her?" Thomas asked, turning his head to look at Esme behind him.

"No," the brunette answered with a sigh, "she was alone. John told me that she had flipped the whole house upside down and he reckoned she hasn't talked since. She didn't even hear him, he just led her here and she followed because she didn't have any other choice."

Glancing down at her joined hands, Thomas noticed that her knuckles were bruised, and studying his face, he could see the reddened trace of someone's hand on her left cheek - she had been beaten, no doubt. With a sigh, he placed his large palm atop her hand, closing his eyes for a moment. Even her hands were cold, it seemed.

"You need to come back," he whispered, Esme lingering by the door with a saddened look, "it's a fucking disaster. I need you to fix everything with me."

"Maybe she just needs to sleep a little," John's wife offered, shrugging when Thomas turned back in her direction. "Isn't that what you do when you're traumatized?"

And then, a miracle happened. In all the turmoil they had found themselves into, it seemed like Delilah De Luca had come back to life, her fingers wrapping around Tommy's and her eyes glancing towards Esme, her body motionless but a single tear running down her bruised cheek.

"It's not, otherwise I can assure you a lot of people would be sleeping right now," she spoke, her voice hoarse and her tone cold, distant. In her mind, she cursed herself for being this way - it was her only means to cope, and she would use it if she had to. "You know what people do when they're traumatized, Esme?"

"I don't," she answered, too stunned by the redhead's sudden return to consider leaving the room or cutting her speech.

"Well, there are two types of people: the ones who can't seem to recover, and the ones who can," Delilah started, pushing Thomas to the side and standing up, ignoring the man's weak protestation behind her as she stopped in front of Esme. "I am the kind to recover by revenge. And my revenge is starting now."

Thomas stood up, joining her side and intertwining their fingers. That way, he could make sure that she wouldn't fall over and risk her life during the short time it would take her to walk down the stairs, Esme's gaze following after the couple incredulously.

That was a powerful couple, she reckoned.

ஜ۩۞۩ஜ

After a quick stop at Charlie's yard for the sake of Tommy's mental health and to pick up enough petrol for them to travel safely to London and wherever else it was that Thomas was awaited to, they finally hit the road, in utter silence. Despite Delilah coming back to her senses and being able to at least move around by herself, she still remained as silent as a grave, not even bothering to verbally greet Charlie or Curly — whom she nevertheless adored, but felt unable to talk properly too.

It felt like no one could understand her zoning out and turning mute. She caught each and every glance Thomas sent her way, the worried ones she hated but proved that he still cared despite the rough night they both had to go through and the one they were still facing. Delilah had no light inside of her anymore since the coppers had taken her brother away from her. Her business, her associates, nothing seemed to count anymore as all she could think about was getting Angelo out of prison for good, and bringing him back to their home, where he would be safe again.

If she didn't know any better, she would have believed that they were travelling to London for a bit of a holiday and for the sake of planning their revenge together, in the secret of a private hotel room. However, even if she was silent and ready to snap anyone's neck, she hadn't forgotten her deal with Thomas; she was to pay a visit to Grace Burgess in her hotel room. She couldn't bear the idea of walking into a well-dressed (or undressed) Grace who would have been waiting for the man she was currently sharing her bed with the same way she had done with May. Yet, it was a part of Thomas's plan; Grace was supposed to believe that Tommy would visit her with the hope of them rebuilding a relationship but would be surprised to find Delilah at the door, ready to interrogate her in a very gangster way.

If she was lucky, the ancient barmaid would not find herself buried six feet under by the end of the night.

Thomas, on the other hand, was staring at his redheaded lover worriedly, and he had been ever since they had left Birmingham. He couldn't help but wonder what was going on inside of her head, seeing her staring blankly ahead of them. She was usually so excited to see the countryside on their way to London and wouldn't shut up about it; yet, there she was, completely silent and only looking away from the road when she would stare down at her trembling hands on her lap. Delilah sighed beside him and he found himself glancing at her once more, involuntarily triggering the redhead to speak for the first time since they had left their secure neighbourhood.

"Go on, tell me what's on your mind," she spoke, her voice a few octaves deeper with the lack of time she had used it throughout that day. "Don't look at me like that, all confused. I see you staring at me every ten seconds. Go on, ask me, say it, whatever, just break the ice."

"I don't have anything to say," Tommy responded, focusing on the road again. "I'm just worried about you. What happened?"

"They took my brother, in the middle of the night, and convicted him for the arson at the Marquis of Lorne when it was me who set the pub on fucking fire," the redhead scoffed, placing her hand on her forehead for a second. "He could take five years of prison if I don't find a lawyer, or if I can't get him out illegally, which I cannot do anymore. Plus, if you should know, I am utterly disappointed in Solomons, and I've come to the realization that, if the coppers didn't take me to prison, it's probably because Sabini's planning on killing me himself."

"That's not exactly a very positive conclusion, I'll admit," the jet-black haired male sighed, taking a sharp turn and lighting up his cigarette. "I wish I could tell you something that would make you feel better."

Delilah scoffed, running a hand through her hair and turning her eyes towards the landscape outside her window. "Yeah well, you are giving me the opportunity to maybe kill Grace. Not that it would make anything better, but at least that's a bit of a consolation."

"If we can avoid another murder, maybe we should," Thomas advised, taking a drag of his cigarette and outstretching it towards the redhead beside him. "We never know where we might end up these days."

"I'm telling you, Tom, if you're not in prison either, then may God have mercy on our souls," Delilah said while picking the cigarette from his fingers and inhaling the deathly smoke, "because I can assure you that we're not going to have the same painless death as Billy Kitchen."

Thomas knew she was right, but he wanted to hope that they could live a little bit longer. Maybe long enough for him to ask her to marry him, like he had planned for a few weeks now, even going as far as asking for advice from Lizzie and Polly. Maybe long enough for them to have children together, raising them side-by-side and building the empire they had both always dreamed of. Long enough for them to love each other a little bit more, a little bit stronger and to make everything right again. He loved her enough to wish that she would see another million sunrises beside him, within the comfort of their shared bed; to wish that she would again kiss his lips, whether softly and gently like a chaste girl would, or passionately in the safety of their home with her nails digging into his skin; to wish that she wouldn't die by Sabini's hand and would still be sleeping beside him for long, blissful years.

Delilah was reflecting on what she had just said, the promise of a dreadful fate she wished she could escape. However, she knew it was inevitable; they were gangsters, they had chosen a dangerous way, and they would pay the price for it, whether thanks to Sabini or to someone more powerful. Only then did Delilah truly realize how endangering her lifestyle was and the consequences it could have on others, starting with her brother who had been taken to prison for God only knew how long. Knowing that Angelo was in a cell and could at least find a way to communicate with Arthur was heartwarming; what terrified her the most was Milo, whom of which she hadn't heard of since their last meeting right before Arthur had been thrown in prison.

The redhead wanted to talk to Thomas. She really wanted to, because she knew their time together might be running short, especially now that Sabini had succeeded in his plans and had them in his iron fist for good. She found herself unable to, too many words tightening her throat and making her hands tremble on her lap, bringing tears into her eyes that she didn't want him to notice. Her heart was breaking in her chest and there was nothing she could do about this, she couldn't even open her mouth. The feeling of being powerless made her sick and she felt like throwing up. All she wanted to do was to break this wall of silence she had built between them, this nauseating wall that imprisoned her inside her head and enclosed her feelings, the only ones she felt the need to talk about, in the safety of her heart that was about to explode.

"Pull over," she demanded, feeling her breath shortening. "Please, pull over, Thomas."

He complied, stopping the car on the side of the road and watching as the redhead popped the door open and exited the car. She stopped behind it, placing her hand on her throat as she tried to regain her breathing, her head spinning and black dots appearing in her field of view. Tears filled her emerald eyes as she stared at the moving trees in the distance and she crouched down, careful not to stain her dress but enough for her to be closer to the ground. It had been a while since the last time she had had a panic attack, the last one being when Thomas had been attacked by Sabini and brought to the hospital.

"Lilah," Tommy called when he joined her, placing a hand on her shoulder and crouching in front of her.

"They took my brother, Thomas," she whispered, sobs escaping her throat as she buried her face in her hands. "They took my brother, yours, and soon they'll take you away too."

"Delilah, look at me," the dark-haired male ordered, the redhead soon complying as she lifted her head and met his calming gaze, the only one apart from her brother's who could soothe her. "No one is taking me away from you. I am right here, by your side, and it will remain that way. No one is taking you from me either. We'll find a way to get your brother out of prison safe and sound, same goes for Arthur. Everything will fall back into place, all right? It's just a rough patch."

The redhead nodded, wiping the tears still pouring out of her eyes with her hands. Before she could add some more regret to her already breaking heart, she threw her arms around Tommy's shoulders, holding him close to her and trying her best to calm herself down within his strong and loving embrace, bathing in his warmth and calling back the memories they had shared together.

"I love you," she whispered, not bothering to think the words over - she needed them to be said and so, she did. "Please don't leave me, don't let them take you away."

"They won't, I promise," Tommy whispered back, kissing her temple gently. "I'm not going anywhere, Delilah."

"Okay, let's go," the redhead said, standing up and wiping her tears away with a sigh. Thomas gently placed his hand on her cheek and kissed her lips, tasting the salt of her tears on his lips. "Otherwise we'll be late, and that's too many surprises for Miss Burgess."

Thomas chuckled and they started the car once again, making their quiet but comfortable way to London, Tommy's hand lingering on her thigh and Delilah's fingers wrapped around his index finger, tightening her grip when she felt like her ribcage would constrict and prevent her from breathing.

When they arrived in London, night had fallen above their heads. Grace had chosen a glamorous hotel, one Delilah guessed could only be expensive. Thomas stopped the Bugatti at the entrance of the hotel, reminding her of the number of Grace's room so she wouldn't stumble into a stranger's one. With a sigh and a tight smile, the redhead opened the door and exited the car, muttering a goodbye to her lover and slamming the door behind her.

She felt Tommy's eyes staring at her back as she held her black dress so she wouldn't step on the delicate fabric while walking up the stairs leading to the grand entrance of the hotel. She pushed her curled hair behind her shoulder and cast a glance over her shoulder, agitating her hand behind her back in a wave towards her lover so he wouldn't think that she had already forgotten about him. The doorman opened the door for her and she stepped in, plastering a kind smile on her plump lips and walking on the marble floor towards the reception.

"Good evening, Miss," the receptionist, a blond woman with the deepest chocolate eyes Delilah had ever soon, greeted her gently. "How can I help you?"

"Good evening," Delilah politely responded with another smile, leaning her elbows against the counter. "I am actually joining a friend, Grace Burgess. She's been expecting me."

"Of course," the receptionist spoke, having visibly forgotten about the visitor's identity - Delilah certainly didn't look like a certain Thomas Shelby. "Do you know her room number?"

"I've been told it's number 204, is that correct?" the redhead demanded, only to be the polite customer.

"It is," the receptionist confirmed, smiling kindly towards the other woman. "Just take the stairs over there, and it'll be the second floor on the right. Have a nice stay!"

Delilah nodded with a grin and started the way to Grace's chamber. Once she reached the second floor, she stopped to admire for a second the distinguished marble of the hallway, the red carpet covering the floor and the heavy, golden chandelier hanging on the ceiling. She turned to the right and walked a few meters until she reached the 204 door. Raising her hand in the air, she knocked and waited for the blonde's voice to tell her to enter so she could step in.

The room had a gloomy atmosphere, though it was mostly decorated with the red tapestry. A wooden table with a bouquet of white flowers was stationed in the middle of the room, and she could see Grace's green dress in the distance, her back turned and apparently pouring for her guest a glass of whiskey. Delilah locked the door as soon as she had stepped in, the noise of the lock clicking into place making the blonde turn around. As soon as she spotted the redhead standing by the door, her hand trembled and she almost dropped the glass on the ground, having to catch and compose herself before she would slowly make her way toward her.

Delilah stayed silent, observing the ancient barmaid as she approached her. In the last three years, Grace hadn't changed much. Her hair was shorter and she seemed a little thinner than she used to be. Also, the fabric of her dress was a welcome change from the ones she used to wear in the Garrison and wrapped her body gracefully. Her hair was tied in an intricate hairstyle holding her curly hair at the top of her head and her eyes, which had been glimmering before she had noticed Delilah, still were as deep as the ocean. Once again, Delilah was forced to admit that she was face to face with another beautiful woman gravitating around Thomas.

On the other hand, Grace had to make the same observation. The last time she had seen Delilah, she had shot her right into the shoulder, making the woman she had so forcefully despised fall on her knees and run for her life. Now, she was standing proudly in the room, wearing the most beautiful black dress Grace had seen — or maybe it was just the redhead's body complimenting the fabric. Her eyes were shining with mischief, emerald turned liquid with longing. Her hair was free and curled, falling on her shoulders and on her back and the golden rings around her fingers glimmered under the dim light. Fortunately, Grace couldn't see a wedding ring on her left hand yet, and it made a wave of relief travel through her veins. Even if it didn't change anything because she was there and Thomas wasn't.

"I bet you weren't exactly expecting me to come," the redhead started, raising an eyebrow at the blonde as she placed a glass of whiskey on the table before her and moved to the couch on the other side of the room, settling herself comfortably. "I hope you are not too disappointed."

"I can't say that I'm delighted to see you again, to be honest," the blonde responded, glancing at the door while Delilah grabbed the glass on the table and brought it to her lips. "What brought you here instead of Thomas?"

"I figured that we had unfinished business while, well, you and Thomas have put an end to yours," Delilah replied with a tiny smile, leaning her back against the wooden door behind her.

"I guess shooting you wasn't enough to keep you away," Grace chuckled, staring at the liquor inside her glass.

Delilah scoffed, moving to sit down on the other couch. "And I guess Tommy breaking your heart wasn't enough either, so we maybe are both persistent."

Grace snorted, taking another sip of alcohol. The blonde was uncomfortable but she would never leave the hotel room before their unfinished business would be ended for good. She had put her hopes up, getting excited to see the only man who had understood her and had given her the impression to be alive, only to be faced with a mortal enemy she didn't want to see again. Grace believed she had seen the redhead enough for a whole lifetime, still, she had to stare into her cold orbs once again.

"I heard you got married," Delilah started to talk, a smirk working its way on her rosy lips. "I thought you would marry Campbell."

"Well, I found someone else," Grace retorted with a fabricated overwhelmed smile — Delilah could see through the blonde's façade, however.

"Then, if you found someone worth marrying, then why are you still chasing my lover instead of building your life with yours?" Delilah asked, not missing a beat. "Because let's be honest, you were waiting for him just moments before. Why are you still chasing him if you have a wonderful husband now?"

Grace's throat tightened but she tried her best to hide it. "He actually came up with the idea of this meeting."

Delilah raised an unimpressed eyebrow at the blonde. Of course, she knew; she wanted to play games with Grace's easy mind, but she couldn't. Otherwise, their story with the ancient barmaid would never end, and she had come here to put a definitive end to it. To do so, she had to admit the whole plan and make her realize that she didn't stand a chance anymore, she had betrayed him and he had turned his back on her, had forgotten about her and had found someone way better to build a relationship with.

"I know because we came up with the idea together," the redhead admitted, a smirk creeping its way on her plump lips as Grace's face fell entirely. "What you have to understand, Miss Burgess, is that your story with Thomas is done and over with, having been for two years already. I get that it is difficult for you to admit it to yourself, but you have to do it."

"Or what?" the blonde boldly challenged, wrapping her fingers tightly around her almost empty glass of liquor. The redhead hoped she would be able to make her escape before the ancient barmaid would be able to refill.

"Or, I will find you, I will track you, and I will kill you," Delilah affirmed, her voice soft and a hundred times more threatening than if she had screamed the words in Grace's face. "You know very well what I am capable of, and whatever background you are coming from, I will ultimately win. I always do, and you know that. I don't make empty threats, never."

Grace scoffed, raising her glass as if toasting to the redhead's words. "I'll drink to that. But you seem to forget that I was a spy and have enough knowledge to hurt you as well."

"A spy working for Chester Campbell, coming from Belfast," the redhead chuckled, taking a sip of her alcohol. "That isn't really what I would call having knowledge, and even I am ready to give compliments to pretty much anyone capable of gathering relevant pieces of information."

Grace shook her head. It felt like she was back to the start, back in Birmingham, when she had first met Delilah. At that time, it had already seemed like they would find themselves competing against each other, both for relevance and Thomas's heart. If Delilah had won a battle, she certainly didn't win the war, and Grace was ready to show her true colours and prove to her that she had been and still was worthy of Thomas just as much as the redhead did.

"You don't know anything about me," the blonde spoke through gritted teeth, her voice trembling with barely contained anger. "My father was killed by the IRA, Chester Campbell saw something in me and he took me in. I participated in neutralizing most of your organization's criminal schemes. You seem to be forgetting about that."

"Listen, Grace, just because you think you've done the right thing doesn't necessarily mean that you did," Delilah contradicted, her anger rising in her chest the longer she stared at the ancient barmaid. "Do you know how many men died when you fucked up our plan to Worcester? And how many we had predicted to kill in order to keep protecting Birmingham from these rats? Also, where were you when Campbell knocked on my door and let one of his colleagues almost strangle me to death?"

Grace lowered her eyes as she remembered the day she had seen Delilah step into the Garrison with the bruises scattered around her neck, the way she had treated her so nicely. And the worst was that Grace had felt sorry for the gang leader, her chest constricting when she had realized that it had all been her fault; only for the redhead to try and protect her when the IRA had come into the pub to take Thomas's life.

"And let's not forget that you treated me so nicely, nicely enough to ease your own conscience," Delilah scoffed, her nails tapping against the glass. "Everything you did, said, had only been lies. You have lied to everyone and still do; look at you, all dressed up for a taken man while your husband is waiting for you in your official hotel, and expecting you to return with him to New York. You are a lying, manipulative little bitch who likes to sabotage other peoples' lives, you can't help it. Let's say that Chester Campbell had been right to choose you."

"He loved me," the blonde whispered, tears sprinkling in her ocean eyes and troubling the otherwise calm sea orbs Delilah had stared into so many times in the past. "He did, and suddenly, you appeared and he didn't anymore!"

Delilah stood up, throwing her empty glass of liquor against the nearby wall. "Why can't you realize that it is all in the past? Why can't you be satisfied with the life you've been building for yourself abroad? He doesn't love you, probably did in the past, but it's an ended and therefore impossible love story! He loves me, I love him, you have a husband and a whole life to shape the way you've always wanted it!"

"And what if I wanted my life to be with him, eh?" the blonde retorted, not being disturbed by the noise of the glass shattering on the hardwood floor or the redhead's authoritative and loud tone. "What if you took away from me the only opportunity I had to build the life I've always dreamed of?"

"You didn't have what it took for a life with Thomas, for God's sake Grace!" she shouted, outstretching her hand towards the blonde woman whose face once again displayed the deep hurt she was feeling because of the redhead's hard words. "I do. And this is not a narcissistic thing to say, I live the same life as Thomas and on that page, we understand each other! You don't, you don't understand and you never will!"

Grace shivered as she stared at the woman's liquid eyes, her hands trembling with rage. Delilah realized that she might have taken the anger towards the recent events on Grace, but she couldn't care less — she was too far gone and she needed to take everything off her chest.

"This is the main reason why Thomas could never love you, you don't get him," the redhead scoffed, rolling her eyes when she noticed a tear running down the blonde's cheek. "And the simple fact that you're standing right there before me with the audacity to tell me that he loved you in the past and that I've robbed you of your happiness when in reality you just imagined it! It was just a dream, Grace, and if you try and make it a reality — which you will never be able to, by the way, I'll catch you, and there will be nothing stopping me from killing you once and for all."

The blonde sat down on the couch, staring into space as she tried to digest the other woman's words. Delilah didn't feel guilty in the slightest as she unlocked the door, stepped out of the hotel room and slammed the door behind her, making the blonde on the plush couch jump slightly. Tears hurtled down the ancient barmaid's cheeks as she buried her face in her hands, shaking with barely contained sobs. First, she had seen her plans crumble down when Delilah had walked through the door; and now, she had to admit that the redhead had crushed her dream life under her high heels, not even bothering to do it nicely. No, she had jumped onto the sand castle Grace had imprisoned her dreams into and had stomped on it, annihilating the tiniest hope the blonde still held close to her chest.

Delilah made her way down the stairs quickly, bathing in the cold air outside of the hotel. Her dress floated around her ankles as she walked down the stairs of the grand entrance, her hand running through her hair. She noticed the Bugatti in the distance, parked beside the sidewalk, and she moved to the car, her high heels clicking on the concrete floor. She opened the passenger door and slid into the seat, glancing at Thomas who was also glancing at her.

Before she could say anything, she started laughing.

It felt like an infinite weight had been lifted from her shoulders, all the anger she had accumulated throughout the day unlashing on someone and finally disappearing from her chest. She was finally free from the burden she had been carrying around and she had to place her delicate hand in front of her mouth to silence her giggles, Tommy expectantly staring at her with a raised eyebrow.

"First of all, you must know that I didn't kill her," the redhead started, a bunch of giggles escaping the barrier of her lips as she opened them to speak. "But I think I might have broken her spirits and heart hard enough for her to actually never come back into our lives."

"What happened?" Thomas asked, starting the car and driving away from the hotel.

"I think I need to keep that in my head for a moment longer until I'm calmer," Delilah laughed, leaning her head on her lover's shoulder. "But we actually have something else to do before going back to Birmingham or wherever you want to go after. We have to stop by my parents' house."

"What for?" Tom incredulously demanded, taking the De Luca's residence direction nonetheless.

Delilah sighed, opening the window and placing a cigarette between her lips, lighting it up swiftly. "I have to tell them about Angelo, they might not know yet about everything. And I also need to tell them about Sabini's threats so they can plan a quick departure, maybe for Sicily, until it'll settle."

Thomas nodded and decided not to ask any further questions, enjoying the contact of her hand around his as she laughed outside of the window, childishly waving at passersby through the window.

ஜ۩۞۩ஜ

The mansion hadn't changed, except that more people were now guarding the golden gate. Thomas parked his car in front of the gate and they both exited the vehicle, the redhead nervously running her hands down her dress to smooth the few folds the fabric had gathered from staying sitting down for too long. She sucked in a deep breath, intertwining her fingers with Tommy's as she threw his Peaky hat inside of the car so his hair could be visible, and they stepped through the gate, the guards stepping aside to let the couple through. Delilah stopped before the front door, once again arranging her clothes and hair before she knocked on the door, her mother soon appearing in the doorframe.

"Figlia mia!" Jessica shouted, grabbing her daughter by the shoulders and crashing her into her chest forcefully. "God, we thought you were dead!"

Delilah chuckled, running her hand down her mother's back to soothe her while her father walked down the staircase, glancing at Thomas beside her before reporting his eyes on his daughter. Robert De Luca slowly approached them, hugging his daughter as tightly as his wife had just done when he was able to reach her.

"Good evening, pappà," the redhead greeted, her father squeezing her into his arms one more time before he let go of the younger woman, wrapping an arm around his wife's waist. "I wish I could say it was a courtesy call, but I, unfortunately, need to talk to you about something important."

"Of course, you're very welcome to do so," Jessica affirmed, pushing her daughter inside of the house and motioning for Thomas to follow suit, closing the door behind the couple. "What happened? You seem worried."

Delilah sighed, stopping in their open kitchen as Robert served them strong liquor in shot glasses. Tradition — business with shots. "I am, actually. Angelo had been taken to prison last night in Birmingham. They invaded our home and took him to a prison cell for a crime he didn't commit."

Robert stopped dead in his tracks, his hand tightening around the whiskey bottle. "What do you mean, figlia mia?"

"I mean, Angelo had been taken away from our home and placed under arrest for arson," the redhead detailed, raising a red eyebrow at her mother when her father placed two shot glasses in front of both Jessica and Thomas and greatly ignored her. "What?"

Suddenly, Robert harshly grabbed her arm, dragging her into the living room. Thomas straightened up but Jessica placed her cold hand on his wrist, reassuring him with a tiny smile as she stood up and invited him to follow her through the house. Delilah followed after her father, Robert's speed making her stumble on her high heels. Robert stopped in front of the painting of his family hanging on the living room wall, Jessica calmly and silently making her way towards them with her arm linked with Tommy's. Just like the first time, Thomas felt quite out of place inside of the marble home — especially when her father was treating her this way and visibly fuming.

"Dimmi dove sta la tua lealtà," Robert commanded, his grip on her forearm tightening with each second of silence passing. "Now!"

His voice echoed around the house, the harshness of his tone turning her blood cold. Jessica downed her shot and placed the empty glass on the coffee table, the soft noise catching the redhead's attention as she turned her head towards the two people waiting behind her. Robert grabbed her face and forced her to stare into his stone-cold eyes, raising an eyebrow at his daughter when she seemed to think about her answer.

"Tell me, right now," he growled, the redhead's eyes turning as cold as his with each second passing.

The resemblance between Jessica and Delilah was more than obvious; with her father, it was more the attitude. Rough, unforgiving and authoritative. She was a true leader; she certainly had been taught the ways by her father, teaching her the roughness of men and her mother by her side teaching her the manipulative and sweet ways of women. She was a perfect mix of the two, deadly and merciless.

Slowly, the redhead kneeled on the ground before her father, her eyes lifting towards the painting of the De Luca family. Raising her hand towards Thomas, she pointed at him with her index finger, obviously unable to kneel before two persons at the time. Robert's eyes darkened as he grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her to her feet and swinging her on the ground. The roughness of the man had not diminished despite the redhead growing older, and she believed she would never actually get used to her father's burning glare.

"You changed sides so quickly, figlia," Robert groaned, crouching down so he could stare at her face.

"I never changed sides," the redhead contradicted, a smirk blossoming on her lips. "I just chose to add a few members to the family I already had."

"You can't add anyone," the patriarch whispered, raising an eyebrow at his daughter on the ground. "You don't have the power to."

Thomas stepped forward, ready to intervene if he needed to, only for Jessica to hold him back with a whisper. "She has to gain his respect and stand her ground. Just watch."

The jet-black haired man nodded and he ran a hand through his strands of hair, staring at the arguing duo a few centimetres away from them. Delilah's hands were flattened on the ground, ready to get into action and straighten her up when she would find the moment appropriate, her red nails clashing with the white marble of the floor.

"I have the power I decide to have," the redhead groaned, slowly rising to her feet and staring at her father from above him. "And you can either be with me or against me. But we both know what would be the smartest choice considering what I've been building these last two years for this family. Haven't you taken advantage of the money I brought into our home? Haven't you taken advantage of the new connections I managed to make?"

"I didn't need you for all these things before, and I certainly don't now," Robert stated, his voice authoritative - he was testing her. And she knew there was no way she could back down anymore.

"Of course, you didn't," the redhead scoffed, placing a finger into her father's chest when he stood up as well. "But I did it. And you can't contradict me on this one. I'll always remain loyal to my family, but you can't blame me for building new relationships."

"What about your brother, then?" the white-haired man asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "What are you going to do for him?"

Delilah crossed her arms behind her back, standing tall and proud before her father. Unafraid. "I will free him myself. And if I don't succeed in liberating him legally, considering that he's been placed under arrest without proof, then I'll take his place in prison and admit the crime."

"You'd go to prison yourself and risk your life, deprive yourself of your freedom to save your brother?" Robert summarized, his large hand clasped on the redhead's frail shoulder.

"I would," she solemnly responded.

As her father extended his arm towards her to hug her, she escaped his touch and kneeled down before her father instead. Robert stared at her as she lowered herself to the ground, Jessica chuckling behind her. With a smile, she untangled herself from Thomas and walked to her daughter, grabbing her hand and bringing her back to her feet with a satisfied grin. Both her parents opened their arms for the redhead to walk into their embrace and she accepted it, quiet laughs escaping their lips as Robert kissed the top of her head. Jessica rubbed her daughter's back until they broke apart, the redhead instantly spinning around to stare at Thomas behind her.

With a wink, she motioned for him to move back into the kitchen, the conversation kicking back off.

"So, what's the plan, then, figlia mia?"

ITALIAN WORDS:

figlia mia = my daughter

Dimmi dove sta la tua lealtà = tell me where your loyalty lies