22

John had slipped away for a minute with a mumbled excuse. But it wasn't until she saw Tatiana lingering by the doorway, barely hidden by orange light, that Anastasiya knew something was happening. Something she didn't know about.

"You aren't keeping me out of things again, are you sister?"

If Tatiana was startled by the sudden appearance by her shoulder, she didn't show it. Remaining solidly planted against the wall, she scoffed, pushing off and walking away.

"Why do you think I'm here?" Tatiana lead her down the hallway to another study room that was hidden away behind the dining room. "We go down to see the treasury now."

"I'm surprised I get to see this."

Tatiana brushes her off. "We don't question Aunt's business."

Tommy Shelby was in the room when they arrived, watched closely by the soldier that would see them further into the treasury. It was hidden by a vault in her uncle's private office, hidden by heavy drapes and many locks.

They walked for longer than they expected, the tunnel looking endless in the dingy, green-cast light, that clung to the shadows. Her eyes were drawn to the edges of the ceiling, spring with weeds and darkened leaves, and dripping with icy water that was both rhythmic and deafening. As they neared their destination, dog barks echoed through the walls, like growls of wolves. They were the size of wolves too, Ana noticed as they pushed open the last of the locked metal gates to see a tiny room, surrounded by soldiers but with her aunt and uncle in the middle with an unknown man.

"We are now underneath the river Thames."

Tatiana showed them in, leaving Tommy to stand next to the man as she sat beside Ana and Izabella. The slim red dress hind by her feet, slipping against the floor like a pool of blood, spilling beneath Ana's low heels.

"Your jeweller."

The man nodded, his wide, brimmed hat finally lifting to reveal a handsome face and bright eyes. His face creased with laughter lines, mocking as he looked down at the cuffs on his wrists.

"I don't think they trust me Tommy."

Tommy nodded to his hands. "Mr Solomons is the only jeweller I trust in London."

Her uncle stepped forward, releasing the cuffs. Mr Solomons rubbed his wrists smugly, setting out to stand in front of the table that the Russians now say at.

"Tatiana," Izabella urged.

"As we agreed, your jeweller will now select items to a total value of £70,000. When you have selected your chosen items, they will be out into a box and stored. When you have fulfilled your part of the deal, the box will be delivered to you," she explained.

"May I just start, right, by saying that I may choose to stay here and just starve to death and choke on sapphires. I'd have never go back to the fucking world again." He looked around the room. No one laughed.

"The Jew smells of rum."

"Yeah, well, there is a good reason for that, you know, little man. Because my shop is just above a rum house."

Something snagged under her uncle's proud and arrogant expression as Mr Solomons ridiculed him. Ana was quick to notice, her brows raising at the spluttering and huffing that's came from the frail man. He didn't lose the look of shock as the jeweller stepped forward. 

"I like him," Ana quirked, her lips raising in amusement as her uncle continued in his flustered movements.

But as soon as the words left her mouth, Ana was quick to zip them again, pocketing her sarky or impressed comments away for later, perhaps for when she would surely see John again. There was no use in saying anything either. Not when she was teetering over the line of annoyance again, in her aunt's books. She couldn't afford to be distrusted when she was already last on this list.

"You speak Russian?"

"Yeah I do, because of my mum. Yeah, me mother. You people, you hunted my mum with dogs through the snow." He moved toward the assortment of jewels that were displayed through the room, not hiding the bitter bite behind his voice. "Yeah. But today right is for forgiveness, innit. For selection."

Taking the light from the duke's hands, he moved around the room, observing. Large, paw-like hands slid over a stand, picking up a magnificent necklace. Yet, it hung limply in his fingers, its midnight-blue jewels dripping from the silver casing like a dry waterfall. Even in the murky lighting that barely reached the floor, the aquamarine gem stone glistened and sparkles, catching whatever ray of light it could salvage, like a dying plant in the shade.

"So now, hello, right. I think it's fair to say £1,500," Mr Solomons declared, holding the necklace in his hands as if he had seen thousands of the same type.

"£1,500!"

"All right, I will give you £1,800."

"I know the current market value. £1,800 it is," Izabella said, her voice little more than a quiet hiss.

"That's very gracious of you. All right then. Now, let's have a look at this."

The necklace was left on the table as Mr Solomons picked another at random. The plain, silver chain glittered brighter than even Tatiana's long and decadent earnings that gleamed down her neck. The diamonds shone a brilliant blue under the false light of the lamp that was placed beside.

"This is a nice little bit."

"Oh, but that was a gift of Tsar Nicholas," her uncle said, leaning in.

"I ain't asking you that though, am I? I aren't asking you, all right," he snapped. "I come here to do business, for my professional services. If you keep interrupting I won't be able to do that, understand?"

Tommy shifted into the spot, gaining attention with a clearing of his throat. "Mr Romanov, let me remind you we were told to come here to choose what we like."

They remained silent. "Tsar Nicholas gave you that. I will give you £4,000."

"£5,000 with the royal provenance." She removed the necklace from her neck and dropped it to the table.

"Done." Mr Solomons moved to the side. "Right, Rumplestiltskin, let's go over here and have a look what's in these boxes."

"2,000."

He threw the jewellery down one by one as he named his price. Izabella remained quiet, but the harsh underbite of her jaw didn't go unnoticed. Another necklace landed against the small pile with an audible clink.

"That's nicer, £10,000. That there, definitely a five. You keeping score?"

"Yes I am," Tommy said with a nod.

"That's another five."

"Seven," Izabella snapped, her face darkening as she watched the necklace fall carelessly to the table.

"6,000. Let's call it £6,000, eh?" Tommy reasoned answer Mr Solomons nodded in agreement.

"Beauty, look at that," said Mr Solomons.

"Beautiful, isn't it," her uncle echoed him closely, leaning over his shoulder to see the choices.

"This is splendid."

"Splendid, yes," Leon echoed.

"It is a work of art. Do you recognise it?"

"Immediately," Leon nodded fervently.

"I'm guessing that all the bad idea around here are you, they're you. Aren't they? Hmm?" Mr Solomon's eyes never left the man.

"How could you mean..."

He held the necklace up, the jewels not quite catching the glint as he moved them in his hands. He snapped away, shuffling to show them around.

"Yeah, all right. Tommy, see this? It's got paste in it. That's paste. Let me tell yous something, son. If someone comes into my shop with paste like this, usually what I make them do right, is fucking swallow it," he said, edging closer to the duke. "Eh. What game are you playing?"

Ana's uncle was shaking, his face clenching, whitening from what could either be anger or embarrassment. Tommy stepped in.

"Mr Solomons," he said. "Mr Solomons, should we clean it up? Eh?"

"Hmm? Yeah, yes," the jeweller said. "What we got?"

"£37,600."

"Well." He sat, eyes blaring across the table to Leon. "Do you have any eggs?" He knew it would irk him.

"Fabergé is not part of the deal."

"Mr Romanov, my jeweller here, he advises me to insist on fabergé."

"It's a deal breaker Tommy," Me Solomons said.

Ana raises her brows at the sight of her aunt raising her hand to Tatiana. She slid away, retreating the precious egg and placing it gently in the table.

Mr Solomons leaned in, lifting it with a careful touch. The colours didn't quite react with the gleaming white light, making it look pale in comparison to the fabergé that Ana had seen. She wondered if her mother knew they were here.

"Oh, hell."

"I brought that from Crimea myself," Tatiana said, glancing to her sister.

"Fucking hell," the jeweller exclaimed, placing it back down with the collection. "With the provenance of that being laid by such a delicate beauty, that does indeed bring the entire selection to £70,000."

Tommy spat in his hand and held it out in deal to Leon. Her uncle was clearly seething beneath the skin like a hot stove. But he gave in after a short while, spitting and shaking wet hands without a word.

"Good man."

"And now, Mr Shelby, you will join your brothers and Mr Solomons will take his leave," Izabella said.

As they made their way back through the exhaustingly long way to the house, Ana thought of how she would ever be able to steal the jewels from this very chamber. The clicking of armed soldiers never quite disappeared into the distance- always far enough to not be in immediate sight but close enough to be onto them in seconds should they make one wrong move. She knew they wouldn't hesitate. The job was near imposible and it would take the stroke of a miracle to put the stolen goods into helpful hands- if she could even call her mother that.

Tatiana remained with Tommy, slinking off to a settee to the side, yet still in the sight of Izabella and Leon, who eyed each other widely, a drink already in their hands. When Ana finally entered after them, the stifling heat shivering through her, John was immediately in sight. He was grinning from ear to ear, a gaze clouding his eyes and tinting his cheeks pink as he dance up and down, toppling to the floor in a fit of laughter.

The look didn't leave his eyes as she approached, reaching out a hand to pull him up. John stumbles forward into her, chuckles still graving his lips.

It made Ana feel light again. The worry and the panic that had settled into her shoulders and weighed in her stomach while in the chamber of jewels had dissolved away the minute her eyes had met his. It was why she found herself dancing too, to the music of pleasure, the rhythmic merger of moans and smacking lips.

Her knees ached, her throat sore from both the laughter that left her lips and the drink that soaked through it, burning every inch of her body that it could reach. But she didn't care. It was like she was floating through a dream. A dream that she couldn't leave- she wouldn't want to leave- and would dance and drink and kiss with John forever.

It soon ended though, as they came crashing down onto a love chair that was pushed up against the wall, cornered by the large, covered window. John lay against her, not bothering to cover his dependence as he pulled a bottle to his lips chugging it down before he bubbled the liquid back up in happiness. Then he passed it over, holding it to her lips so she could drink, like an empress and her loyal lover.

The feeling. She couldn't describe it. It was like a comfort had finally chosen to make her lucky and hopeful- something that was so foreign to her.

"Everything will be fine soon," she said, not purposefully tripping over her words. John's eyes moved to watch her. "No priests with ulterior motives, no family members with poison behind their tongues."

She moved her hand to take the bottle from his grip, instead moving it to the floor, out of reach. His hand settled on her waist instead, stretched across the legs that he leaned on and to entangle itself in the beaded material that draped her body.

"Soon there will be diamonds up and down my wrists. A home to go to. All I have to do is help my mother."

He blinked watching her eyes as they stared off. Until she snapped away, trailing his face, his glowing, youthful skin and beautiful eyes, hidden with mischief.

"Not long, John," she whispered. "Then we'll be free."

She kissed him. If not to shut herself up, then to move things along. He had not made a single, real move yet. Since the minute they had say down, she had waited for it. Her hands moved to tug at his pants, belt less, signifying that she wanted more.

"Here?"

He pulled away, looking up at her in confusion. She shook her head.

"For the things I want to do, we need somewhere more private."

A smirk didn't leave his face for the rest of the journey to her room.

John woke to the early, orange cast sunlight that slid through open curtains and to knocking against the door. It didn't take seconds for him to remember where he was. He would never forget the night before, not for the rest of his life.

Beside him, Ana didn't stir, not even under the pressure of his eyes that watched her sleep for a few moments, forgetting about the knock that had startled him. It wasn't sexual, his gaze. It was appreciative, even loving- if he would ever work up the courage to ever tell her of the sort.

As if he was locked in yet another dream, John was woken once again from a harsh knock on the door. Ana remained asleep. It would somehow be Arthur, he knew, sent by Tommy to retrieve him so they could leave before the rest of the house was in bloom again. But John didn't want to leave, be didn't have the energy to. Especially after last night.

Yet he pulled himself up, not flicking against the cool air that greeted his naked body as he moved to gather his clothes, pulling them on silently, nothing like the manor in which they had been removed. He looked back once, before he left, lingering by the doorway.

Taking one last memory of her figure, draped in a single blanket, her silky skin peaking from beneath the material, John sighed. He would leave without a word, too scared to greet her even after all they had shared.

He knew what he wanted to say. But those were also things he could never share.

I love you.

So John, slipped away, meeting a smug Arthur in the opposite side of the door and slithered away without a trace left behind.