CHAPTER 7

VIOLIN TEARS

❝ Music is love in search of a word. ❞

The last thing Rose wanted to be doing the day after a murder was sitting in an office with a traitor and the prospect of having to commit yet another one. But looking at the brown eyes of the English man in front of her, she found herself faced with that same decision, and wondered how could the universe beg this of her, to have both this man's life and death in her arms, as if she was but a scale through which God imposed its will, just a bridge between the last second on this Earth and the first second of whatever came next.

Rose didn't enjoy being a judge, and much less an executioner. She could argue that it had been life, or the war, to put her in that position, but the truth was that she was ambitious, and more than that she was determined to change society and its ways from within, and the only way that society and governments seemed to listen nowadays was through violence, even the unseen violence she preferred to use.

Some people needed the shadows to fully shine, and Rose was one of them.

"I know it was you who betrayed us," Rose started, painted nails drumming on the cherry wood desk as she eyed the man slowly. She had spent all day trying to find out who the traitor was and now that she finally had, she couldn't quite believe that a traitor's face could look so innocent, that a wolf could look like such a lamb. Joseph was the kind of man who had spent his whole life opening doors and pulling out chairs for ladies; betrayal wasn't in his blood. There were only two things that could make someone change from day to night, that made them shift into someone else entirely, causing them to choose and do things they would have never done before: money or love. "I just don't know why."

"Miss Salvage, please, I never meant you any harm, I—"

"So you don't deny that it was you?" Rose asked, tone slightly interested and eyes dropping to the man's throat. Beneath his skin his Adam's apple bounced up and down like a firefly trapped in a jar. Maybe that's what all humans were, to the universe above.

"I was advised not to," Joseph confessed, his voice a mere thread of sound, as if cobwebs could fall from it if he spoke any louder. It was as if his secret was so old he couldn't bear to carry the burden of it any longer. "They said Rose Salvage knew everything. So if I were caught, it would be best to confess, because Rose Salvage, unlike other criminal bosses, is also merciful, and she might take it better if we confess right away."

Rose sighed. She didn't enjoy having that part of her out in the open, because at the eyes of other criminal empires that quality was a flaw and it made her look weak. An easy prey. But Rose played with that assumption as well; people tended to be sloppier, less careful, if they thought the opponent they were dealing with wasn't scary or strong enough. It was precisely because people kept underestimating her that she kept on defeating them.

"I'm curious," Rose admitted, watching as a single drop of sweat ran down his forehead, "did you search for a job in the Salvage factory just so you could spy on me, or was it after you got the job that you started your espionage?"

"I never had any intention of spying on you, miss Salvage. I got the job with honest work. I just happened to overhear some conversations between you and Mr. Bardin, and—"

"And you decided to gather the information and deliver it to German spies," Rose completed for him. Her nails kept drumming on the desk to the pace of the beats in his heart. Rose didn't want him to feel like a gazelle being hunted by a cheetah, but she also couldn't stop the chase. He had put her family at risk, thus bringing the law of the jungle upon himself. Big fucks small, a friend of hers used to say. And Rose had been small enough in her life. "I don't get it. You're an English man, you should hate the Germans almost as much as the French do."

"I don't care about politics or rivalries, never did," Joseph murmured, head dropped down. "It has never put me bread on the table."

"You did it for money then? I thought I paid my workers well enough to avoid the temptation of bribes, but... one never knows. Man's a greedy animal."

"Miss Salvage, please, I swear I didn't want to betray you," he said, head snapping to her, and in his eyes, Rose saw her own sadness, reflected back to her in thousand hues of regret. "But I also... I didn't want to disappoint her."

The frown on Rose's face vanished as soon as her ears caught the softness contained in that word, as if he had put his whole being into it. "It was love then."

"I..." Joseph's quivering fingers grabbed his tie to loosen its grip around his neck. "I didn't even know she was German, she hid her accent so well."

"Spies normally do."

Joseph's eyes moved to Rose for a brief moment, in shame. But the remorse in his eyes was nothing compared to the shattered pieces in his chest. And Rose hated it, but she knew what that was. Her own pieces were still scattered inside her, lodged in the parts of her she never wanted to go back to.

"I swear I didn't know she was a spy, I... I just loved her, and I thought she did too."

"Congrats," Rose exclaimed, grabbing her Port glass and raising it to him. "I believe you've just summed up all of the most tragic love stories in history. Go on."

"So when... when Emma started asking more questions about my job, I thought it was a good sign, that it meant she was interested. Then she started telling me to find out what I could about you, because it would be good for me to get more acquainted with you. It could lead to receiving a bigger paycheck, y'know? I never suspected when she said she was curious as to who I worked for, because I thought she was just genuinely interested in me. You must think I'm a very fool man."

"I think you're a man in love. So you kept on feeding her information that she reported back to her compatriots. May I ask where Emma is now?"

"Don't know," Joseph stated immediately, forcing a ghost of a smile into Rose's lips. Even heartbroken and lied to, he kept protecting her. That's what love was. To step on a minefield and hope not to be hit by the explosion.

"I'll find out," Rose said simply, tracing the rim of the glass with her finger. "Because of you, Joseph, the German spies were waiting for me at the Ritz when I went there to kill them. Because of you, another German barged into my café last night and almost killed whoever knows who. Maybe everyone I cared about. There were innocent people in there, kids, so you understand why I can't let the matter go, don't you?"

"I... I didn't know that," Joseph declared, eyes still glued to the floor. "I never meant for anyone to get hurt. I promise you, miss Salvage, I'll never share anything with anyone ever again. I learned my lesson, I'll never meddle in your business, I swear. Just please, I... I don't want to die."

Rose brought the glass to her lips and took a sip of the red wine, allowing the sweet flavor to wash over her bitter decision.

"You're in love with a German woman. And she used you to get information on me. If this were a bribe, it would have been simple. But it's love we're talking about," she stared at him, and for a moment she saw herself as she was, years ago. How she had been in his shoes when love turned from the best to the worst thing in the world. To how it had knocked on her door just to stab her, on the back and straight to her heart. "How can anyone ask me to murder a man who did all of this for love?"

Joseph held his breath, not letting himself to have hope.

"I'm not going to kill you," Rose decided, placing the glass down on the table as if it was a judge's gavel. In times like this it became unbearable to think of the simple girl in France whose only dream was to have a simple life. Rose was so far from her now, and she missed her. She missed what she could have been. "You don't deserve to die because of this. But you'll have to leave London. Immediately. And never come back. Because if you do, I won't be as nice. Learn this, Joseph. People are only merciful a first time."

"I... yes, of course. Thank you, miss Salvage, I—"

"Don't thank me," Rose shook her head. "Just remember this. The knife in my back, Emma gave it to you. But the knife in yours, it was you who put it there. Don't fall in love a second time, Joseph, or your heart will die before you do, and you'll be forced to choose between letting it die or killing it. Believe me, you will not want the first place in which you feel death to be the same place that pumps you life."

***

A sigh of relief went out into the night as Joseph quickly walked through the streets of London and into the nearest train station. He never thought he would make it out of that office alive, and yet here he was, having gained a second chance to live and be the man his mother had raised him to be.

He stopped and placed down his bags for a second only, to check the map to the station. His guard was down. He thought he was safe. That he had been spared. And a sting of guilt for having betrayed the woman who now showed him this miraculous mercy made its way onto his heart.

Until a silhouette stepped out of the shadows and pointed the barrel at his temple.

"R-Rose?" Joseph asked in a tremble, unable to move his head to see who was there. He had always been told Death had no face.

"No, I'm not Rose," a man said in a low, cold voice. There was an accent there, one Joseph couldn't say where it came from. "In fact, I'm not like her. You see, Rose forgave you. And I might have as well, if you had betrayed me. But you betrayed her. And that I cannot forgive."

Joseph swallowed, his mouth opened in a scream that would never come, forever frozen in his throat.

Then Nicolas pulled the trigger.

***

The only nights the French Kissers actually enjoyed going to Café Royal in Regent Street were the nights Rose played in. The hotel was a known place for spies and intelligence agents to collect and trade information in, so every other time they were there it was for business, but now they could simply relax. The night had fallen upon the city like a dark velvet curtain upon a hectic golden stage, and after a long week of hard work, London was brought to life, with even the richly adorned walls of the hotel bustling in expectation.

Every hall Nicolas passed by was more sumptuous than the other, the ceiling a beautiful composition of golden motifs and Renaissance paintings. The lustrous chandeliers casted shadows over the walls in delicate shapes and patterns, contrasting with the warm lights that came from them. The ballroom, with its large windows and opulent columns, was perhaps the most beautiful place Nicolas had ever been in, and yet it was nothing compared to the woman in the silver dress, the violin perfectly resting between her shoulder and her chin as if it had always been there, as if it was the only place it belonged to.

The concert was about to begin, making people get closer to the stage for a better view, and Nicolas couldn't help but feel proud at how her presence drew people closer and filled an entire room. She hadn't even started playing and people were already listening, because Rose didn't just own notes, she owned the silence between them too.

"Nicolas, where have you been?" Renée asked as he approached the Salvage sisters. "You're never late for a Rose's recital."

"Had something I needed to deal with," Nicolas was quick to dismiss the question, his stare focusing on Rose instead. Her eyes hadn't failed to spot him amongst the crowd and she smiled at him, that devastating smile that always left a trail of broken hearts behind it, his included. He didn't know who her music was for. He just knew it wasn't for him. Never for him. Still, when the bow first touched the strings in an enticing invitation and the notes fell from the violin in a cascade of emotion and feelings, Nicolas smiled back, for his silence was for her. Always for her.

***

Rose had her eyes closed and her soul open as she plucked chord after chord of beautifully intense music from her violin, her fingers never stopping to rest as her heart beat in unison with the song. Her violin was her voice more than she was, put in ways she would never be able to put it, speaking in words she would never be able to say; it was the river in which all of her emotions flowed, from the spring inside her veins to the ocean that was the world.

Music was the bridge between her and people, her and life, it was an extension of her very soul laid open and bare for the world to see. Rose could feel each expressive tune, each lyrical melody echoing in her bones as if they had always been there and were just waiting to be revealed; music was the one thing that still connected her to the old Rose, that had stayed the same when everything else had changed. When she played, she was all people and none, and her feelings finally made sense inside her, coming together to produce the decisive cry of her soul.

In that moment there was just her and Tchaikovsky and all the things he had wanted to say with his concerto but couldn't and that Rose was now saying for him, lending him her voice so he could finally scream. There was nothing else but peace. And then there was him.

Rose opened her eyes, her stare wandering through the crowd aimlessly until it crashed against the waves in his and she reached a shore she had no intention of reaching. Thomas Shelby was watching her play, and his gaze on her made her sure he was the only one who could not only see her soul but actually hear it.

She always played for the old Rose, for all the people she had lost, but now she wasn't so sure anymore.

***

Thomas Shelby didn't know what to feel, which was nothing new. What wasn't so new was that he didn't know what to think either, and he always knew what to think. But now that his eyes were on her and that her music was in him, all his feelings and all his thoughts were in disarray, as if he had let the door to his soul open and a violent gust of wind had suddenly blown over them and scattered them all over his body and mind.

When Rose played, either Heaven fell upon men or men fell upon hell. There was no in-between. And Thomas didn't know how it was possible to feel both all at once, because this was the saddest thing he had ever heard, an eerie play of light and shadow, hope and sorrow, an array of emotions deeper than the ones he could feel.

Thomas didn't know much about classical music but he was under the impression this particular piece was an ode to passion, to all aspects of sadness. It didn't even feel like Rose was playing, rather that the violin was speaking for itself, or better crying for itself in a wordless prayer.

"Violin tears," a voice said from beside him, and costing him more than it should, Thomas moved his eyes from Rose to the blonde woman next to him. Audrey. Thomas remembered her from the night before at Rose's café, but she had been smiling then and she had tears adorning her cheeks now. "What you're feeling right now and can't let out, I call them violin tears. They come from the soul, and as the soul is invisible, so are they."

"Yours are quite visible," Thomas coolly remarked. If Polly had been there, she would've probably scolded him for being indiscreet, but she wasn't, and Thomas probably wouldn't have listened anyway.

"That's because mine come from the heart and I wear my heart on my sleeve. But some people can only cry from their soul, and I have a feeling you, like Rose, like Tchaikovsky, are one of them."

"Is that so?" Thomas quirked an eyebrow, nodding slowly. When the rest of the world was so obvious to him, this family never ceased to amaze him.

"Yes," Audrey smiled. "Have you never asked yourself, how the hell can one person and one instrument take you into a whole other world and produce a whole new feeling, one that didn't exist before?"

"No, I haven't."

"Not until now, right?" Another voice asked from his other side, and Thomas turned around to find Rose's other sister, the singer. The cracks in his heart that she had opened yesterday were just the warm-up for what Rose was doing now. "You should be careful, Mr. Shelby. You know our mom always used to say, if they're good at playing violin, they're good at playing your heart. It's just a different set of strings. And Rose is the best violinist I know."

"I can see why," Thomas muttered, but the sisters were already gone. He turned his attention back to Rose, not before his eyes crossed paths with Nicolas'. They gave each other a silent nod that was anything but friendly.

"A glass of absinthe, sir?" Thomas glanced at the waiter holding out a tray of tall glasses to him, and when he noticed the familiar Salvage bottles he couldn't stop himself from holding a certain degree of admiration for a woman, that like him, never stopped doing business.

"The bottle," Thomas replied, grabbing the silvery green bottle from the tray.

"But sir—" the waiter started, shutting up immediately upon Thomas' cold glare. "The bottle it is."

Thomas didn't even register him leaving and looked over to Rose again, finding himself pulled into the same abysm he had fallen into just as quickly as before.

***

There was always plenty of people that wanted to speak to Rose after a recital, but that night one woman in particular caught her eye amongst the sea of fawning smiles, for hers was a real one.

"Miss Salvage, I must thank you for blessing my ears with such a beautiful performance," her posh accent and elegant clothes made the kindness in her brown eyes even more visible, making Rose immediately take a liking to her. "I have undoubtedly become your fan and I'm afraid it's irreversible."

Rose chuckled and extended a glass of champagne to her that the woman gladly accepted. "I hope my next performances won't disappoint you then."

"Oh, absolutely not, don't worry. This was the best thing I've heard all year. I'm May, by the way. May Carleton."

"I'm Rose," she smiled, "it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Oh, you've heard about me?"

"Some things here and there, I like to keep myself informed," Rose said, but before May could ask any more questions, someone else interrupted them.

"Rose, a wonderful performance as always!" It was Corinne, the woman who sometimes organized her recitals when Rose was too busy for it. "So much that it caught the eye of a gentleman. He wishes to speak to you, says he has a teaching offer to make you."

"Oh, I don't give classes."

"He was hoping you'd reconsider, and given his last name, I think you should," Corinne countered, nodding with her chin over Rose's shoulder.

"Oh, you have to be kidding me..." May whispered as they both turned around to find none other than Thomas Shelby walking in their direction. "You know Thomas?"

"I wish I didn't," Rose deadpanned and May chuckled.

"That would make two of us," she offered Rose her gentle smile. "I'm afraid that's my cue to leave. Good luck, Rose, you're going to need it."

Rose let her go with the promise of speaking again soon before turning on her heels and eyeing Thomas' black tuxedo as he made his way to her.

"Rose," he said, raising the glass of absinthe he was holding to greet her.

"Thomas," Rose saluted. "This is a private charity gala, how did you get in?"

"Hope you're not suggesting I killed the porter," he replied, taking the glass to his mouth.

"I would never," Rose shook her head, watching in surprise when his lips stretched into a minimal smile.

"The check I left at the entrance was big enough for them to let me in."

"Thomas Shelby being Thomas Shelby," Rose nodded and gestured with her hand to the place where May had run off to. "Seems like you two have some unfinished business."

"I'm a businessman, Rose, I always finish me business."

"Of course, my mistake," she gestured towards the glass in his hand with a tilted smile hanging on her lips. "Penny for your thoughts? Or are your thoughts so expensive you can't share them with anyone?"

"Oh, my thoughts are free, love. Unlike this bottle, I'm sure. But your absinthe is good," he took the case out of his pocket and pulled one cigarette out, fitting it between his teeth. "Tell me, is it a pinch of French arrogance I detect in it?"

"You didn't strike me as a man of stereotypes, Mr. Shelby. Do you really think I fall into that one?"

"No. But then again, you don't fall into most, do you? How many women can say they own a business, especially one as big as yours?"

Rose needed to change the subject, quickly. "Did you like it? The concert?"

Thomas gazed at her, bewildering eyes painting over her defiant ones.

"Why Tchaikovsky?" He asked instead, and for some reason, despite never caring about people's opinions apart from her loved ones, she found herself wanting to crack Thomas' brain open to dissect his thoughts.

"He was a tortured soul. Apparently, it's something geniuses often suffer from. The second movement from his violin concerto, the Andante... it brings out feelings from me I didn't think I had."

"Hm," Thomas nodded, putting the case back to his pocket before extending the glass to her. "Perhaps you'd like a taste of your own absinthe then?"

"No, thank you, you seem to be enjoying it. I would have asked you what emotions my music stirred in you, but you don't have feelings, do you, Thomas? Because those are the only thing you can't buy."

He snorted, a cloud of smoke leaving his tongue to join the air between them. "Implying something?"

"Depends on if you're trying to buy me or not. I was told you had an offer to make me."

"Ah, yes. I'm looking for a violinist to teach my son. I'd like that to be you."

Rose raised her brows so abruptly it made her head hurt, wondering if she had heard him correctly.

"I'm not a music instructor, and I'm sure you won't have any difficulty finding one."

"You're right, I won't," Thomas agreed, thumb stroking the skin below his bottom lip as he studied her. "But I want you."

Rose shook her head, feeling that familiar tide of anger crash against her bones every time a man did something just to try and control her. The only reason Thomas wanted her to teach his son was so that he could have her in his house to find out more about her.

"I don't give violin lessons, I never have. Your son would learn more with a professional teacher."

"But I think he'd like you more. If it's for the money, I pay well."

Rose huffed, wishing the sparks of fire dancing in her eyes would fall down and burn his skin. "How old is he?"

"Three."

"He's too young."

"How old were you, when you started?"

"Five. And that's because my oldest brother stole a violin from the church's choir so I could try it out."

Thomas nodded in approval. "Sounds like a good man."

"The very best," Rose declared. "Still I think your child is too young."

"I reckon Mozart was three years old when he started playing, aye?"

"Yes, and his father was also a violin teacher, which you're far from being. Besides, I wouldn't have time for it, I'm a busy person. So I'll have to decline your offer."

"No, I'm not expecting a definite answer now, I want you to think about it," Thomas took the cigarette from his lips and took one step towards her. "But I advise you to reconsider your decision. Ya see, I already told Charlie he's going to have quite the stunning violinist as a teacher, and he'll be very sad and displeased to hear she refused to come and teach him. Surely you won't want to break his little heart at such a young age, will ya?"

Murdering him with her eyes, Rose snatched the drink from his hand and drank it all down. "Goddamn you, Thomas Shelby."

Rose had been playing all night, but in the end she was the one who felt played. Because only Thomas Shelby knew exactly how to strike her chords.

And he had just started playing.

author's note.

First of all I just want to say thank you so much for all the support on this story – every read, vote and comment means the world to me and I truly appreciate each and every one of you! Know that I'm always here if you need anything ❤

Lastly, I hope you liked this chapter! Music is very important in Rose's life so I hope I translated it well. The video is how I imagine Rose would play this particularly beautiful piece of Tchaikovsky (go listen to it if you haven't!!) As always, feedback is much appreciated, so please vote and comment and I'll see you guys next chapter <3