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darklydeliciousdesires · 2 months

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La Dolce Vita - John Shelby/Cosima Changretta (OFC).

So, I decided to begin this new little series of mine, besties. It shan't be delivered in regular chapter form, but a series of one-shot parts that will tell the story of John and Cosima's marriage, beginning from their wedding day. I hope you enjoy it :)

Words - 3,682

Warnings - Each part will be adult only content, from swearing to eventual smut and violence. Minors DNI.

Part I - Inferno

The blood of a thousand men could stain a thousand streets, cold, hard warfare spinning out of control in a haze of spatter and gunpowder, yet sometimes all it took was the presence of a woman to end it all.

And it had.

It didn’t mean the woman in question had to like it, though.

“No.” The word fell from his lips with mild irritation as he took in the sight before him. “You will not wear black.”

Cosima didn’t even attempt to hide her distain. “Why not? This is a death, after all.”

Luca couldn’t help but feel entertained by her words, even though she was rapidly whittling him down to his very last nerve. “You are so dramatic, la mia sorellina.” She always had been. “It’s about time you were somebody’s wife, and you will make a good wife, too. Every man betrothed to an Italian woman should recognise how damned lucky he is.”

“And me?” Her cadence rose sharply, her voice bordering on shrill. “What about me, Luca?”

9:23am and already, he wished he’d had the sense to bring some aspirin with him. “You will do as you are told, Sima. And wear white while you do it.”

The silky drawl of her brother never rose beyond the smooth hush he spoke with, but his words packed the same punch as they would have had he yelled them. He was also the only person alive who she allowed to shorten her name. People had called her Cos in school, swiftly ending up with a slapped face for it. Her Italian fire had been lit pretty much since the day she’d been born. “I wish I’d brought mama with me now.”

His lip curled, a soft rumble of a laugh echoing his throat, sucking on the matchstick he pulled from between his lips as he pointed it at her. “We both know why you didn’t.”

“Yes,” she chirped, admiring her reflection in the mirror, “you’re paying.”

Again, she prompted his smile. Few did, really, save Anna Maria, his wife, as well as his sons, Joey and Guiseppe. “I am, cara mia. Listen, if you want the black dress, I’ll buy it for you. You won’t be married in it, though. Imagine if mama was here, eh? She’d be, ah, much more vocal than I about it.”

This was true. Audrey would have taken over rather than sitting quietly like Luca. “I’m beginning to think she’d fuss much less than you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Try on the next dress, for the love of god.”

Huffing and cussing in their native tongue, Cosima flounced back behind the privacy screen, getting herself out of the dress, the nearby assistant helping her into the white lace gown. Her face was a picture of utter contempt upon emerging, raising her middle finger when Luca quietly applauded her appearance.

“Perfect.”

“I fucking hate it,” she sneered, the assistant’s eyes bulging a little at her coarse language.

“Cosima, you would hate even the most exquisite of gowns, crafted by the finest of designers,” he pointed out, standing and walking to her slowly. He reached beneath her chin, raising it up, placing a little kiss upon her forehead. “You look beautiful. La belladonna. It is done.”

His word was final, and she knew this well. It did not mean she had to be quiet or graceful in her compliance, though. Being wed to a Shelby, after all they had done, the war that had seen the deaths of both her treasured brother and beloved papa, was not a fate she relished in.

Negotiations in order to cease the bloodshed and forge ahead in a new bond, running Shelby gin into New York with the assistance of her family and their connections had been sealed by a proposed joining of their families through marriage. Her marriage, to John Shelby.

How she had screamed and complained when Luca had informed her of this truce sealing union. Glasses and ornaments had been smashed in tempestuous fury, Cosima’s ire reaching the kind of decibels that had taken Luca and Audrey much effort and nips of gin to quieten, the youngest of the Changretta clan storming from her mother’s home, walking the streets, chain smoking in blind fury.

The only silver lining? At least Luca had not decreed that she marry the man who had killed her father, not that she actually could. For his sins, Arthur Shelby breathed no longer. Neither did Grace Shelby, nor Esme Shelby, the late wife of the man soon to be her husband, the gypsy beauty getting in the way of a hit meant for John on Christmas Day and lamentably not surviving it.

And Cosima thought her hand dealt was bad. For John, it was decidedly bleaker by far.

His brother was gone, his wife was gone, his sister-in-law was gone, and his fate was now bound to a person belonging to a family whom he couldn’t stand with any ounce of tolerance. Tolerance was what he had to show, though, in order to keep relations smoothed over, before anybody else ended up dead.

“It’s a fresh start for us all, John boy,” Tommy began, standing in front of his brother, straightening his tie. “I don’t expect you to be happy about it, but...”

“Good, ‘cos I ain’t,” he cut in with, his jaw tightening, refusing to meet his brother’s eye. “Esme is barely fucking cold, and you’ve got me marrying some wop bitch. Trust me, Tom. I ain’t fucking happy in the slightest.”

The elder Shelby truly had no comeback for that. He knew his actions were a slap in the face to John, to Arthur, to Esme and to the love of his life, but there was no other way around it. He didn’t plan on losing anybody else to a war that could be negotiated through. It had been tough to bargain, but peace had been restored finally, Tommy reasoning that scores had been settled upon both sides of the divide.

They were more than even. In fact, they truly weren’t, two lives on the Changretta side, three on the Shelby, two innocent women coming into the crossfire and dying because of it. He was not prepared to lose more. If he could also turn a very tidy profit while not losing more, then so be it.

Finally, he managed to catch the icy stare of his brother, Tommy squeezing his shoulders. “Give it time. At least you’re getting wed to an attractive woman. Could have matched you to a right scrag, but I didn’t.”

She could have been the queen of fucking Sheba for all John cared. Her beauty or lack thereof was neither here nor there. She wasn’t Esme, and that was all there was to it. “Gotta habit of this, you have, marrying me off to some bird I ain’t ever clapped eyes on until I get to the altar, all for the sake of keeping the peace.”

There hadn’t been an actual altar at his wedding to Esme, but this time there was no room for negotiation. The priest local to the district Cosima Changretta lived in had been given a hefty bung to marry them, regardless of the fact that John was a non-practising Catholic. Usually, Father David would have required he at least attend weekly mass for a few months prior to the wedding, but this wasn’t possible when the union had been set up to take place within the space of a week from its original incarnation.

Through his disesteem, John wasn’t blind to see the benefits of joining the families in order to broker peace, though. He just wished there was some other way, one that didn’t involve him forsaking his late wife’s memory, or literally getting into bed with a member of the very family who had taken three members of his.

With a red rose buttonhole pinned to his charcoal suit – those specific flowers at Cosima’s request – they headed out to the waiting car, ready to be ferried across Birmingham to the district of Bournville, to St Francis of Assisi.

“Holy shit, the waft of that bloody chocolate," Polly spoke from the back of the car, the famous Cadbury factory emitting the heady scent of it’s delicious confectionary. “Making my mouth water, it is.”

“Well, as long as the air smells like Dairy fucking Milk, all’s right as rain, ain’t it, Pol?” John muttered, watching the little black and white houses dotted along the main road pass them by. It was such a different landscape than the one he was used to, the village of Bournville so very picturesque and quaint.

Polly tutted. “Oi, less of your fucking lip, our John. Don’t make today any harder than it has to be by being a surly shit about it.”

“Yeah, but...”

She cut his protests dead with her usual blunt retort. “We know, for the love of god! You’ve vented your spleen so hard at this, I’m surprised you have one left! This isn’t ideal, but it’ll bring us peace and let me rest my fucking head easy at night, not worrying when the next of my fucking nephew’s is going to end up riddled with bullet holes. Now, put your fucking face straight. We’re nearly there.”

He could have begun his protests once more, vented at how it wasn’t right that he was being thrown into wedlock again just four months after his second wife had died, how at thirty years old, he shouldn’t have already had to attend the funerals of two Mrs. Shelby’s, but he knew it would serve him little good.

Arriving at the church, they made their way inside, John surprised to be greeted kindly by Audrey Changretta, who was standing talking to the verger.

“A lot of water has gone under the bridge, John. All I want going forward is for you to be a good man to my Cosima. Can you do that for me, love?”

His heartstrings were yanked upon hard, knowing how much his actions had devastated her. She looked weary from it all, the sparkle in her eyes non-existent. He’d never wanted her to be hurt in all of this, the teacher he held so many fond memories of, the woman he had steadfastly refused to murder in cold blood. “I can. I promise I will.”

She patted his cheek, smiling thinly. That smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, and for that he couldn’t blame her. “Thank you.” She exchanged nods with Polly and Tommy, the Shelby’s moving into the church, smiling to their family and friends as they passed the pews, the Changretta presence outnumbering them by about two to one.

He and Tommy stood to the side of the altar, Polly taking a seat at the first pew between Finn and Ada, the latter giving the groom-to-be a bolstering smile. It had little of its desired effect, John feeling a cold swirl of discomfort growing chillier by the moment. “Forgive me, Esme. I fucking wish this weren’t happening just as much as I wish you were still here, love.”

His deeply lamenting thoughts were banished by the sound of the organ keys pressed upon, the church filling with music as the congregation stood, Father David quickly shaking both his and Tommy’s hands before his focus shifted towards the doors, beaming as he watched Cosima escorted in by her brother. The bride looked exquisite in her white lace gown, her cascading veil shrouding her face, the dress very quintessentially Italian in fashion.

John didn’t dare turn around and watch her walk to him, only aware of her arrival at his side from the strong plume of Chanel perfume entering his nose, finally turning to see Luca gently lift her veil, kissing her cheek and whispering a few words in Italian to her. He then moved to John, surprising him by offering his hand.

“To famiglia, eh?”

“Yeah,” he coughed, shaking it. The Italian’s grip was like Iron, his face unflinching. There was no true warmth there. “To family.”

Luca moved to sit at his mother’s side, John finally letting his eyes fall to his left, taking her in for the first time. His throat tightened in an instant. He’d thought Esme to be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, the guilt of the fact that Cosima Changretta was the biggest knockout he’d ever witnessed hitting him hard.

As for his soon to be wife, when her piercing blue eyes found his, the sensation of her heart skipping on three consecutive beats made her feel a little nauseous for a moment.

He was gorgeous.

Why did he have to be gorgeous? It would have made hating him so much easier if he’d been ugly.

“At least I will have something nice to look at, while I’m throwing plates at his head.” She thought, turning to the priest and smiling as best she could, given the circumstances.

The ceremony was a long, tedious affair, the bride wishing for a traditional mass that bored the balls off John. He did well to hide it, though. What he failed miserably at was looking in any way, shape or form happy when they were pronounced man and wife, offering her a chaste kiss to the cheek, a speedy peck of non-affection. Cosima was relieved he hadn’t leaned to her mouth. She wasn’t ready for that yet.

Taking his arm, she walked back down the aisle as the newest member of the Shelby family, her eyes sad as she looked at her mother and brother. They smiled at her with loving pride, Cosima dropping her chin, lest they see the tears in her eyes as she walked alongside her new husband, a man she couldn’t stand. True, she knew nothing of John Shelby, other than what he’d had a hand in taking from her.

With every step, she had to physically prevent herself from gathering the bridal lace swathing her slender curves and running, back to Acacia Road, back to the family home. This was where she desired to be, out in the flower filled back garden tending to her roses, taking cuttings of herbs ready to be brought into the kitchen and tutored by her darling mother in everything from Carbonara to baked Ziti.

She longed for the scents of her mother’s pasta, to hear her father’s key in the door, his whistled tunes filling the homestead as she’d wipe her hands upon her apron and run to greet him. Her papa, the man she loved and respected the very most. Gone.

“You erm, you look beautiful, Cosima.”

His face did not match his compliment, Cosima looking up at her new husband, her face stony. “I know. Shame my dream wedding didn’t come with the dream groom, though.”

John sniffed, his eyebrow tilting a fraction. “Ahh, you might still get it yet. We can get divorced and give it another go with other people. Who knows? I could nail it lucky the fourth time around.”

Her eyes widened. “You’ve been married twice before?”

“Ar.”

“And what the blinking hell happened to them?” she demanded, wondering just what her brother had gotten her into, marrying her off to a man who was on his third wife.

“They died, if you must know,” he frowned, reaching the end of the aisle, the door opening, a cascade of confetti hurled at them from the throng of guests exiting behind them.

“Lucky them.” Her mutter was drowned out by the sound of happy cheers, or at least she thought it had been. Her new husband had heard it, though, wanting nothing more than to slap her in her rude mouth for her coldly delivered statement.

“Great, got myself hitched to a stunner and she’s a right nasty little mare.” he spoke, certainly loud enough for her to hear, releasing the hold upon her arm and moving to receive congratulations from his family. Cosima narrowed her eyes at him in his wake, turning to smile brightly at her friends, her hands taken in theirs, cheeks kissed, her heart thrumming with waves of sadness. A right nasty little mare. That’s what he thought of her, Cosima’s indignance burning brightly for a while, not able to reflect upon the fact that what she’d said had indeed been very spiteful.

At twenty-three, she truly should have known better. With two dead wives behind him and a bitterness that still lingered beneath the surface between the two families, she guessed he was likely as thrilled to be married to her as she was to him. An apology perhaps wouldn’t go amiss.

Once they’d posed for a few photographs, the bride and groom were shown to the waiting Rolls Royce Silver Cloud, John holding the door open for her, following her in and staring stonily out of the window as they pulled away from the church.

She felt awkward and ashamed of her words, moving her thumb back and forth over one of the large thorns the florist had neglected to remove from the bouquet of red roses. “John, I apologise for what I said, about your late wives being lucky. I only meant that... I don’t know what I meant, actually.”

She was met by a cold, two worded statement. “Fuck off.”

Deserved, to be fair. Predictably, Cosima let it spark at her kindling rather than rushing for water, though. “That’s impossible, now I’m your wife. Don’t bloody pout at me. I said something regrettable, but because of your family I don’t have Angel or my father any longer. You yourself are directly responsible for the former. If you hadn’t beaten him within an inch of his life, he wouldn’t have lay vulnerable in hospital, ripe for the plucking. And let’s not forget that scumbag of a brother of yours, who killed my papa.”

He tutted, chewing his toothpick with hostility. “Don’t act like you’re the only one who lost somebody you loved. Fucking gone right over your head, ain’t it? Because of your family, I lost me wife, brother and sister-in-law. We’re in the same boat, Cosima.”

“You started all of this. You could have just let Lizzie be happy with Angel, but no! You had to burn his restaurant to the fucking ground. What is it you dumb Shelby fucks say, hmm? By order of the Peaky Blinders, that’s it! Your way or the highway!”

Bile began licking at his insides. “Your brother weren’t good enough for Lizzie. She’s a good woman, and he was a fucking duplicitous shit. Didn’t even have the balls to use his real name for half his dealings. At least we stand by who we fucking are.”

Her rage escalated by the second, staring at him incredulously. “My brother had the sense to be clandestine, and you will not speak of him like you knew him! So, he partnered with your enemies, so fucking what? The way you Shelby’s conduct yourself, you make enemies left and fucking right! You took my family away from me for nothing. Nothing!”

John eyed her viciously, his eyes losing any trace of warmth. “They fucking deserved it, and you, you spoiled little wop bitch? You deserve nothing less than every fucking ounce of my contempt. We’re married in name only, believe me. Ain’t no way I’m gonna be a good husband to you, no matter what I promised your mom.”

“Fine by me!”

The air virtually crackled with their mutual distain, Cosima shuffling as far as she could get away from him, muttering cusses in Italian.

“I know what testa di cazzo means,” he spat.

“Good!” she fumed, “I want you to know I think you’re a dickhead!”

The reception was being held at a small hotel local to the church, Cosima storming out of the car and not looking back, fixing a huge, fake smile to her face as she was welcomed by the staff. Immediately, her eyes locked onto a waiter carrying a tray of champagne filled flutes, taking one and knocking it back. A second was reached for, John arriving at her side.

“Whiskey please, mate. Fucking large one.”

The waiter nodded. “At once, sir.”

They stood together to welcome their guests, both repelled by one another’s presence, going through the motions of everything. Cake cutting, first dance, spending as much time as they could away from one another. It was while John was seeking the solace of quiet and fresh night air much later that evening, standing on the rear patio of the hotel smoking a cigar, that he found himself joined by the last person he expected.

“Can I give you some advice, John?”

Turning to Luca, he raised an eyebrow, the tall Italian continuing. “If you want a quiet life with my sister, you need to keep her in the lifestyle she’s become accustomed to. I love that girl to her bones, but she’s a fucking spoiled princess.”

His eyes widened. “You can say that again.”

Luca’s mouth twitched, removing the toothpick he’d been idly chewing on. “My father bent to her every whim, being his only daughter. She was daddy’s little girl. Roses, diamonds, furs, French perfume, she loves all of that. You treat her good and she’ll be sweet with you. And make sure she has a garden. That kid lives for horticulture.”

Luckily, he was wealthy enough to provide such luxuries for his new bride, not that he wanted to. Not that she deserved even one of them. “Noted.”

He nodded, turning to leave his new brother-in-law to it, pausing suddenly as he pointed the toothpick in his grasp at him. “Oh, and John? She’s got a thing for hurling plates. Learn to duck.” Laughing to himself, he carried on back into the hotel, while John felt a prickle of annoyance at his statement, or rather how much pleasure he’d derived from delivering the news that Cosima was nothing short of a bad-tempered handful.

Standing out there alone, he did hope that one day he might see her as something different. Whether that day would come swiftly or not was anybody’s guess, though.

#john shelby fanfiction #john shelby x ofc #peaky blinders fanfiction #luca changretta fanfiction #john shelby smut #john shelby fanfic #john shelby fic #john shelby x oc #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic

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justrainandcoffee · 3 months

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Dream of me (Luca Changretta x fem!poc!oc)

Summary: When you are Luca Changretta, happiness isn't something you're used to. Business always comes first. But when happiness has the form of a black woman, even less. Luca deserves something better, his mother says. She hates the singer. But not him. In a world ruled by white vs black, Luca and Aveline are hiding in a hotel room, enjoying their true but forbidden love.

Warnings: Racism. Hurt/comfort. Typical violence. Slightly mentions of smut. || Unlike my fics in modern times, here they don't have a happy ending, although this fic somehow is happy.

Words: 900. || Valentine's day masterlist || Thanks for the help @evita-shelby

The word forbidden is not strong enough to describe the love that bonds Luca Changretta and Aveline Young.

It's not just forbidden, it's risky, it's dangerous for her and his reputation could be damaged forever.

Luca Changretta knows very well that people ready to kill women like her. Beautiful, for sure, but black skinned.

Luca sees her when he goes to the restaurant where she sings. New York is a big city and has a lot of places like that but he has chosen that one for a very specific reason.

His mother knows and it's not happy, she for over the rest of the family, thinks that Aveline is worthless. Because, of course, she was not made to be with a Changretta like Luca.

But Audrey does not know what his son thinks every time he's with her.

Aveline is now singing in his ear. It sounds like a lullaby to him. Aveline is black siren that captivates him with her voice. And her long legs.

His fingers caress her jawline.

"I'm a monster and you're a fragile doll," he plants kisses on her neck. Like a butterfly visiting flowers. "The most beautiful woman I ever met."

"I'm not a fragile doll, Mr. Changretta."

Luca humms against her neck. He loves when she calls him by his last name. His cursed last name.

"No, you're not, it's true. You're strong woman but still I'm a monster."

Aveline knows that. She still remembers that night when he appeared in her apartment covered by blood. She helped him to take a bath and stitched his wounds. Another mafia leader had paid the maximum price for his betrayal. Luca does not stand betrayal.

"That fucker…"

But Aveline shut him up with a kiss. And Luca accepted it. He always accepted her kisses but especially when he was upset. People didn't know how difficult was being like him. Normal people went to work but at the end of the day they found comfort with their family, pets or just alone. But people like Luca… mafia never rest. He didn't know when he was going to be betray or sold to the police. He needed to be alert all day.

And now that they're alone in that hotel room it's the same. Luca thinks that somewhere in the city there's an enemy waiting for him. Chasing his body and soul. Aveline feels how his body is tense once more. So she starts to sing again. Her mother used to sing that song when she and her brother were little kids. It talks about hope and a bright future. And love.

Luca closes his eyes. In a perfect world she's with him side by side, but that perfect world it doesn't exist. He never mentioned it in front of her but her mother made some comments about Aveline that made his blood boil. "Black women are nothing but…" Luca shakes his head trying to forget those words.

"Luca?"

"Mmh?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"About you, amore mio" Luca can see her smile and smiles too.

In a quick movement, he grabs her by the waist and lays her down on the mattress. "I always think about you, bella."

"You're such a poet, Mr. Changretta."

"You inspire me, Linnie."

The woman kisses him. Linnie is a nickname that Luca invented and none except him call her that way. Luca kisses her back. They are the singer and the gangster madly in love in a world that wasn't made for that love.

Opening her legs, she allows him to take her. Once and once again.

"Ti amo…" Luca whispers feeling her warmth around his masculinity.

"I love you, too."

Those hands, full of blood of innocent and guilty people, caresses her delicate skin. Somewhere the bells of a distant church announce that it's midnight. It's February 14 and like any other couple they're loving each other.

Audrey Changretta is a distant memory in Luca's mind while he holds Aveline next to him. He loves her mother but she's wrong. His woman is a perfect person, she's not worthless. Aveline Young is a fucking treasure. Her brown eyes are full of love and it's a miracle that someone can love him in such way.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Mr. Changretta."

"Happy Valentine's day, Linnie."

She smiles and Luca closes his eyes. "Dream a little dream of me," Aveline says.

"As always, doll."

The woman watches him finally rest. He's not a good man, she knows that. She also knows what his family thinks of her but she also knows that Luca loves her. In such a deeply way that no one else but them could understand.

She caresses his hair. One day, maybe, they'll be allowed to be happy together.

#luca changretta #luca changretta x oc #peaky blinders #adrien brody #peaky blinders x oc #luca changretta fanfic

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divinekangaroo · 5 months

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A couple of Grace Lives AUs I'd like to see as well:

Something where, say, she goes into a coma after being shot the wakes up after S3 is over but then has to deal with having been shot for her husband’s gangster politics, her son taken by a pedophile, her husband having slept twice with a random Russian, her husband’s actions somehow having resulted in his whole family being in prison, and also her husband having suffered a TBI which has changed him in ways she can’t quite describe. Not to mention his complete withdrawal, his inability to even talk about what happened to him or Charlie because of so much repression, and likely an acceleration of his S4 breakdown because of the added pressure/guilt her very real, human presence is likely to provide. The image I have in my head is of the pair of them hugging each other and weeping about Charlie and what could’ve happened, this effusion of connection and care, except over time (and with Tommy’s trauma exploding) is that this turns to practically clawing at each other because I just can’t imagine someone who’s been through what Grace has will simply endorse the acts of a husband whose lifestyle put their kid in that sort of danger. I even imagine her cutting at him with a comment that maybe next he’ll whore out his son instead of her, and Tommy would absolutely lose his shit.

And then the second Grace Lives AU could come off the back of this as it sorta fits an S4 arc: basically what happens to Tommy if his safety, his family’s safety, all become utterly dependent on Grace and her upper class position and privilege. Maybe instead of Small Heath she hauls them all off to her territory instead, she forces Tommy to let go of all his territory to Audrey Changretta to make the Changrettas go away, she forces him to restart in a place where he has no influence or privilege built up, and what this does to him. It comes nicely off the back of a Grace Lives S3 because it holds that heavy pain between them: that Tommy and his money can’t protect his family, and so perhaps Grace and her privilege can.

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saintsir4n · 9 months

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WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND ANXIETY

1914

A fucking mess is what Thomas Shelby caused, a huge fucking mess.

Carnage took over the factory town of Birmingham, mayhem was on every street and violence knocked on every door.

A single drop of blood started a war.

Enzo Changretta had been cut and left bedridden.

Eden made sure to get him home in a matter of time but as soon as she showed up with a battered and bloody Enzo the door was slammed on her face, leaving her guiltridden and lucid.

No one told her anything about how he was doing, no one except Dorris, but still even her information was limited and blunt. Eden didn't know what to do, her fears and insecurities about losing a dear friend taunted her, They returned each day along with the blistering sun. all day hovering above her as she worked and tried to get home safely amongst all the chaos. Taking off that bloody pendant left her feeling more vulnerable than ever, even though she didn't want to admit it aloud, she missed it, and now she was left alone and bare.

If she were to get hurt, she would welcome it, believing she was to blame for the drama between the families.

But the bad blood was getting too much for the families to handle, so the matriarchs called a meeting where they both agreed that the leaders were also present and by their sides.

Polly and Thomas.

Audrey and Luca.

Like water and oil, they didn't mix, but they sure had to agree to a truce.

"So we're in agreement," Polly spoke up after a long list of demands and compromises.

Tommy continued, "We're in agreement, we stay on our side of town and you stay on yours, no more blood will be spilt."

Luca's fist coiled under the table, nails slicing through flesh like the razors in the caps of the fucking blinders he would promise to end.

He didn't nod, instead, he muttered, "No more blood will be spilt."

Audrey pursed her lips, "If only my Enzo," her gaze flickered to the man she used to teach in school, who didn't seem the littlest bit of remorse much to her dismay and disappointment, "was a part of those terms fourteen days ago. Fortunately he can speak clearly, without blood spilling from his dear lips –" she sucked in a deep breath, preventing from any tears escaping her eyes, Luca drew his mother closer, kissing the top of her head, keeping his harsh gaze on the Shelby man, "we're in agreement."

Tommy left Polly's side and came up to the mother-son duo, they watched him with uncertainty.

Luca pulled away from his mother, meeting the man, standing toe-to-toe, but with Luca's height, he made sure to tower over him, even smirking when Tommy stared up.

Polly and Audrey exchanged somewhat of a nervous glance.

The men spat into their hands and shook, much to the disgust of Audrey.

The truce was sealed.

But that didn't stop Tommy's pride.

Taking out a cigarette, with his bandaged hand, crippled at the fact he didn't have Eden to light it for him, he took a drag as Luca and his mother began to leave the meeting place.

"You know..." Polly shot him a warning glance when the Changrettas halted their steps and turned to him, "She loves me," smoke escaped his lips, but they didn't fail to see the wickedness in his icy eyes, "She told me," he nodded to himself, withholding a hiss when his aunt grabbed his arm. "She...loves me."

Just when Luca went to storm over to Tommy, unaccepting of the news of his former love, his mother held him back, not wanting her son to walk into another one of the Shelby's traps.

Luca spat at his feet, glaring at the smirking man, whilst Audrey shook her head and took her oldest son away, leaving Polly to turn to her nephew in exhaustion.

"Throwin' rocks at glass houses Tommy, let's go before they throw some at ours," Polly demanded, taking his arm, "bloody fool."

"I guess I am for speakin' the truth ay?"

"You still think it's the truth, with how you've been actin'? Won't be the truth for long," After watching the smugness fall from his face, she dragged him along, "Now you're helpin' me prepare tonight's supper, no objections, it's the least you can do, causin' a war and almost givin' me a fuckin' heart attack and all."

—

"Keep writin' out the primary colours Finny, it'll help you," Eden instructed, taking out her third cigarette of the day, watching as he struggled to write and grew angry at his the words on the page, "I'm helpin' you, I'm not gonna give up until you can spell 'em, by the end of this month, you'll know how to spell all three."

Finn looked down at the paper he scribbled all over, "Does Isaiah know?"

"He knows two and so will you soon, two weeks until April y'know," Smoke escaped her lips as she spoke.

"I won't get it," he mumbled, feeling defeated.

Words on a page looked foreign to him, he knew what was English and what wasn't, but they jumbled together and worked against him, making his vision fight to put them back together.

"I said I'm helpin' you aren't I?" Eden said rhetorically, knowing he was behind, but she wouldn't give up. It was obvious he was having trouble with reading and writing, but he would get there.

"Ada told me you and Tommy are done," Finn didn't catch her tensing at the mention of his brother's name.

Sighing, she asked, "Did she know?"

"Tommy said it's a lie."

Eden withheld an eye-roll, "Course he did."

She was grateful at the sound of someone knocking at the door.

Her parents were out shopping for food for the week with Polly Grey, meaning she had to look after Finn. Ada was out with Martha, whilst the men were presumably at the betting shop.

"Wanna go and see who it is."

Happy to part with his spelling lesson he jumped from his seat and ran out of the room, much to her amusement.

Seconds passed, and Eden had some muffled talk at the door as she inhaled her cigarette.

"Finn! Who is it?" she asked, craning her neck to see who the approaching footsteps belonged to.

Her smile quickly faded when Finn returned with Tommy.

Abruptly standing up, she pointed at the door, "Get out."

"I've come to talk," Tommy took a step closer to her, eyes flickering to her bare neck, his stomach churned at the sight. It wasn't right.

"Did I stutter? Get out," she snapped.

Finn stood between them, looking back and forth in confusion, not understanding what was happening, but secretly enjoying the animosity since he would finally have a chance with Eden.

Tommy argued, "You denyin' me the right to retrieve my brother?"

"I'm not denying you anything, wait outside for Finn."

"Eden –"

"I still have that knife," she exclaimed, falsely smiling at him.

"What knife?" Finn asked, just to be ignored.

Swiping his tongue passed his cheek, Tommy cocked his head at her, stuck between wanting to argue or take her upstairs.

"Can't use it on me, there's a truce darlin'" Tommy countered, her face twisted up.

"Was I there? No, well the truce don't involve me," she said thoughtlessly.

It had everything to do with her.

He gave her a pointed look, "Your brain can be bigger than mine at times Eden, so don't."

"Get out," she repeated.

Tommy kneeled before his brother, "Finn, wait in the front room."

Finn frowned, "I'm learnin' my colours."

Eden weakly smiled at him, "Finny —"

She let out a pregnant sigh when Tommy pulled out a bag of pear drops for the boy whose face lit up at the treats, happily took them and left, slamming the door behind him.

Standing up straight Tommy took off his cap, tossing it on the kitchen table, watching as she discarded her cigarette – that he didn't light, - into a chipped ashtray, before reaching for another one and lighting it all on her own.

Tommy settled his hands on a chair, needing to stop himself from recoiling from the hurt in his chest.

Luckily his brother was in the other room, Finn's crush on the woman he loved wasn't a threat, but he couldn't have them in the same room for long.

"You were about to use that weapon on me," he stated, staring deeply into her eyes as she leaned against the counter. He didn't stop thinking about that moment, it played over in his mind like a record, a record he never wanted to listen to again. But he did, when he worked, drank or even thought up new plans for the future, it played loudly for him and him alone to listen to. "Weren't ya?"

She took another drag, noticing his bandage hand and scoffed, "You left me no choice."

"Oh there were many choices but I know...you made the right one," he admitted, but judging by the look on her face she wasn't buying it.

"Why you here Thomas? Wanna talk about how I save lives and you almost take 'em?" she retorted, making him snort.

"That's debatable love."

"How's that?"

"Heard a bigot was charged at the local hospital earlier this week, you know after the truce was settled. Apparently, this man refused to let you assist 'im 'cause of your skin..." her gaze hardened at his words, he noted and continued, "he died a few days later, did he succumb to his wounds? Or did you play devil's advocate?" she didn't respond, "not that I would judge you if you did."

He would applaud her, knowing how twisted it would be, but her frown only made him think more and more of all the times someone 'succumbed to their wounds', on her watch. Was it the truth or, was it on her? He would kill someone in the name of Eden Dawkins and wouldn't think twice about it, but the look on Eden's face, she wouldn't admit it like the idea was foreign to her, like playing God wasn't in her willhouse.

"Chronic traumatic encephalopathy," she spoke after moments passed, looking away from the shift in the tone of the room and his relentless gaze.

Tommy didn't understand, "What?"

"It's caused by repeated trauma to the head if you didn't know. It's a disease actually," she continued, only causing more confusion.

"Why are ya tellin' me this?"

Hitting off the ash, she took a step closer to him, "Because it's what Enzo could've ended up with. You hit him so many times that he could've had -- all because you thought he was... what did you say ' all over me.'" she mocked, "he fortunately only has a concussion, a busted lip and two black eyes, well I don't know personally, I was told by Dotty because the Changrettas won't let me see 'im." emotions thickened her tone of voice.

"The truce states you're not allowed near little Italy at least until everythin' blows over."

"Are you not listenin' to me?" she stressed, "I can't see my best friend because of you."

"He's alive right?"

"Christ Thomas," he cringed at how she said his name, "So what, your best friend gets taken from you and you try to do the same to me?"

Her words whipped him across the face, like the full effect of a slap.

"I wouldn't--"

"Because Thomas Shelby can't be alone in his sufferin' right? He can accuse people of atrocities and get away with it. As if I would dare to wish that Greta would die," her voice rose, causing him to rake his fingers through his hair.

"I know you wouldn't," he admitted, feeling the guilt gnaw away at him, just from her tone.

Jabbing the cigarette in his direction, she scowled, "But you said it to me, no, you yelled it in my face."

"I'm sorry."

Eden let out a bitter laugh, "No. I don't believe you."

Tommy licked his lips and debated his answer, "Don't blame you neither –"

Eden shook her head and began another rant, "Enzo has been speakin' to me. Radio silence from the kid and I don't blame him you know," Tommy looked down, "Dottie has been keepin' me in the loop. He could've died, Thomas! Is that what you want?"

His eyes narrowed, "You think that's what I want?"

Throwing her hand up, she replied, "I honestly haven't got a clue what you want. Never do anymore and that's fine, just leave me alone. Please."

Tommy scoffed, "That's not on the table."

"Fuck the table!"

Eden waited for him to grab his cap, but instead, he retrieved something from his trouser pocket, making her freeze when the black Madonna was placed on the table. His mother's necklace. The one she promised never to take off. Greta...she promised Greta she wouldn't and here it was.

Sucking in deep breathe, Tommy locked eyes with her again, "Now, I know you're angry at me, but Eden, this is yours –"

"Might I remind you that we broke up last week?" she interrupted.

"Since fuckin when?!" he yelled.

"Since fucking then," she yelled back.

Eden's brown eyes darted between him and the necklace, It took everything in her not to just put it back on, for her, for him and their peace of mind.

But he just seemed to cause far too much heartbreak for her to even pick it up.

"No."

She glanced up at him in confusion, "No?"

"No, we're not broken up. Sorry to tell you that we're still together," he said cooly.

"Was threatenin' you with a knife not clear enough for you or?..." she stubbed out the cigarette, but she already wanted another, and Tommy did too.

"It was a fight, I fucked up I know," he tried to reason.

"Do you? Because you're actin' like I want to be around you. Fuck off." she yelled, pointing at the door, but it had very little effect on Tommy.

The man blinked slowly at her, only driving her further up the wall.

Retrieving something else from his blazer pocket, Tommy slammed it down on the table, startling her when she saw a gift wrapped up. It was clear he didn't do the wrapping, it looked pristine.

"There."

"What is that?" She made no effort to put it up, just like the necklace.

He nodded to it, "Open it."

"No," but she did come closer, "Do you think this is an apology?"

"It's a start," For the first time, he looked away and stared at her hands, wishing she could reach over and let him trace what he wanted to say on them since his words weren't working or gifts.

Eden Dawkins was a stubborn woman... his woman or that's what he told himself.

She was tormenting him but not accepting his apology.

"Have you apologised to Enzo? My friend, you attacked for no reason."

"I had a reason," he muttered, getting flashes of how another man had his arms wrapped around her waist, making his grip on the chair tighten.

"No, you didn't trust me," she added, making him look up again.

Tommy caught himself counting her beauty spots, finding himself getting in lost in her beauty, fuck, he missed her.

"You know what you are to me and so does he," his words made her gulp and turn her head to the side.

"Everyone fuckin' knows," she mumbled.

He watched her as she tried blinking back her impending tears. He didn't mean to put her in this state, he could even see the screws loosening in her head. He didn't want her to be this way and he knew it meant he couldn't act in such a way again.

Eden prided herself on being emotional, very little set her off. It was good to be in touch with emotions and never understood why people were so against it and by people she meant men. When she was angry it showed, that she pinched her fingers or flesh when her anxiety got to her and cried when everything got too much, but as of late, cigarettes were all that kept her emotions composed. And composed is what she needed to be especially if she didn't want to risk losing her job.

Eden's sniffle pulled him from his thoughts, "Sometimes I just sit there and ask myself, why am I with 'im? He treats me good but then acts like I'm just this thing to calm 'im down, some object that he picks up and puts down when it suits 'im. And when I think, why do I stay, all I can say is, I dunno. The fuck does that say bout me?"

"You love me," he said, wanting nothing more than to pull her into his arms, but she wouldn't abide it.

Turning to face him, she couldn't help but admit, "I do."

"That's why you stay."

Eden began to pinch her fingers, "You love me."

"I do."

"Then why treat me like this?" she dared to ask, feeling tears pool in her eyes.

"I fucked up," he answered, but she wouldn't accept that.

"No, fuck that, answer the question, be real, no beating 'round the bush. I want an honest answer, do you think lovin' me is an excuse to treat me like dogshite?"

Waiting for an answer, she watched his eyes widen, seeing emotions flood them like a storm, but as soon as the waves came, they went their way as Tommy turned his head, moving to open his mouth, just to bite down on his tongue.

In Tommy's mind, he didn't want to say the wrong them.

But Eden took his silence as an answer.

The kitchen door opened and a hesitant Finn poked his head around it, wondering if all the commotion stopped.

"You done shoutin'?" he meekly asked and the couple immediately felt bad since he could hear everything.

Coming over to him, Eden took his hands in hers, "My darlin' Finn, I'm sorry, we were just –"

"--Playin' a game, who can shout the loudest," Tommy cut in.

Forcing out a chuckle, Eden admitted, "I won,"

"Don't sound like a good game," Finn mumbled, looking at his brother, who didn't seem himself.

"It's not," Tommy stated, staring remorsefully at Eden, "We shouldn't play it."

"Next time you're here, I'll get you some sweets to make it up to you," Eden promised.

"Okay," he grinned since he finished the bag he was given and took Tommy's hand, "we leavin'?"

"You are," Eden answered excitedly before he could, "I'll see ya later."

"Bye Edie."

Taking his cap off the table, Tommy turned to her and quietly whispered, "This ain't finished," he felt his pocket grow heavier, making him glance at the table to see that the pendant had vanished, drawing him to the conclusion she slipped it back into his possession.

Pretending to act smug, Eden retorted, "Just go back to ignorin' me, I preferred that way."

She didn't.

And Tommy knew it, "You don't."

Watching Finn gather his things and leave the room to get his shoes, she turned back to Tommy with teary eyes.

"You know... You make it hard to love you, Thomas Shelby."

It was then Tommy swallowed the harsh truth, that he didn't deserve her, not in the slightest, but that didn't mean he would just give up. He tried to hide the hurt he could feel taking over his face, but he couldn't.

"Edie..." he found himself saying her nickname, startling them both entirely, but slowly she came to and looked away, biting down on her bottom lip to prevent any more tears, tears that he would wipe away if she let him.

She waved Finn goodbye, just as he dragged his older brother away and out the door.

Her parents would be back soon.

Scanning the kitchen, she realised that she never returned the gift to Tommy.

She gave in to her curiosity and wiped away another stray tear before ripping open the wrapping paper.

It was a notebook.

Turning the first page she caught sight of his handwriting, it was neater than his brothers, better than some men in her opinion.

Your number one fan.

-T. Shelby

Eden broke down in tears.

"Fuckin' bastard."

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

a/n:

i feel like to an extent all my ocs are emotional, they just show their emotions in different ways. i didn't realise until recently how emotional i am and it isn't a bad thing guys, i think that's why i write eden the way i do. she is and isn't in touch with her emotions, she can be very irrational yet patient.

also, imma leave whether or not eden's letting 'people succumb to their wounds' up for interpretation. do you believe she has it in her to do something like that?

#wattpad #fanfic #black girl #black reader #edendawkins #Tommy and Eden #peakyblinders fic #tommy shelby x oc #1914 #birmingham

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byorder-fanfic · 4 years

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A Good Woman

Summary: The man Lizzie loves is put in the hospital by the two other men she thought she loved. So, she does what any woman in her situation would do- she points a gun to their heads.

Word count: 2327

Warnings: Hospital, descriptions of injury and pain, mentions of sex work and sexual abuse, swearing.

Author’s Note: Hi, this is a part two to A Good Man. It’s an AU in which the vendetta doesn’t happen because Lizzie Stark is a badass, and it’s inspired by that scene in S5 when she tells Aberama, Johnny and Tommy to “get out of her house”. Hope you enjoy it xx

Angel was screaming. Lizzie had never heard him in so much pain before, his anguished moans echoing in every corridor of the hospital. Or was it just her mind replaying the sounds that had greeted her as she raced through the nurses and doctors, just trying to find him. She didn't think it could be true- John was a good man, wasn't he? He wouldn't have done this to her. But the bandages wrapped around Angel's face proved otherwise. She leaned her head against the wall, trying to focus on the tapping of shoes on shiny floors, trying to think of anything but the screaming. Lizzie had seen him in pain before; she had taken a bullet from his shoulder after a nasty shoot out. Even then, he was grinning through his winces, trying to flirt with her as she poured spirits on his wound. It made her smile for a second. Then she thought of his face, now forever scarred. That was, if he survived. Lizzie felt tears sting her eyes, and for once in her life, she let herself cry. That was exactly why she isolated herself to this corridor, moving away from his room just so Audrey and Vincente wouldn't see her fall apart. They didn't need her pain. But Lizzie did. She needed to feel the tears stream down her face, needed to feel her throat get dry as she gasped for air. She needed to feel this, just to remind herself how much she loves him. Loves. Not loved. Not yet. Suddenly feeling grumpy at herself, Lizzie brought up her sleeve to wipe away the tears. She would be strong for Angel: she would hold onto his mother and pray with his father, she would give them tears when they cried and whisper hope into their ears. Hope was easy for her, she thought, with a lifetime of hopelessness.

When she came back, Audrey reached up to hold her tight. She was much smaller than Lizzie, her tears warm against her neck as pulled apart with a smile. Angel had stopped screaming.

"He will live," Audrey stated, before more tears fell down her cheek. Lizzie didn't let herself smile just yet, looking up to the white haired man for confirmation. Vincente nodded, and Lizzie grinned and beamed and smiled so much, it felt sore on her face. Thank you, God, she thought, thank you Jeremiah, too. She knew the preacher would've prayed for him, just as he knew she couldn't as long as he screamed like that.

"Have you seen him?" Lizzie's eyes darted to the hospital door, now shut. "Is he awake?"

"Yes, we've spoken," Vincente spoke for his wife, bringing her into his arms as she kept on crying with joy. "He said he'd like to speak to you, too."

"If that's alright," She hesitated, thinking of what he would say. What she could say.

"Of course it is, Lizzie," Vincente smiled kindly.

When Lizzie walked in, she knew exactly what to expect. White walls, white sheets, white bandages on his face. Yet she still couldn't stop the sudden thrill of happiness that warmed up inside her when she saw him. Angel was smiling, despite the morphine drip connected to his arm (or maybe that was the reason why), eyes lighting up as he saw the tall silhouette he knew all too well enter the room.

"You're here," he grunted out, trying to shift himself to sit up.

Seeing his struggle, Lizzie strode in, resting a hand on his chest as she gently put him down, as she perched on the edge of his bed, careful to check for any wires she might be constricting. Her hand immediately found his, still the same unscarred hand she would hold onto under the table at his restaurant. It was weird at first, since he wasn't wearing the rings she'd grown accustomed to digging into her bony fingers. But it was still him. She reached her other hand up, running her fingers through his matted hair. It was wild and dark with sweat instead of gel keeping it tidy. She tried not to brush against the bandages- a difficult task. They covered most areas of his face like an incomplete patchwork of his likeness, some flecks of blood staining the gauze.

"I'm sorry." The guilt she'd been hoarding since his restaurant burnt down all came pouring out, her voice tearing as she carried on. "If you'd never met me, if I never worked for those Shelby fuckers, then you wouldn't have gotten hurt. It's all...it's all my fault, Angel, I'm so sorry."

"Lizzie, love," Angel smiled as if it amused him, squeezing her pale hand tighter. "This isn't your fault. You're allowed to be with whoever you so choose." A shuffling behind his bandages told her he was giving her that cocky eyebrow lift that drove her insane. "And you choose me. Those Shelby fuckers can deal with that."

"They will," she practically growled it out. "I will make sure they pay for this."

"I know," he nodded gently. "You're a remarkable woman, Lizzie Stark, and you make sure to give them Hell for me, okay?"

"Okay."

Angel pulled her down to his bed so she was lying next to him, her head resting on the shoulder of his hospital gown and her legs falling off of the bed.

"You look worn out, love," he whispered.

"Aw thanks," she joked.

"Sorry, you look beautiful as always," he corrected himself with a little kiss to the top of her head. "Have you been eating and sleeping alright?"

She thought back to all the days and nights Angel had been in the hospital, all the days and nights she had stayed here too. The hospital staff had tried to kick her out since it's "family only", but Audrey Changretta had insisted Lizzie was family, and, well, no one argues with her.

"I've been staying in hospital with your parents," she told him. "So, not really. We've all just been worried."

"Well, as soon as I get out of here, I'll make us a big meal," he promised, hand tight around her waist.

"You still want me?" She said it quietly, not quite believing it.

"I'm the one whose hideously scarred, Liz." Even though she couldn't see, she knew he was grinning. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"You're not hideous," she lifted herself up, staring into his eyes, twinkling under the bandages. "You could never be hideous."

They fell back into comfortable silence as Lizzie laid uncomfortably in the bed, but she didn't care. At least he was here, his chest expanding with each breath that Lizzie anxiously listened to, heart still beating.

"Y'know," she gave a sly smile. "When you get back, I could cook dinner for you."

And Angel laughed, a loud guffaw that made him grunt a little in pain, as he brought Lizzie closer to his chest.

"Mi amore, I will do anything for you," he declared. "Except for eating your burnt toast."

Lizzie didn't stay at the hospital the next day. With a clap on the back from Vincente, another tight hug from Audrey, and a kiss good luck from Angel, she was marching down Small Heath, a blaze in her eyes that forced everyone to step out of her way. A woman on a mission, with only one target in mind. The betting shop was surrounded by smoking Blinders, each of them giving a blank stare as they watched her storm into Number 6, Watery Lane. She could feel everyone's eyes on her as she charged on through, walking past the Shelby family at the table before reaching her desk. She didn't answer their questions, posed loud and rudely, as she opened up her bottom drawer. She didn't respond when she brought out her revolver. She didn't feel sorry when they screamed at her as she cocked it with a click. She just rose up, graceful as a dancer, and marched back to them, gun pointed at John's head.

"Now, then, Liz," Tommy held hid hands up, trying to get her to surrender. Everyone was on their guard, tense and wide-eyed as they watched her hold the gun, unshaking and unrelenting. She wouldn't let him take the gun from her again. "I know you're upse-"

"Shut up, Tom," she growled, pointing the gun back to him. "For once in your fuckin' life, will you just shut up and sit down?"

"Okay," John spoke, calmly, as he nodded for everyone to sit back down. She tried not to look at the betrayal in his eyes, knowing he didn't like the familiar look in hers.

"What d'ya have to say, Lizzie?" Arthur asked, gruffly.

"You fuckers are lucky," she began. "If Angel died, it wouldn't be me showing up here to point a gun at you. Killing a Changretta would start a vendetta, and you would just keep on killing each other till there was no one left." She looked down a moment. "Cept me, of course. Need someone to put a flower on your grave, right?"

"We weren't trying to hurt you," Tommy said it coldly.

"No, course you weren't," she laughed at the thought. "Cause you never think of me, none of you do. You didn't want me, Tom, and neither did you, John." She glared at them both. "So why the fuck are you getting territorial now? Why do you have to hurt the one good man who loves me?"

"Loves you, huh?" Arthur scoffed a little.

"Yeah, he does, and I love him," she said it just as coldly as Tommy would've, making sure they could all see her teeth as she snarled at them.

"You've said that before," John said, cruelly.

"I think I did love you, John," she looked at him. "And I didn't see anyone the first week after you proposed." Esme was watching on awkwardly. "But then the money I saved up ran out, and it was either keep my promise to you and starve or lose some dignity and keep a roof over my head."

"We've all been through hard times, Lizzie." Polly looked just like Tommy as she said that, eyes blazing.

"Well I never had a family like you to take care of me," she said, shrugging slightly. The gun was getting heavy in her hands. "All I had was a dad who abandoned me and a mum that drunk herself into an early grave." Everyone flinched- she'd never told anyone but Angel and Jeremiah about her past. "And I was chucked out into the streets with only the clothes on my back. No one would hire me cause I always had mud on my clothes and I bathed in the Cut." She shuddered as she remembered those times, so long ago. "So I became a whore, and I got food in my stomach and I saved up to get myself that dingy little flat, and I was miserable." She shook her head. "And I thought the only way out was with a ring on my finger, so I said yes to John. And then I said yes to Tommy, cause I will not ever go back onto the streets." She put her gun down at last, feeling it swing by her hip. "But I'm not a whore anymore. I'm happy now, with a proper job that I'm proud of and a good man at my side. You will not ruin that for me." She glowered at the three Shelby brothers. "Tommy, John, Arthur, you will go to the liquor shop round the corner and buy a bottle of wine, red, and go to the hospital, and apologise to Angel."

They all started to protest but Lizzie raised the gun again.

"I said shut it," she said firmly. "You will swallow that fuckin' pride of yours and apologise to him, and you will finish this stupid war."

"Or else?" Tommy didn't take her seriously, looking more amused than concerned.

"Or else I'll do what I should've done at the Darby," she pointed her gun to him again, seeing the flicker of recognition in his eyes at the sight.

"What happened at the Darby?" John also remembered seeing her, battered in her pretty dress. Lizzie rolled her eyes.

"You really think I'd've whored myself out if I didn't have to?" She spat out the words, and Tommy had the decency to look ashamed as Arthur and John turned to him with confused looks.

"Tom, you didn't get Liz hurt, didya?" Arthur asked, not believing the word of a whore over his brother. Even though she's not a whore now.

"She wasn't supposed to-"

"Tommy here was too busy chatting up the Irish spy and Lady Carleton to save me in time," Lizzie said. "Because you boys can fuck who you like without us women getting possessive."

She didn't need the comparison to the bandages on Angel's face to the ring on Grace's finger, to the wedding that got his restaurant burnt to a char.

"The Changretta war is over," Polly said sternly, looking over to her nephews. "They will apologise and Lizzie can be free to fuck who she likes."

They all gritted their teeth, but they knew better to fight their aunt and a woman with a gun to their heads.

"Good, and I quit," she said, putting the gun to her side. "I expect a really good letter of recommendation, by the way."

"It'll be done," Polly said. Things were much better when Polly was in charge, like in the war.

"What'll you do?" Despite their complicated relationship, Lizzie was still friends with Esme. She grinned at her friend for a second.

"I'm gonna work as Chief Secretary for a foundation for Women and Girls in need," she said proudly, thinking of how she could help women like her, recover like her. "Oh, and I'm getting married."

They hadn't seen the shining diamond on Lizzie's trigger finger.

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cptrs · 4 years

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#peaky blinders #pb: 303 #gaite jansen #tatiana petrovna #cillian murphy #thomas shelby #arthur shelby #paul anderson #audrey changretta #brid brennan

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marisbugs · 6 years

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“I gave you sweets and cakes.”

#peakyblindersedit #perioddramaedit #peaky blinders #john shelby #arthur shelby #audrey changretta #vicente changretta #pb 3x03 #my stuff

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evita-shelby · 1 year

Text

Incantatrice

Chapter 14

(Also the result of the build-a-fic game, thanks for playing)

"He looks miserable, poor soul."

Gif by @themarcspector-a

Taglist: @thegreatdragonfruta @zablife @wandawiccan60 @call-sign-shark

Luca is not the same man as before.

He is colder, cruel and craving blood, Shelby blood to be specific.

He loves her still, but he is rougher and less tolerant of her games and the way her visions disagree with him and his plans.

Audrey is an unwelcome guest in their house ---making it feel too small despite having rooms for everyone--- where she begins to make Luca heed her every word.

The witch fights her for Luca’s attention, and she just knows she’s going to kill that fucking woman one of these days.

But then, out of the blue he surprises her with a romantic getaway for two to Paris while Audrey takes care of the children.

Rosalba is nearly a year old now and Leonardo nearly five, as much as Eva cried about leaving them, she can’t let her marriage with Luca slip from her fingers.

And it is a good decision, he is different away from that wretched woman’s desire for vengeance.

Vengeance Eva knows will be the death of him and every man that goes with them.

But Luca is as if nothing had changed in Paris.

Apologizes for neglecting her as of late and lets her do as she pleases. They are somehow like before, when he agreed to her strange whims because he knew it be fucking fantastic.

Luca has been very indulgent as of late.

He is hiding something, and she knows what it is.

The witch knows he is preparing for the vendetta even if he lies to her face about it.

The Changrettas in New York, the Battaglia from his mother’s side, some Terranova cousins he has been chummy with recently and even Matteo’s in-laws were getting involved in his vendetta.

“There is no fucking way you go to England without me, mi vida.” She said holding his ticket for a first-class cabin on a different ocean linear.

“I can risk the children losing both of us, Evuccia.” He tries to take the ticket back only for her to gracefully move out of his way the moment he bends slightly to distract her with his lips.

She could taste the Averna in his breath even after moving away from him.

“But you want me to be okay with losing you.” He goes high, she goes low.

“Eva.” He begins and cannot even make a better argument about it. “I have to do this; they came for my family and they will pay for it.”

They were kept under lock and key now, always armed, men keeping watch and moving with every step they took.

Even Spinietta could feel the dark shadow looming over them.

A vendetta was to the death of the last man or until some accord was had.

But Luca needed more than Thomas, Arthur and John dead.

Audrey wants them to make the Shelbys wish they had never crawled out of the hole they came from.

To kill the children and the women and anyone carrying Shelby blood.

“Take me with you. You always do better with me in your corner.”

Luca knew Eva was not one to fuck with, and yet every time she joins the game, she leaves him shocked.

“Yes, Mrs. Macmillan, I have heard so many things about Mr. Shelby. He is not a good man; I would not wish any child to grow up with the man who killed his real father.” Eva smirks as she plays the concerned mother to a woman unaware her only grandson had not a single drop of her blood.

Grace Shelby was something.

She wanted to break the rules for Shelby and yet left boots cleaner than any shoe shiner Luca knew.

She wanted Shelby and she had gotten him only for less than three months.

The man had waited for a standard two year mourning period for a husband she or he killed, the boy was given the dead man’s name to save face even if everyone and their dog knew the man shot blanks and now, would lose the boy because of his dead wife’s desperation to be accepted by her own people.

He had lost his family, Luca had mentioned to Eva and told her this was the best time to attack.

He still has one person he would do anything for, the witch had smirked as she drank from his liquor as they plotted.

Charles Thomas Macmillian would be spared from the vendetta only because in the eyes of the law, he is not Thomas’ son.

“He will be weaker by the time we arrive, mi amor. Nothing worse than knowing your own child will never be yours again.” Eva was good, he could admit that.

But she was the mother of his children, his wife, his woman.

If they killed her like they claim they killed the late Mrs. Shelby---

No, just the thought of that was enough to make him truly afraid.

She should be safe in New York, with the children and waiting for him to clear the way for their triumph.

Instead, she is here making a phone call before they leave Paris tomorrow, proving how much he needs her on his side.

“They will come after you, vita mia, I cannot lose you.” He continued to persuade her against joining him.

“They can try all they want, but even death is afraid of me, Luca.” She argued before leaving her red lips on the rim of his glass.

Next time they drink it, it will taste like Shelby blood.

They will make Thomas Shelby and his family a footnote in their history.

The next morning, they depart together for Liverpool.

“He looks miserable, poor soul.” Eva hides her blood-red smile after Mrs. Macmillan thanks her for giving her the courage to fight for her only grandchild.

“Poor he is not, and I doubt it he has any soul. Killed my Clive and then stole his boy.” The Irish American woman spat the mention of Thomas Shelby.

Won’t recover from that, publicly. Not him nor his dead wife ---whom Eva had the displeasure of meeting and humiliating in New York three years ago--- would ever be known as anything else as the man who killed Clive Macmillan and the woman who helped him cover it up.

A very fucking dumb mistake to let everyone believe sweet Charles was Clive’s offspring.

But very fortunate for her, the witch who wants to prevent unnecessary murders in this vendetta.

“I am so sorry, what was your name, dear?” the woman asks as they part ways.

Shelby will not know what hit him.

“Eva, Eva Changretta. My husband is the one you should thank, his late brother was a victim of Mr. Shelby, you see, my late brother-in-law wanted to marry his secretary only to find out she is his mistress. Poor Grace must have been so afraid of him.” The witch lies and the woman eats it all up.

#eva smith changretta #luca changretta x oc #luca changretta x eva smith #incantatrice fic #peaky blinders fanfic

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decennia · 2 years

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introducing: salvatore changretta in cacciatore

"The devil has come a-knockin', Mr Shelby."

The youngest of three boys, the last survivor of the Changretta sons. Vicente and Audrey Changretta had prayed that Salvatore would never leave them, never go back to Birmingham to settle the blood debt that had begun with Angel and then proceeded to steal Luca from them.

They prayed. Begged, pleaded to their unforgiving God.

Not for him. No, their prayers were with the Shelbys. For there was a devil in their saviour, a vicious demon lurking inside. A hunter, hungry for vengeance.

"And it's time to pay your dues."

TAG LIST: @perfectlystiles @sgtbuckyybarnes @lupinblack @anna-phora @hughstheforcelou @reggiemantleholdmyhand-tle @lost-in-the-shelves @raith-way @randomestfandoms-ocs @lizziesxltzmxn @akabluekat @chlobenet @phoebestarks @zeleniafic @a-song-of-quill-and-feather @honeyandsunflowers @dandyylions @hiddenqveendom @jewelswrites-ish @lokitrasho @lukespatterson @stanshollaand @richitozier @ocfairygodmother @claryxjackson @luucypevensie @fragilestorm @noratilney @foxesandmagic @jayneladybright @nolanhollogay

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mlmxreader · 2 years

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Every Stitch | Luca Changretta x gn!reader

request: "That suit... it looks really good on you" With Luca Changretta please? - anonymous

summary: as Luca's significant other, you're expected to take on certain duties, and to do that, you have to also look the part.

pronouns used: n/a

warnings: swearing, one sexual reference

"Out, out, get out if you're gonna smoke!" Luca's mother, Audrey, shooed as you lit up a cigarette, gesturing for you to go out into the little patio garden. She never liked it when people smoked in the kitchen while she was trying to cook, so you did as you were told. "You're as bad as my sons!"

You laughed, shaking your head as you climbed the three little steep steps and watched her through the window, having to bend over a little; usually it was her husband in the kitchen, but he was away doing business so she was the one in charge of it. It wasn't as if she wasn't used to it, though, having known you for so many years, your company at the dinner table was more expected than a surprise; when you bent over to wave at her through the window, she offered a smile, and waved back.

You dared to stand back upright, resting your shoe up on the low bench, which was only calf height, and sighing heavily. It was getting warmer with each day, summer approaching with seemingly faster pace than usual; even though it was only one o'clock, you could feel the sun burning into your back as you reached your free hand up to fiddle with your tie. You hoped Luca liked the suit you had gotten.

After all, now that your relationship with him was known to everybody instead of just the family, you were expected to be at his side during meetings and during business matters; you were expected to be there and to look the part... you only hoped that the suit you had gotten helped with that. As you puffed on your cigarette, you started to worry; what if it didn't look good enough? What if the tie didn't match properly?

You didn't see the front door opening, nor did you hear the short conversation between Audrey and someone you knew very well, but when you turned around to look at the window, all you could see was her shoulders beside someone in a long blue coat, and you swallowed thickly, a little more than nervous now. The door opened, and Luca smiled a little as he looked up at you, tilting his head to the side. Clearly, he had hung up his hat at the door.

"(y/n)," he smiled, his eyes meeting yours as he licked his lips. "You joining us for dinner again?"

You nodded, finishing your cigarette before bending down to stub it out in the ashtray. "Yeah, uh, unless if you wanted to go out?"

Luca shook his head, a soft hum that sounded more like a growl coming from the back of his throat as he leaned against the wall beside the window and next to the door. "Nah, it's been too long since we stayed for dinner."

A smile tugged at your lips, and you cleared your throat as you sat at the edge of the patio on one of the little benches, your legs dangling over the side. "Your mum kicked me out."

He tutted, coming to stand between your legs. "You were smoking in the kitchen while she was cooking."

You nodded, laughing along with him quietly, your hands going to his and holding them tightly; all these years, you never would have guessed that you would fall for someone like him, and yet, now you were considered his right-hand in everything, both personal and business. "She said I was as bad as you and your brother."

Luca pursed his lips as he nodded, but then he let out a chuckle, and freed one of his hands from your grasp so that he could gently trace your jaw. "Clearly, I've been rubbing off on you."

"Obviously," you dared to laugh softly. "But, uh, do you notice anything... different?"

He looked you up and down again, if only for an excuse to do so. "New suit."

"What do you think?" You asked, nervousness starting to bubble up again and threaten to erupt from the back of your throat. "And be honest, Luca, please... tell me if it's shit or if it's-"

"That suit... it looks really good on you," he reassured with a nod and a smile. "A little too good, actually."

Your eyes widened as your stomach dropped, making you swallow thickly as you felt your breath hitch. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, it would look better on my bedroom floor," he purred, running his hand over the tie, every touch making you shudder and relax. "Except that tie."

You dared to laugh, if only out of relief, as you gently pushed his shoulder and rolled your eyes. "Luca. C'mon."

"Fine, alright," Luca mused. "We'll wait until later, but... honestly? I think it looks really fucking good on you. Who made it?"

You rubbed the back of your neck as you shifted where you were sat. "The same person who makes yours."

He grinned, kissing your cheek as he softly hummed once more. "Perfect."

"Do you think, uh," you paused as you bit at the inside of your cheek. "Do you think it'd be okay to wear when I join you in meetings?"

"You wanna distract me?" He joked. "It suits you, it looks good on you."

"But does it look the part?" You pressed, worry in your eyes.

Luca nodded. "Every inch. Every stitch."

#mlem writes #luca changretta one shot #luca changretta imagine #luca changretta x reader #luca changretta #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine

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litterae-ignotae · 2 years

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@litterae-ignotae @deadendtracks your theory that tommy was taken/sent away as a kid is gaining more momentum ...

audrey and vincente changretta acting like tommy is a stranger to them, as opposed to arthur and john, because they literally didn't know him (at a crucial time)

oh i’m already sold on that theory, i subscribe to it 100% now. it just makes sense.

#i think it adds to the feeling of tommy as a ghost of sorts #literally or not he was absent #but i think it was literally yeah #so many references to children being taken from their families...

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divinekangaroo · 8 months

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Brain: busy writing Vicente Changretta’s fatal hubris arc as a series of snips showing encounters between Shelby, Jurossi, Changretta and Sabini over the years, culminating in Tommy’s quiet backstage execution of Audrey Changretta

Body: opens latest WIP and realises I’m still like seventeen fics behind my brain

#Le sigh #i mean you can’t say the Shelbys borrowed suits fr the Changrettas to play at being men and then have Luca mock Tommy’s suit tailoring and #not have some giant hubris based grudge somewhere in Vicente’s story #Old man literally said i will not swallow i will spit and hired an assassin to kill emperor thomas #Yet the first time he looked in Tommy’s eyes that whole affair #was when tommy was about to carve him apart with torture tools #The intriguing question is whether he hired the assassin to kill grace #not tommy #given the whole issue was tommy forbidding his son to walk with another of tommy’s women #he was taking ship to America because there would be repercussions either way #dumbo should have waited for the assassin to strike AFTER he left england #So much drama caused by poor timing all through this series

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songtoyou · 3 years

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Chapter 1: The Pope, The Rabbi, and The Gypsy

Tolerate It

Paring: Modern!Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Story Rating: R (No minors should read this fic).

Word Count: 1,795

Warnings: Talks of sexual content.

Description: Tommy Shelby is the owner and CEO of Shelby Company Limited. Starting out as a Bookmaker, Tommy had big ideas to expand his riches. In the past ten years, the company has grown rapidly to expand its business ventures from bars to producing alcohol, manufacturing motor vehicle parts, and exporting. One of the richest men in Great Britain, Tommy Shelby, has it all. Unfortunately, the death of his wife, Grace, left the multi-millionaire mogul alone and depressed. He needed someone to fulfill his needs and deepest darkest desires.

A/N: I was very pleased with the positive reaction to the prologue of this fic. I am glad that some of you are liking it. For this chapter, we learn a little more about the OC, and how she will meet Tommy. We also learn about the owners and some of Excelsior's clientele, the secret exclusive club in downtown London. Tommy looks for a new girl now that Lizzie is gone.

Note: Italics represent the past or past conversations.

Feedback is wonderful. It is nice knowing if people actually like this fic. I do not permit my work to be posted on any other site without my permission.

Excelsior was an exclusive invite-only club located in downtown London. Members included high profile men from actors, musicians, politicians, and business moguls. The activities that occur at Excelsior were top secret. Members and workers at the club were bound by a non-disclosure agreement to ensure nothing was made public. Excelsior was merely a very high-end gentlemen's club to the unassuming public, but underneath, it allowed members to succumb to their deepest desires.

Owned and run by "Duchess" Izabella Petrovna and her niece, "Princess" Tatiana Petrovna, the club was steeped in excess and glamour. No suspecting individual would ever think to confuse the establishment as an underground sex club. While the Duchess ran the business side of the operations, the Princess recruited the women. There was a certain criterion that the Princess enforced when it came to employing. First, the women had to be between the ages of twenty-one to thirty-five. The women underwent an extensive background check, along with a psych evaluation. Many of the employees found it hilarious that the Duchess and Princess required a psych evaluation considering that they themselves were equally eccentric…or insane, to put it mildly. Birth control was a non-negotiable requirement the women had to abide by. The women at the club had to partake in monthly STD tests to ensure they were clean and healthy.

While the Duchess and Princess were an oddball pairing, there was no denying that they cared for their girls and valued the work they did for the members. Their business endeavor allowed the Petrovna's to continue to live in luxuries that Russia no longer was able to provide. They paid well.

It was how Rose Turner provided a decent life for herself and her son, Louis. Rose had been working at the club for six years and in that time had garnered quite the clientele. However, it would be three men who would have a tumultuous impact on Rose's life. She referred to them as the Pope, the Rabbi, and the Gypsy.

The Pope was Luca Changretta, an Italian man from New York. Luca was a prominent businessman whose family still resided in England. While Audrey Changretta was a former school teacher, her husband Vincent, and youngest son Angel, owned restaurants and bars from Manchester to Birmingham, to London. They also dabbled in the real estate business and owned numerous high rise apartment buildings. The Changretta family was viewed as a rival to the Shelby clan. Both have tried to partner on business ventures with no deal ever emerging. The two families did not trust one another.

With Luca stationed over in the States, he would visit his family throughout the year during holidays, for birthdays, weddings, funerals, openings of new Changretta establishments. Time home also allowed for Luca to engage in his pleasures. His visits to Excelsior were always a big deal. Everything had to be perfect, according to Izabella. Tatiana assigned Rose to Luca.

"You are his type, no," Tatiana would say. "He likes the way you look. That innocent and doe-eyed look. Hooker with a heart of gold, they say, right."

Rose did not question Tatiana. She read through Luca's file to find out more about her new client and what he liked. The man was noticeably big into role play, especially in a religious aspect. He loved playing the part of a holy man while Rose played the Catholic school girl or nun. It was how Luca got the nickname, "The Pope." The man thankfully always managed to be a gentleman. He respected the rules of the club and never went overboard. If Rose was uncomfortable with acting out a scene, she knew it was okay to voice her worries. Luca never tried to fight her or manipulate her into partaking in a scene. He respected Rose's boundaries. She was one of his favorites at the club.

Alfie Solomons was nicknamed "The Rabbi" and another important client at Excelsior. He had his fill of women during his time at the club. So much so that the girls would talk openly with one another about his particular habits. For instance, Alfie never partook in actual intercourse with the women. Instead, he relied on toys such as dildos or vibrators to bring pleasure to his women. He would also make sure to wear black latex gloves while touching the women. Many assumed it was to keep himself clean and pure since he participated in activities that would be deemed excruciatingly unholy. Alfie made sure that Tatiana only gave him gentile women.

"No Jewish women, love. They are holy creatures and should be remained as such, okay," Alfie demanded.

When Rose saw Alfie for the first time, she was intimidated by his big stature. However, Alfie proved to be one of Rose's favorite clients. The man knew how to pleasure a woman. He always made scenes fun and intense. Some women would even fight over who got to be with Alfie on certain nights he was at the club. They all loved him.

As the son of a Russian Jewish woman and working-class Londoner father, Alfie worked his way up in the world. It would be the distillery business where Alfie would make his fortunes. From rum and vodka to gin, beer, and cider, Solomons & Sons was the top distillery company in the United Kingdom. It did not take long for the Shelby family came knocking on Alfie's door to partner with on business endeavors. While Alfie would continue to remain skeptical about the Shelby family, he knew the business deal with them would be too good to pass up. He loved having a go at Tommy Shelby from time-to-time to see how far he could push the Birmingham lad.

In fact, it was Alfie who told Tommy about Excelsior.

"You go from whore to whore with no care in the world. It is like you got a death wish. Seriously, don't you ever worry about getting the clap? I'll tell ya what…let me talk with one of my associates about inviting you to join this club I frequent. It will have everything you ever wanted and more. Trust me," Alfie shared with Tommy at one of their business meetings two years ago.

Tommy merely scoffed as he took a drag of his cigarette. "Trust you. Not likely, Alfie. As I recall, it was because of you that the deal with the Changrettas fell apart. Something about mentioning how my brother John got into a fight with Angel Changretta over a girl they both were seeing at the time."

With a shit-eating grin, Alfie replied, "I am a beacon of truth, eh."

"More like a pain in my ass," Tommy smirked.

As promised, Alfie talked with Tatiana about inviting Tommy to the club. She was adamant about meeting with the self-made millionaire. The Princess wanted to make sure he was suitable to partake in her establishment. If Tatiana had the ability, she would have kept Tommy all to herself if she could.

"None of those whores deserve you, Thomas," said Tatiana as she laid in bed next to him.

"No, they deserve better. Better than me, that is for sure. But…they are all I got. So, I need your help in finding the best one for me. One that I can take out in public if need be. One who can be presentable to society at certain functions I have to attend. That way, I can keep up the appearance of a family man who still grieves the loss of his wife while trying to move on with my life."

Lizzie Stark filled that position for two years before her sudden and unexpected departure at Excelsior. Now Tatiana had to find a new girl to assign for Tommy, which was no easy task with his certain expectations. The man was rather picky, to say the least. Perusing her girls' files, she realized that there was only one who could meet the requests of Tommy Shelby.

"Rose Turner," announced Tatiana and handed Tommy her file. "She has been with us for a couple of years. She is considered top-quality—good reviews from our top clients. As you can see, she is beautiful, no. She can be elegant if need be for your functions. Adventurous…flexible, if you know what I mean. She'd be perfect for you. What do you think?"

Tommy looked over Rose's file. Her birthdate indicated she was in her early thirties and from Blackpool, a seaside resort town on England's Irish Sea coast. It was England's very own Coney Island. Ada took Karl and Charlie there for a weekend getaway not long after Grace died to cheer up her nephew.

"How many men does she see regularly?" Tommy asked.

"Rose is considered top quality. Her clientele is small. She has no more than four regulars. One does not live here full-time. He only sees her when he visits family. The others…well, they are people from your circle of business partners."

"Is that so. Who would these men be?" Tommy inquired as he continued to look through Rose's file.

"I am not at liberty to tell you such vital information…"

"Well, Tatiana, let me take a guess. Could Alfie Solomons be one of Rose's clients? How about Darby Sabini? Is he on the list? Billy Kimber before his untimely departure on this Earth?" Tommy took a drag of his cigarette and tossed Rose's file on Tatiana's desk. "Set up a meeting for me with Rose. Not here, though. Tell her to meet me at The Savoy Hotel this Saturday night. Give her this as well," Tommy handed Tatiana an envelope she assumed had cash in it. "Tell her to buy something nice for the occasion. The two of us can talk over dinner, and if all goes well, we can end the night on a good note. Just know this Princess, if all goes well, then Rose becomes mine. Her other clients can fuck off for all I care. I am not one to share what is mine."

So here Rose was, at one of London's top boutiques picking out a dress for Saturday night. Tatiana explained the possible arrangement with Mr. Shelby, and if things went well, he would be Rose's main client. Meaning he would become Rose's only client. She had reservations about it until Tatiana shared how much Mr. Shelby was willing to pay. It was more money than Rose originally would make. Tatiana shared that Mr. Shelby would provide Rose a weekly allowance on top of her services' standard fees. The deal with too good to pass up. However, Tatiana was adamant to Rose that meeting Tommy first would be wise before agreeing to any deals.

All Rose knew was that she had a date with The Gypsy.

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby fic #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic

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kaetastic · 4 years

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How Do You Do This?

pairing: Papa!Luca Changretta x Mama!Reader

summary: Luca remains at home while his wife rests in bed, exhausted and visibly sick. However, he didn’t know it would be this difficult to take care of the house and a child. [requested: @imaginesbymk]

warning: fluff (wow why am i like this) & bitsy angst if you squintttt

word count: 2.8k

note: i feel like i haven’t done well in encapturing luca as a father and as a whole character (such an excuse to rewatch season 4) thank you so much for this request!! all of these fluff requests makin me turn to a fluffy lady oops- also, hope ya’ll don’t mind me naming the daughter :D just wanted something italian.

Eyelashes fluttering open before intermittently blinking shut due to the single blaring sunlight that slipped through the cracks of the blinds, Luca let out a noise that was in the middle of a groan and a hum. In any other words, it was a sound of him agreeing to the usual morning. Something he found pleasant. Usual mornings may be disliked by some because of how monotonous and irritatingly dull it was. Luca believed otherwise.

Usual- common and repetitive mornings was a sign of a normal day without anything peculiar out of the ordinary. People who weren’t used to having guns pointed at them wouldn’t mind something out of the ordinary once in a while. Not Luca. The mafioso would be called mental if he had hoped for something random to be yanked out of a box for an approaching day. In his line of work, it was better to pray for the same day on repeat, rather than countless pop-ups of issues from another group. Or worse, to wave off to men who had been ardent to their job and loyal to their work in coffins.

His shoulders were pulled taut as he stretched out the muscles that had been slumbering well through the night. All thanks to his well-payed and efficient timetable of the work he needed to be done with. Running down his fingers down his face, he couldn’t help but cheer a slight joy at the remembrance that it was finally Friday. Last day of work for the week.

If there weren’t any emergencies calls that would take up the whole day. The Italian couldn’t help but notice that the recent short emergency calls had taken up nearly both of his weekdays. Barely had time to spend with Maria. The corners of his lips curled up even more.

It had been roughly three years since his little girl had stumbled upon the world. And ever since then, the Italian believed that his world beamed brighter. Well, he was already riding clouds when he had met the woman who managed to enrapture his heart with her impressive magical abilities. But after the cheeky little girl had been born into the world, Luca was sure he was flying through the clouds. There were no other feelings that matched that of having a child. A girl- to add on that. Once again- usual, repetitive mornings of replaying past memories.

Even though he thought without a doubt that he would die and rot to end his own branch, he was wrong. The times he had repeated the words to himself and to his mother that there would be no women who would be there for him when he would appear to their house drowned in rivers of blood; that there would be no one who would understand the world he had been born into was countless. He knew it was not a choice to birth into the criminalizing life. It was never a choice. Even if he had chosen to leave, he would trudge through sludge as a permanent trail for him to end up as a corpse. Luca was wrong, once again.

His mother who grasped onto the rope of hope which had smeared lines of red in her ageing palm had also whipped it onto the back of his head as a reminder that there was someone out there. Someone who would see him as him. Audrey Changretta was right. The woman strayed at the edge when her son was nearing the age of thirty without a woman by his side. Well, a woman that would stay permanently and was there to be with him. A miracle had hit them.

“Luca?” A raspy voice called out his name, almost as if their throat had been scrapped dry. More like rubbing two grainy sandpapers against one another. The Italian pushed himself from the bed, the mattress dipping down as he sat.

“Yeah?” His fingers weaved through the locks of his hair that lingered a smear of the excessive gel he would slick through his hair nearly every single day. It coated the cracks of his fingers in a greasy plaster. A disgusted wince seeped through his teeth. Mussing his hair that had strands of hair poke at different angles while he watched the head of his wife peered into their bedroom, his whole body froze. A usual day would promote the activity of him peppering kisses all over his wife’s face (sometimes, if they were lucky to not be interrupted; if they were fast to finish- they could get the deed done). It doesn’t seem today would be a usual day… at all. Y/N’s face was tinted green, no different than that of a freshly plucked out cabbage.

“I think I’m sick.” As soon as the words brushed against her lips, the man sprung out of bed, not minding the chilly shivers of the air bite into his bare chest. Within four steps, he was already at the door where his wife looked like the living evidence of her theory.

“You look sick,” Luca mumbled as his hands cupped her cheeks. Her skin sizzled onto the palm of his hands. Just like that time he had accidentally slammed his hands onto a heated pan, thinking the gas was not on. “You’re burning, amore.”

The woman sported a pout at the fact that she won’t be able to carry out the chores of the house, “I’ll just call Dona. We talked during a party, and she told me she takes care of kids.”

Her shoulders were curled down, slouched in disappointment and irritation from the inconvenient time for her to feel sluggish. There were so many things on the list she would have to do, but now- she would have to spend a day or how long the feeling manifested her muscles in bed. The phone sat on the counter of the kitchen. It stared its wide-opened eyes onto the figure that took a step towards itself.

Even though it would take at least a couple of steps to reach the phone, it suddenly felt as if it had been placed further. Lights curtained the sides of her peripherals in blankets of haziness. Her toes slammed into the back of feet, the strings in her knees begun to slack. Wobbling in intermittent quivers, she barely had time to wrap her head around the idea of meeting the floor.

“Hey, hey,” Luca was quick to jump onto his feet. Arms wrapping around her shoulders, he nudged her heated body to face him. “Come on, let’s get you tucked in bed. Maybe then you can finally understand the meaning of relaxation.”

An exhausted chuckle fell off her lips, although, it sounded more like a grated wheeze. The Italian was referring to her dedication to staying sane in the house. Her husband had, of course, allowed her to step outside the warm walls; however, the only reason she would do so was if her thoughts had been off the rails or it was a family dinner. And lingering inside the house with a three-year-old left a scribbled list that seemed quite hefty. Just looking at it led to an overwhelmingly heavy emotion of exhaustion. There was always something to brush over, there was always something to sweep into the trash can.

The man helped her into her side of the bed. Luca, the man who played the strings in the mafia; who had been rumoured to doing abominable in his youth, was gazing into the exasperated eyes of his wife with nothing but concern, “I already took out the flour, sugar, and butter. Make sure you tell Dona-”

“I’m not calling Dona,” Luca cut her off, his fingers brushed over the bumps of her scorching knuckles. “I’ll just stay home. I’ll take care of Maria. It’ll be okay.”

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the slight quirk of his wife’s eyebrows. Even when she looked like she had seen death, she had the ability to amuse him. There were doubts in her head, bouncing off the walls as she beamed at him, almost sceptical at the sound of his list. However, hers’ had been mild and more tamed compared to the Italian.

Inside his chest, he was roaring in frustration at the task he had assigned to himself. In his head, he was slamming every possible angle of his brain into his skull. The man had never taken care of Maria- alone. There was a major, very prominent difference when his wife or someone with experience of handling a child, was present by his side to take care of the infant.

The longest he had been with his own daughter- alone, was when she was an infant age of one when his cousins had come over to drop something off. To which his wife had what felt like a stretched out conversation. It was for half an hour. He just had to make sure the baby was sound asleep (she didn’t move a muscle).

Luca’s only memory and experience of taking care of Maria alone were for half an hour. The promise he had just made bounced out of his lips as if it was a mere reassurance to throwing out a dog’s shit. It was not. Even though her chest prickled worries and concern for the very new idea, there was nothing stored in her muscles for her to oppose.

Wavering through an overwhelmingly large amount of feelings sitting on her chest was a patent emotion of guilt. Y/N falling sick had been the reason Luca won’t be going to work. Luca glanced at the eyes he had stumbled upon countless times, “Don’t worry. You stay here and rest.”

His warm lips pressed onto her sizzling forehead before he yanked a random dress shirt from his closet. The corners of his lips curled up at the sight of the clearly exhausted woman tucked in the warmth of their bed, her back facing him. Creaking the door close to leave a minuscule gap between it and its frame, Luca was more than determined. With a tug on his buttoned shirt, his eyes brushed over the house. There was roaring ambition for him to seize the day, and succeed in the promise he had made. If he was going to do this, he will do this right. Oh, the call first.

The man stifled a cough as white powder sprung into the air to tickle his nose. He squinted his eyes to gaze through the misty haze concocted by the flour as if a blocking waterfall. Was it enough? Fingers running over his shirt, he barely spent time to bat an eye at the painting he had smeared all over his white dress shirt. A faint scraping noise echoed while his index fingers traced over the printed words on the book. Luca lost count of how many cups he had thrown into the bowl.

While he had a midlife crisis in hopes of figuring out how many cups of flour he had just hurled, a sob trickled into the quiet house. Nudging the underlying sound of cars zooming past their house, and the irritating hum of the lightbulb aside, no noise had interrupted the Italian’s extreme focus on the noted recipe.

He was trying to be as precise as he could be. Well, that was until the little person had woken up from their deep slumber. With a huff, he brushed the excess flour from his palm onto his pants.

“Good morning,” The man announced, startling the baby even though she had narrowed her eyes at the wide-open door for the expected lady. The string of tears balanced on her eyelid quivered to drain down her cheeks at the sight of the Italian man. Slightly panicked, his hands that were clamouring dry from the flour smeared all over his palm were quick to pull the awakened baby out of the low crib. “Shh shh, come on, è solo papà.” (it’s just daddy)

There was no doubt that the Italian had every muscle in his body spike up from the sudden obstacle he would have to face. A hefty one at that. Bouncing on his feet, his mussed morning hair that he had tried to tame (to which he failed) smacked onto her forehead. Maria, the three-year-old who had her father’s dark eyes that shimmered gold under warm light, and his sombre locks, stared at the man who held her. Luca, on a usual day, would be out before she would awaken from her slumber. No wonder the baby had been startled to see the man who spent his whole day in the walls of his office.

Strings of cries from the infant called for her mother, hands wiggling towards the open door; her feet prodding into the Italian’s stomach, in hopes of getting away, “Mamma is sick, so, it’s just you and me,” Maria halted to stare deep into his eyes as if she had understood his words.

The corners of his lips curled up at the sweet sound of silence before it swirled back down at the familiar noise of crying. Not wanting the sick woman to wake up, he rapidly dashed to the window. Nudging the curtains to rest on the back of his head, he pointed at the puffy sky, “Look. A bird.”

Maria’s eyes beamed at the pigeons that flew to rest on a branch before it trailed back to her father’s face, “It’s papà. I’m sorry if I scared you,” With a heartbeat set at a normal pace, the baby finally digested the figure who practically stomped into her room. “Come on, I’m making breakfast.”

After settling down Maria who now blabbered on and on about her toys, the Italian mafioso didn’t waste time to get on with the pancakes. Cracking the egg (just as the book said), he peered onto the next line of instruction. While he proceeded to make sure that everything was in the bowl, and he had whisked, Luca couldn’t help but throw a glance towards the giggling child. In Maria’s hands were the stuffed dolls she had grown up with. She wiggled a teddy in front of a quite butchered female doll.

From the distance, he could only hear indistinct mumbling as she created a conversation between the toys. Luca couldn’t help but crack a smile. The years of him believing that having a family in such an organization was impeccably dangerous had been thrown out of the window. It might’ve been dangerous, but he would always be there.

The man had already cranked up the gas and prepared the first pancake. It did not look appetizing at all. The sides were frayed, plastered with blotches of black colouring. Not poisoning my child today. With a flip, the crunching sound of the failure meeting with the trash bag crinkled into the air. Pouring the batter, the pan sizzled at the cooling sensation, “Papa. Full.”

Maria pointed. Luca’s face fell. The one thing he had dreaded, he would have to face. It was sooner or later. Even though he had discarded the pancake, and he had paced towards the infant with a very fake smile in hopes of comforting her, there was nothing but sobbing in his head. He had seen his wife do it multiple times. Luca could do it.

It’s true, Luca could do it (even he impressed himself). Anyone could. But, could everyone successfully insert the pin to secure the cotton diapers? No. Luca did it, but he had no courage in him to attempt once more. He could still feel the shivering of his finger as the skin of his thumb wrapped around the cooling metal of the pin. Maria had been somewhat cooperable.

The three-year-old had only little patience while she watched her father pierce the pin through the first layer of her diapers. However, the energetic child had sprinted off, bare for anyone to see, to scurry around the house. Luca had spent some time in chasing and coaxing the baby in wearing the diapers first.

Munching on the pale pancakes, Maria’s eyes twinkled before tearing off a bigger portion. An exasperated sigh left his lips. The familiar kiss of coldness bit into his skin. Luca glanced down in exhaustion. His neck might’ve felt like it would collapse in his work hours while he jotted away on papers, he couldn’t help but feel his muscles plead for a merciful, brief death. The sight of his shirt glued onto his skin where the water splashed out of the bath, added a block of the feeling ‘drained’.

While the infant gingerly bit into the slices to get the full taste, Luca slithered into his bedroom. The man practically melted into the floor at the sight of his gazing wife, “How do you do this?”

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