11

Ana settled herself purposefully across from the priest and his guest. She wanted to show him that she wasn't scared, she wouldn't be threatened by him. That was her first mistake. Father Hughes smirked at her. How clueless she was.

"That is Mr Shelby's seat Ana." Tatiana said, glancing from her place beside her.

"I'm sure he won't mind, there is another." She said, glancing from the table to the chair opposite her.

"Miss, Petrovna." The MP greeted her, though more in question that politeness.

"Oh, don't worry, I know all about this transaction of sorts." She said, her voice edging on hysterical as she picked at the napkin on her lap and glancing at all of the faces across the room. "Me being here will have no effect at all."

"I know how to keep my mouth shut when it is needed. Don't I?" She raised a brow, her eyes flitting to father Hughes, who was biting at the inside of his lip.

"I don't think the commentary is needed, Anastasiya." Her aunt snapped, and she felt a kick to her ankle, someone's- her sister's- hard heel digging into her skin.

"Oh, but it is." Ana insisted, before standing to her feet, beckoning the violinist from the corner of the room to join them in playing at the table. "Well, what are we waiting for!"

They sat impatiently as they waited for Tommy Shelby and listened to the musician play the violin. Ana was distracted, both by the curious stare of Patrick Jarvis and the steely glare of the priest. It seemed they both wanted her out of the room for their talk, and she had a feeling their wish would be granted by her uncle, who too seemed off-put by her words. But her Aunt was looking at her, yet without the usual cool, emotionless stare, she could almost look intrigued. Ana brushed it off, somewhat disturbed by the difference in attention from the stiff woman.

"Your highness, Mr Thomas Shelby."

One of the servants introduced him, his fast and abrupt pace into the room startling them all. The men stood up around the table, their heads bowing quietly as her uncle stood to introduce them, his arm awkwardly outstretched.

"Good evening, Mr Shelby. I believe you've met everyone apart from my wife." He said, motioning over to the woman. "Grand duchess Izabella Petrovna."

"Please, take a seat."

"I apologise, but I left my brother outside with my car. It seems your staff were a bit aggravated by that." He didn't sound apologetic at all.

Anastasiya's brows rose. It seemed John Shelby has been making his way to her more often than not in the past week. She would imagine his embarrassment, hidden by a smooth smirk that she would mirror. Though it could have been Arthur- not that she hoped it wasn't.

They finally sat, eyes flitting around at each other, silently willing for someone to speak. Upon feeling a glare on her cheek, Tatiana turned to Tommy, her hand drifting painfully slowly down his arm. She was close to his side, her elbow tucked intimately into the space below his jacket as she spoke softly.

"But before we begin, we must offer our sincere condolences on your recent loss, which some of us witnessed."

He brushed her off with a short nod, acting indifferent. The clenching of his teeth was evident thanks to his slim cheeks and structured jaw line, and he stared at the table in front of him,

"So you drove here, Mr Shelby?" Tatiana tried again.

"Yes." He answered shortly, not glancing toward her.

Instead he moved to stare forward, his eyes never leaving the line of the man that sat across from Ana. Father Hughes had noticed his apathetic look too, as had most of the table.

"I hear your an expert with cars?"

"Yes." He said.

Ana's stomach dropped. He looked determined, his jaw set in anticipation. But what was he awaiting? She wasn't prepared for him to out his suspicions, bringing her own beliefs and dislikes to the surface either. Father Hughes had threatened her once and she had took no notice, but she was beginning to think that he no longer felt the need to hold back.

"I am curious, what was your fathers profession?" Izabella asked him, her greyish eyebrows wrinkling her forehead.

"He told fortunes and he stole horses. Often he would tell a man that his horse would stolen and they would marvel at his powers when it was."

His voice was invested into the small story, but his eyes were not. They were dead- not the usual deep blue but a stormy grey, strained steadily on the face of the priest, flickering only momentarily to the duchess.

"Before we eat should we say grace?" Father Hughes interrupted, his eyes dark and shadowed. "For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen."

Tommy remained silent as they began to eat, his eyes or hands never moving to the plate in front of him. Tatiana glanced to her sister, angling her head to the man. But Ana just shook her head.

"I'm not here to eat. I'm here to do business," he began, "What I have to say can be said before the main course. Then I will leave you all to your evening."

"Grand duchess, I must apologise for the bad manners of my compatriot." Father Hughes said, but Tommy brushed him off easily.

"This is a report on the missions progress so far. I've made only one copy for security. Who should I give it to?" He stood, a white piece of paper extended in his hands.

"My husband is in charge of this operation. But since there will no doubt be vodka later, perhaps you should give it to me for safekeeping." The duchess said, her eyes flickering between her husband and the paper in his hands. She snatched it from him. "Speak Mr Shelby, while we eat."

"Five factory foremen on our payroll have begun a campaign of victimisation against Communist workers in five factories across Birmingham. Anger amongst the workers will grow but we will control it. On the night of June 21st a general strike will be called across the city. Protests will develop into riots, and all police that are not already under our control will be busy." He spoke easily. "The city will be paralysed."

"So how will you move the train?" They asked.

"We have two locomotive drivers who've been allocated to drive the midnight goods train to London. The armoured vehicles will be waiting on flatbeds."

"And ammunition?" Her Aunt spoke.

"The ammunition-"

"I have to say that this soup is exceptional." Father Hughes interrupted with a sly smile.

Tommy ignored him. "The ammunition, incendiaries will already have been packed up and crated for transport to Istanbul."

"And how long to reach London?"

He shook his head. The train won't reach London. All the goods will be unloaded at a coal yard at St Albans and put onto Shelby company trucks. From there they will go directly to the poplar docks."

"You're highness, if you're having difficulty understanding his accent, then I can go through the plan with you at a later date." The premiers broke in once again, sending the table into a tense silence that only a Shelby would dare to break.

"If there is no ship waiting for my men, all goods will be dumped into the sea before first light." He said, through gritted teeth.

"And when they discover the armoured cars are missing?"

"During the rioting, the Manchester factory will be firebombed. A scrap metal dealer of my acquaintance will declare that all the armoured vehicles are in the wreckage and should be written off as salvage. No one will know that they are in your possession." Tommy finished, finally prank back in his chair, his fingers still clamped to the table.

"We formulated this plan when we met at Birmingham. I'm certain that nothing has been overlooked." Father Hughes said.

Tommy once again said nothing to the man. He picked up the napkin to the side of his untouched plate and scribbled something down folding it multiple times before leaning over and dropping it in front of Izabella.

"This is the amount of extra expense I believe I will incur for trucks and fuel. I trust you will respond in kind."

The duchess unfolded it on her lap, out of sight. She remained emotionless, her shoulders straightening as she looked back up to respond. "Of course, Mr Shelby."

Tommy stood to his feet. Ana held her breath. It could go either way, she thought. He was standing with his hands in his pockets, his lips parting to speak through a snarl. Father Hughes was looking at her, she could feel the familiar weight of his glare sealing into her skin and making her frown.

"Before I go, I would like it known that I'm unable to swallow food in the same room as this priest." Tommy snapped, turning around to leave. "Enjoy your evening."

Izabella turned to her niece. "Tatiana, see Mr Shelby to his car."

Tatiana looked excitedly around the table, her lips curling into a sneak smirk. "Yes."

Anastasiya remained in her place, her hands now curled up in her lap, eyes not turning to meet those of the man across from her as she watched her sister stand to leave also. Ana had been so confident as she sat to intimidate the priest, by now she felt smaller than ever, her shoulders sunken and lips down turned. It made her feel foolish- to think that she ever could have had the upper hand.

"Ana, see that Mr Shelby's brother is looked after before he leaves."

Izabella looked pointedly toward her youngest niece, no malice in her gaze. Tatiana stopped by the door surprised as Ana joined her silently.

"See what they have to say." Their Aunt spoke in Russian, not looking to them again.

The pair stepped out into the hallway, the light of the lamp to the edge of the stairs a stark contrast to the dark and moody atmosphere of the dining room. The door was shut behind them, breaking through the silence that had endured after they left. Tatiana turned to her sister, a brow raised.

"So, she's finally involving you?" She said.

"I have a feeling Mr Shelby said something that makes her think I may not be wrong after all." Ana said, shrugging it off and letting Tatiana to lead the way to the open door.

Tatiana stopped beside Tommy, reaching for the cigarette that was lit and already being handed to her. He had waited, letting her take it before advancing toward his car with the woman in tow. To the side of the pillars that hung around the wide door, John Shelby stood smoking, his cap lowered over his eyes as if he were sleeping. He looked bored, having obviously expected to be more than the chauffeur this evening, and his foot tapped against the pavement slabs in an odd rhythm.

"Don't worry, your brother isn't the only one that had someone be ordered to look after."

Ana's voice startled him from the trance that he had seemed to be in. His head snapped up, his jawline cutting sharp as he turned to face her, his eyebrows drawn together.

"Ana?"

She stepped how in front of him, blocking the view of his brother with Tatiana. Something about the sight pained him, she could tell as much by the tension in his jaw, upturning his nose slightly at the end. John's eyes met hers for a brief second, before he pulled them quickly away, examining his shoes instead.

"Not that I care, but, how are you? After the other day?" She asked.

"Fine, I don't know what you mean." He said, though his voice deceived him. It was wavering, upping in pitch at every odd syllable.

"You should learn to stop lying to me, I can see right through you." She said, making him look up once again, his eye contact never breaking this time.

"I know. It's disturbing." He said, shaking his head. But Ana could see the ghostly smile on his pale lips.

"You've got yourself involved then?" She asked, her head nudging behind to Tommy.

He nodded, his face suddenly darkening.

"In more shit than this, as well," John said. "What about you then?"

"What about me?" She shrugged.

He was glaring at her as if the question was obvious.

"Well, I've been loosing my shit through this and you've been acting fine, telling me to straighten up." John said, his voice edging on snappy and jaw hitting out like a bark. "I'm asking how you've been."

"What's funny?" He said, his eyes narrowing even further as he watched her break out into a deep laugh.

"John Shelby is asking me how I've been." Ana said, her lips pulled into a sly grin, making him glare even more.

"I'll not bother next time." He said, his arms folding into a huff like a child.

"Next time." Ana repeated, the humour in her voice still plain and evident.

"That's not what I mean." He shook his head.

Ana stared at him with her brows raised. John was a man who was easy to read. He let emotions take over him, displayed easily on his face and his fists. Like now: his fists were clenched, though not as hard as they didn't make his knuckles turn white, and his jaw was clenched solemnly as his eyes cast to the floor. It was definitely what he meant. He was bad at hiding the fact too.

"Then what did you mean?"

"Stop that!" He snarled, his lip curling as his teeth clenched.

"What? I'm not doing anything." Ana said.

John turned to her, his feet inching forward and making her step back instinctively. Her back was pressed against the pillar, her skin feeling the coolness of the stone even through the layered material of her dress. It was rough against her fingers, that were pressed against it, hidden by her dress.

His hand was by her face, leaning against the wall to the side. He was close. Yet he was so far away. She glanced up, her brows furrowed. His eyes were held shut, tightly, the skin around his face tensed and wrinkled forcefully. It was as if he was afraid to look, the subject of his gaze being too threatening, perhaps turning his shamefully to stone with one flutter of her eyelashes.

"Stop making me flustered." He murmured.

He didn't move back. Instead he remained in the same position, his whole weight held by the hand that was dangerously close to her face. Ana could feel his warmth, even from just the closeness of his arm, without touching him. It made her want to step forward, slipping away from the icy touch of the stone and to his snug hold. But John backed away, his eyes opening but staring straight above the wisps of her blonde hair and to the broken decoration of the pillar.

"I didn't mean that," he said, his voice weak.

"Just admit it." She stopped short, hearing footsteps from behind them.

Tatiana appeared by the door, remaining on the threshold as she glanced back to her sister with a sly and knowing stare. Her head nudged forward, beckoning her in. Anastasiya looked back toward John, who stood in the same position but looking to his brother who smoked by the care, instead.

"Goodnight, John Shelby." She whispered, slipping away and closing the door behind her.

John watched her leave as she turned away from him, the heaviness of her look no longer weighing him down. Tommy was waiting impatiently from across the slim drive. He felt his lips parting, words wanting to fall from between them in a reply, even as she disappeared without another glance into the house.

"Goodnight, Ana."

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Low key obsessed with this chapter!
Thank you for 20k x