#Luca Changretta x OC

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Nobody's Girl - A Luca Changretta/OC Story.

Okay, okay! I got the message quite clearly that just a few of you are more than a wee bit excited for this, so regardless of the poll results, ya bestie over here is giving you the first chapter. Everybody gather round and meet Emily Jane. She shyly says hi.

Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 4,224

Warnings - Adult content throughout, minors DNI!

Brooklyn, 1923. It was a dangerous place to be in certain areas of the New York borough, where bullets fell like rain and crimson bled plentifully into the gutters. Its misdeeds were becoming famous, the mob swelling like a well-fed beast, prowling the streets unleashed, snarling and hungry. In Brooklyn, the mafia were the kings, whether you, your mother, your cousin or the cops liked it or not.  

It was generally advised that you did not protest.  

Wiseguy compliance was safer than the alternative, and everybody knew it. When they came knocking, offering fistfuls of dollars to store barrels mostly containing contraband beer, gin and whiskey within the warehouses of legitimate businesses, the proprietors knew that you either said yes or you died. That money you were so generously handed would be earned back, though.  

“So look, uh, you gonna be lookin’ after this cargo for us, right? That means there are gonna be certain guys on the street who ain’t gonna be too pleased about you working with us. So, what I’m gonna do is have a few of my guys lookin’ out for ya. Fifty bucks a week and nothin’ happens to your business, or your family.” 

The story was the same for any other business within the radius of their turf, racketeering forced upon you whether you guarded contraband alcohol for them or not.  

It was generally advised that you paid them the fifty bucks.  

Of course, when it came to the families going to war with one another, there was nobody there to protect you, whether you paid into a protection racket or didn't. If the police were called, they generally – and purposefully - arrived too late, the large wedges of cash stuffed into their back pockets by whichever mob crew were buying their compliance ensuring that.

No, when the gunfire erupted and turned the silent streets into a bloodied cacophony, you knew there was only one thing to do.  

It was generally advised that you duck.  

On that particular chilly November night, though, with the threat of snow hanging heavy in the air from the thickened clouds above, one young woman opted not to duck. Instead, she chose to walk right out into the carnage, for it was perhaps the only avenue she could tentatively tread upon in order to save herself from hell.  

The Changretta’s and the Calabrese's had been at war with one another over turf for months, disputes rife over what mob presided over which area, promises of blood come good after negotiations had failed, leading to the shootout between both crews in the dead of night.

Bullets peppered the air, tattooing the buildings and cars along the street, screams and shouts only just about audible over the thrum of heavy machine gun fire, men diving and dying left and right. The sins they fought and died for knew no difference, but somewhere in the madness, these men of bloodthirsty savagery had a line they would not ever cross.  

The Changretta mob scanned the desolate street, high alert agitating their blood, neurons firing rapidly as they watched the area, looking, waiting for movement. The enemy had been thinned to what appeared to be nothing, their bodies littering the ground, but that didn’t mean there weren’t more lying in wait.  

Luca’s unblinking eyes toured the darkness, daring to slowly rise from his concealed place behind the front wing of a shot-out Ford, each step crunching the shattered glass beneath his feet. Nothing. They’d accomplished the extermination mission sufficiently, not a single Calabrese goon left breathing.  

“Boss! On your left!” 

At his right hand’s call, Luca spun, directing his gun at what his eyes picked out through the inky night, a glowing light splitting the dark, his men beginning to fire.  

“Stop, fuckin’ guns down, now!” he bellowed, his cadence rising sharply, way above his usual silky, rumbling drawl. “It’s a girl, you dumb fucks.”  

She seemed to glide over the ground, her feet bare, platinum hair matted and tangled, the white lace of her dress torn and bloodied.  

“What the fuck? Is it a trap, or what?”  

Luca turned to view Enzo with a slight shrug, his hand reaching out to grasp his arm when he raised his gun. “Ah, aspetta, aspetta.” At being told to wait, his right hand once again lowered the machine gun, both Italians watching as the girl continued her walk, her eyes wide and dazed, her face bloody, purple welts marking her features. The closer she got, the more of them Luca noticed, angry and swollen upon her pale skin, the infliction of brutality tarnishing much of her body, a body that buckled as she suddenly fell, collapsing in the middle of the street.  

“Ain’t no trap.” Moving out fully, Luca strode through rivers of blood and bullets, removing his long, wool coat, wrapping it over the barely dressed blonde as he crouched at her side. “Hey, what the fuck happened to you, huh?” He gave her cheek a few gentle slaps, trying to rouse her. “You with me? C’mon, wake up.” This truly wasn’t the time or place for damsels in distress. He had himself and his guys to think of before all else.  

Her eyelids fluttered, blinking rapidly a few times as she came to, curling herself smaller. Her mouth opened, and Luca was sure she said something, but her voice was ghostly, so quiet he was scarcely sure she’d spoken at all.  

“What? I can’t hear you.” He leaned closer, craning his ear, just about able this time to hear her words.  

“There’s a bomb under your car. Twenty seconds.”  

With widened eyes, his head spun round to where his assembled crew waited. “Move! The fuckin’ car is live, move!” Pulling her up off the street and into his arms, he and his men began to run, covering the ground rapidly. They’d gotten a good hundred feet away, yet their eardrums still all but ruptured when the TNT blew, reducing the Buick to an inferno.  

They took cover behind another car, a car Enzo rapidly broke open the door of, cranking the engine into life. “Let’s get the fuck outta here, eh?”  

So, it looked to Emily like she was leaving one set of wiseguys and going with another as the tall, slender man who held her jumped into the back of the car, three other guys piling in, the car shuddering out from its spot and being directed in the opposite direction to the blast.  

“Hey boss,” Dante piped up from the passenger seat, nodding at the blonde. “Who’s the dame?” 

“You know as much as I do.” He was just about to ask her that very question, looking down to see her head lolled over his arm, out cold once more. Whatever the fuck she’d been through, he could gauge it was a lot. Giving him the kind of information she had, though, information that had saved him and his crew from being blasted to smithereens, he wasn’t just about to let he be on her way.  

If she knew about the bomb, then what other information might she have? The firefight had not exterminated all of the Calabrese mob, just a mere handful of foot soldiers.  

Exiting the car on the corner of Third Avenue, Luca strode towards the doors of Bella Vita, the bar turned speakeasy he owned, the doormen nodding to him and swinging the doors open. He took an immediate right, the thumping blare of jazz music and patrons having a fabulous time hurting his still fragile, bomb-blasted ears, another large man employed for security purposes opening the next door he came to.  

It closed with a heavy thud behind him, the wall of noise muted, Luca beginning to climb the stairs that led to his spacious apartment. It had only been home for seven months, since he had the former three dwellings gutted out and fashioned into something more resembling the comfort he was accustomed to. High standing members of the mafia did not reside in shabbiness.  

His former abode, a sprawling townhouse upon the Upper West Side of Manhattan, was now solely home to his ex-wife and three children. For a quicker divorce from the wretched, screaming harpy whom he had once loved very dearly, he considered it a cheap price to part with for the sake of his sanity. Her alimony was also eye watering, but it wasn’t like Luca didn’t rake in serious bank.  

He’d also never deprive Milania, Guiseppe and Alessio of anything. His sons were the apple of his eye, and his daughter, well, she was quintessentially daddy’s little girl. He just wished she had a smidgen less of her mother’s hot-headed temper. Then again, he supposed he deserved every ounce of it, not being a particularly good husband to Filomena.  

Well, it was subjective, really. He provided for her, took her out regularly, bought her an abundance of luxuries from expensive jewellery to beautiful furs, but he did have somewhat of a predisposition for sticking his cock where he most certainly should not have stuck it. Filomena had all but turned a blind eye to his philandering ways, and Luca knew that was why he’d continued to do it, because she'd let him. She didn’t care, it seemed, so why should he?  

Maybe if she’d have been the kind of woman to crack his jaw and tell him in no uncertain terms that he was hers and hers alone, he might have fixed up and adhered to the fidelity he’d promised her, but she never had. It went right over his head that this is what he should have pledged without the threat of violence in the first place.   

The final straw finally drove her into action, though, arriving home earlier than he’d expected one day to find him in bed with two whores, one astride his face and the other riding his cock. There weren’t many women out there who could witness the man they loved in that kind of scenario and still continue to love him. She’d given him nothing but pure, unfiltered hell in the time between, Luca agreeing to all of her demands, just as long as she didn’t touch either his car collection, his speakeasy, or his home in the Catskills.  

Carrying the mystery blonde over to the lounge area of the open plan apartment, he placed her down on the dark, oxblood leather chesterfield, noticing that she’d come round again. “You wanna drink, sweetheart?”  

She nodded, beginning to tremble a little. “Hey, you’re alright. I ain’t gonna do nuthin’ bad to ya.” Emily doubted his sincerity, knowing wiseguys as well as she did. His voice was half salty rumble, half viper’s hiss, but each word was delivered with the kind of hush that made her feel soothed, she had to admit. The quietness of his tone made a nice change from being yelled at. “Whaddya drinkin'?” 

“A water, p-please,” she stuttered, Luca nodding. He’d been offering liquor, but water he could do, too.  

He paused before going to fetch it, crouching before her, studying her wounds a little more closely now she was under the brighter lights within his home. “Those cuts are nasty, doll. Who fuckin’ did this, eh?” He reached for her face, regretting it instantly when she shot across the couch, curling into a ball at the opposite end. “Woah, hey. Like I said, I ain’t gonna hurt ya. I just wanna help you, and for you to tell me what you know about the Calabrese guys. I’m guessin’ you know a whole lot, to know one of ‘em stuck a bomb beneath my car.”  

She trembled, her eyes wide, her silence profound. “I’m gonna get you that water.” He rose to his feet slowly, knowing he had to treat her as if she were an injured fawn, everything slow and steady, save her from becoming furtherly spooked.  

Caring for another, though, was somewhat beyond his usual skill set. Luckily from his own scrapes, he both knew how – and possessed the necessities - to clean up wounds before they became an infected mess, going to the bathroom and pulling out gauze and a bottle of iodine, returning to the kitchen to fetch her requested glass of water.  

He handed it to her, moving to his drinks cabinet then and pouring himself a large measure of whiskey, returning to sit in front of her on the coffee table. “You gonna let me clean you up?”  

She shook her head, spilling several drops of water as she lifted the glass to her lips, downing it in its entirety.  

He nodded, sucking the matchstick he was chewing before removing it. “Alright. You gonna tell me what you know?” 

Again, she shook her head.  

He shrugged, a little agitated, but knowing he had to play his cards carefully. “I got all night, doll. Could start with your name, though, if the rest is too much to ask.”  

She wanted to trust him. Hell, he could have simply dropped her from his grasp and left her there on the street, but he’d taken her with him, back to the safety of his apartment, no less. Of course, though, it was to gain information. Then again, if it was solely that, why was he trying to help her? Men who sought only answers to their questions seldom had the interest to clean wounds. Hell, they usually jammed a gun to your tonsils and told you to spill all as soon as they removed it.  

Who was she to him that he’d care whether her cuts were bathed? Still, it took him a patient wait of just over a half hour until she finally spoke.  

“Emily Jane,” she finally replied, swallowing hard. “Emily Jane Mortensen. Most people just call me Emily, though.”  

He lifted his chin, pointing to her water glass. “You want another in there, Emily?” 

“Please.”  

Well, she had a name, at least. It was as good a start as any. “You know,” he began, long legs extending as he rose to his feet, walking back over to the kitchen area, “the Calabrese’s won’t do shit to you with me around. If that’s why you’re scared to talk, ain’t no mind, doll.” Returning to her, he resumed his seat upon the coffee table, handing over the glass. “Like I said, though. I got all night.”  

Protection. Something she’d longed for, but could she truly trust it? She knew exactly who he was; Luca Changretta, the big boss, the number one apex predator at the top of the mafia hierarchy. It was either the very best, or the absolute worst place that she could have ended up. “Gino Calabrese ordered Joey, his youngest son to have the bomb planted, so that if the firefight didn’t kill you, the blast definitely would.” 

His eyebrows rose a little, chewing the matchstick slowly. “And you know this how? Who are ya, to Gino?” 

Finishing her water, she reached to place it upon the coffee table, Luca taking it from her, resting his forearms back to his thighs as he leaned forward, looking expectant. “Um, nothing to him, but to his son, I – well, I was his card counter. That’s kinda moot now, though, since you and your guys put about sixteen bullets in his chest.”  

His lip curled slightly. “Card counter?”  

“Yeah. I have a real fast brain for math, so technically I can’t ever be beaten in a game of blackjack. I won Joey thousands upon thousands at games all over, from Vegas to Reno. Illegal games, too. Women don’t usually get a seat at the table, but I got to, because...” 

“Cuz’ Joey boy was partially sighted, I’m guessin’, right? You were his alleged eyes, but truly, you were there to tell him when to make his moves, amirite?” 

God, he was very sharp. “Correct,” she confirmed, although Luca still looked slightly dubious, reaching behind him and grabbing something. He turned back to reveal a deck of cards, sliding them from the box and giving them a rapid shuffle.  

“Show me.” Standing, he moved to sit beside her on the couch, dragging the table nearer and dealing out as he were the house, Emily moving a little nearer.  

“Alright, so I mostly use the Hi-Lo strategy. It means if the ratio of high to low cards is higher than normal, the player can make bets that are larger when the deck is favourable.” 

He noticed it instantly, how when presented with the opportunity to show off her skill, she unwound from the nervous, tense little waif he’d carried into his home just over an hour before. “How’d you know if the deck is favourable?” he asked, a frown knitting between his dark brows as he pointed at them on the table.  

“You have to track the ratio of high to low cards by assigning them with a value. You begin at zero, then as each card comes up, you add it to your tally. Cards two to six have a value of plus one, cards seven to nine have no value, and cards worth ten and also aces have a value of minus one, so you keep adding and subtracting, betting accordingly. Watch. Hit me.”  

He dealt her another card, Emily tapping it. Another was placed. “I’m holding.” Turning the other cards, he saw she would have won her hand had they been playing for cash. He made her do it another five times before he truly believed what she could do, sitting there with slightly widened eyes.  

“Look at that, huh?” he spoke, gathering the cards from the table and returning them to the pile. “No wonder he kept you around.”  

She shrugged. “Shame it wasn’t of my own free will. All of this mess I’m in, it was because I tried to get away from him earlier, so he took a set of brass knuckles to me. Wasn’t the first time either.”  

He studied her face, his jaw tightening. Luca had few codes of honour, and not taking his fists to a woman was high upon that list. He hissed a breath, his eyes narrowing. “Fuckin’ asshole. I’m extra glad I shot the living fuck outta him now.”  

Dropping her gaze, she folded her arms, looking at her bare feet. “So am I.”  

Reaching for his drink, he knocked it back, truly feeling glad that Joey no longer breathed. If there was one thing he truly detested, it was a woman beater. He didn’t have much to be proud of in his life, morally speaking, but he had never and would never raise a hand to a woman. Ever. “Fuckin’ brass knuckles, Jesus above. I know how much those fuckin’ things hurt only too well.” 

She snorted softly, her eyes finding his again, her heart doing a little somersault as she watched the peridot shards glint at her through the low light. Hoo boy, he was a handsome one. Deadly, but handsome nonetheless. “Who on earth is brave enough to take a set of brass knuckles to the famous Luca Changretta, and live to tell the tale?”  

He smirked, rising to his feet. “Nobody these days, but when I was still comin’ up, plenty of guys.” Moving back to the drinks cabinet, he took the bottle of whiskey, turning to her. “You want another water in there, or somethin’ else? I got just about everythin'.”  

Peering at him over the back of the couch, he felt his inside pinch a little. She was so tiny and cute. “Could I have a vodka rocks, please?”  

“You can, but ice I don’t have. Gimme a sec.” He strode across the space again, heading back down the stairs, the sounds of music growing louder and then returning to the dull rumble, Emily moving to pull on the long coat around her, feeling chilly. It smelled of him. The woody, musky, yet slightly spicy notes of whatever cologne he wore filled her nose as she held the soft lapels to her face.  

The sudden blare of music signalled his imminent return, the tall Italian appearing from the stairwell once more, carrying with him an ice bucket he placed upon the table, going back to the cabinet and collecting the whiskey and vodka bottles, pouring a large measure into her glass, dropping the ice in and handing it to her.  

“Thank you,” she spoke, Luca noticing her manners were impeccable, also watching her face as it twisted into a grimace, Emily hissing before straightening her leg, examining her grazed knee.  

He gestured to her injuries with a sweeping hand. “Gonna let me help you with that yet? You’re kinda bleeding all over my couch.” 

In an instant, she looked horrified. “Oh, I’m so sorry, and probably your coat, too. I’m an idiot, I'll sit on the floor.”  

He moved swiftly, shaking his head. “It’s fine, ain’t no bother, doll.” In truth, it was, but he kept that to himself. Blood cleaned off, he had to concede. This girl, he needed to keep her sweet in order to keep on feeding him further information that he sensed she possessed. Joey Calebrese might not have been high up within his criminal family, a street guy who was not yet elevated at the time of his death (and which was why, Luca guessed, he’d used Emily for her card counting skills to make the kind of bank his lower standing didn’t allow for) but being around them, she was bound to know more.  

She was a valuable asset, and he’d treat her as such.  

He picked up the handful of gauze and iodine, moving back to the coffee table. “It’s gonna sting like fuck, but you likely know that.”  

She did. Bracing herself, she clenched her teeth as one by one, Luca dabbed each cut and graze with the iodine-soaked gauze, wincing, hissing at the burning, sharp sting. “Gonna be a little black n’ blue for a while, honey,” he drawled, his mouth tilting into a smile. “Still pretty, though.”  

He winked, and it sent a spark through her, although the rational side of her brain told her that allowing herself to be charmed by a dangerous mobster was the last thing she truly needed right then. He didn’t make it easy, though, being attentive to her, looking as good as he did. She’d always had a thing for older men, and she could guess he likely had at least a decade and a half on her twenty-three years.  

“So, you gotta home I can take you to, people wonderin’ where the fuck you vanished to?”  

Home. It was a word she didn’t really have any true comprehension over, the place that to everyone else acted as a sanctuary, a safe haven, had truly been anything but to her. “No, I don’t.”  

“No port in a storm, huh?” he asked, gently lifting her leg to rest upon his slender thigh, smoothing her dress up a little to reach a cut beneath. His hands were so hot. Yet another spark flared within her belly.  

“No, no port.” She paused, meeting his eyes, knowing he was expecting more. “I’ve no idea who my father was, and my mother was a drunk, still is for all I know. I don’t have any siblings either so when I was eighteen, I left California and made my way across the country to New York. Wanted a better life for myself. It didn’t exactly go to plan. I have a habit of trusting the wrong people.” 

He looked away from her then, eyes flitting to her knee, pressing the gauze onto an open cut. He was definitely a man she shouldn’t have trusted, and he wasn’t entirely sure why that suddenly prickled quite sharply at his conscience, but it did.  

“You probably don’t trust me, but if you wanna crash here until you find your feet, you’re welcome to.”  

She looked at him with big, grey eyes full of hope. “Really, you don’t mind?” 

He sniffed. “Wouldn’t have offered if I did.” Placing the cork back into the iodine bottle, he moved to take a seat beside her again, picking up his drink. “Might be better if you do, actually. The Calabrese’s are likely lookin’ for ya. If you vanished and didn’t wind up as a dead body, and I didn’t get blown up, then it don’t take no genius to work out that you ratted on ‘em.”  

Shit. She hadn’t even considered that. It was a fear Luca was banking on playing upon, and it had worked flawlessly. “S’okay, though, sweetheart. As long as you’re with me, they ain’t gonna touch ya. You’re fine.”  

Was she, though? Emily truly had to wonder. She pondered over it for the rest of the night, Luca telling her she could go take a bath and clean up, loaning her one of his shirts to wear that absolutely buried her, telling her he’d take the couch while she slept in his bed. She tried to protest, but he wouldn’t hear of it. 

“I ain’t exactly a gentleman in a lot of respects, but you ain’t gonna sleep on the couch. Nah. It’s fine.”  

Was it, though? As her tired eyes fluttered, lying in the comfort of a big bed that smelled like her host, she truly did have to wonder.  

#luca changretta fanfiction #luca changretta smut #luca changretta x oc #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders smut #luca changretta fanfic #luca changretta fic #luca changretta #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #nobody's girl #luca and emily #adrien brody

[mxpseudonym]

Apple Cherry Blossom

Pairing: Luca x Blossom OC

Summary: Luca would like a little jealousy from his wife now and again.

Length: 1166 words

Warnings: None

A/N: I couldn't help myself 😭. I got inspired by “The Story of Ming Lan” and had to write this out. I hope you enjoy this out-of-the-blue post.

..

She held a half-eaten cherry in one hand and a pencil in the other. The account book on the desk in front of her laid open was for their new house. She would have to keep track of things like that now that she was officially a Changretta and a homemaker.

She put the rest of the cherry in her mouth, pitting it with her molars and tongue. Just when she was finished, a cup appeared in front of her mouth and she dropped the pit in to join the growing pile. Before she could think about it, another cherry was being held to her lips.

The attendant was none other than her husband who seemed both deep into the story he was telling her about his trip around town that led him to obtain a half pound of cherries, yet alert enough to steadily alternate between feeding them to her and providing a bowl to spit pits into.

She looked away from the amount they paid the butcher every month and up to Luca who was talking wildly with his free hand while patiently holding the cherry with the other.

“And finally we were walking through the street and this girl runs up to Ronnie. Would you believe it was Angela Cappoli? Could barely recognize her since she’s all grown up. And- here, it’s sweet,” Luca said, stopping his own story to push the fruit onto her.

She leaned back and picked up her glass of water first, taking a sip before catching the plump dark purple fruit between her teeth and letting him pull the stem.

“Angela Cappoli, can you believe it? Ma used to say we’d get married, you know?”

“Really? Why?”

“The Cappoli’s were bigger than us when I was in her belly, and she said a marriage could bring us together since Mrs. Cappoli was pregnant at the same time. Never worked out,” he concluded. Blossom nodded then dropped the pit in the cup. “You don’t have to worry about anything like that.”

“Worry?”

“Well we were a little sweet on each other for a while,” he admitted sheepishly. “But it wasn’t anything to be upset about.”

“I’m not upset, though?” She pointed out before before going back to her book. Luca blinked at her the squinted a bit. The next cherry from the little carton went to his mouth instead. This was his fault, really.

He was too honest and straightforward with her. He never wanted some miscommunication to come from vague, choppy words so he just told her everything. Blossom, therefore, didn’t worry about him lying to her. In conclusion, she had no reason to be the jealous type, sometimes to his dismay.

“It was a long time ago,” he continued carefully. “But today, she was real chatty. Kept reminiscing on old dates we had. And then she ran and gave me some of her parents’ apples.” He went back to feeding Blossom cherries, this time doing two in succession to watch her cheeks get a little chubby. “Don’t worry, I gave the apples to my sister-in-law.”

“You should’ve kept them, you like apples,” she said absently while flipping to a new page. Luca stared at her in disbelief.

“If my father told my mother, the sensible woman she is, that he’d taken the apples from an old sweetheart, even she’d give him a wack,” he told her. “And you’re not even the slightest bit worried about Angela?”

“Who cares about Angela? You’ve been talking for 20 minutes and haven’t even told me where these cherries came from,” Blossom reminded him. “Even if you wanted to marry her on your own, I wouldn’t mind if you took the apples. Your mother probably puts up a fuss to make your father feel good too. I doubt she thinks he’ll get taken away.”

Her mouth dropped open, ready to eat another cherry only to find there was none. She looked up, following Luca’s movements as he put the carton down and stood, heading to the couch. He laid out over the velvet and then looked at her with a dissatisfied face that was too similar to what children who felt wronged would pull. What was wrong with him now?

“You could pretend at least,” Luca grumbled. Blossom’s eyes roamed over his spread-out figure as she pondered. She was well within her rights to ignore him, and even confront him about being the strangest man she’d ever met. He wanted her to act foolish over another woman after all of the years they’d been together. No one could invite trouble, insist on it even, like him.

After a moment she stood. Picking up her glass, she took a healthy drink before tossing the last quarter at her husband and slamming the glass back onto her desk. Luca jolted, sitting straight up as he spluttered from the water up his nose. He blinked away droplets only to find Blossom with her hands on her hips.

“I leave you alone for one afternoon, and you go get yourself a woman to follow you around town?! A dog would be more loyal,” she scoffed. Luca blinked at her as she tsked and shook her head. “I should’ve known you weren’t over her. Her and her damn apples. Bastard.”

She clicked her tongue loudly and ignored the fact that the smile growing on Luca’s face had reached its widest point before he even knew to pretend like he wasn’t giddy. Luca wiped his chin and stood, walking around the coffee table to her.

“I haven’t thought about her in ages. Couldn’t even tell you what she was wearing. I only have my eyes on you. Ronnie’s got to keep me from walking in the street ‘cause I can’t see straight.”

Blossom turned from him and stopped herself from laughing at his ridiculousness. She only allowed a brief smile before rolling her eyes and putting her stern face back on. Luca’s arms didn’t waste a moment before they wrapped around her fully, almost making her lose balance.

“You’re mouth’s too sweet. Keeping me full of cherries just to pacify me. I shouldn’t have even let you come home. Go sleep on the street,” She scolded him the best she could with his face nuzzling into the crook of her neck. She could feel his grin.

“I have such a good wife. I’d sleep on the doorstep if you didn’t let me in. Happily.”

“I’ll let you off this time, but only because you can’t convince me you could find someone else to put up with you,” she concluded haughtily. Now that, he knew, was straight from her heart.

“I’ll go easier on my second wife,” he muttered, eyes closed peacefully even when Blossom’s head whipped around to him and tried unwrapping his arms that only wrapped tighter.

“Huh?!”

“Ah ah, stay like this. I’m just teasing. You’re my only wife until the end. The cherries are from Miss Martin. She said you’re sweet and pay good prices for her produce.”

Blossom muttered but finally leaned back into his embrace, “Rascal.”

#Luca x Blossom #Blossom OC #Peaky Blinders Imagine #Luca Changretta #Luca Changretta Fic #Luca Changretta Imagine #Luca Changretta x OC

[justrainandcoffee]

Luca, Roman Emperor.

“Ave Caesar, morituri te salutant.”

Hail Caesar, those who are about to die salute you.

I thought about this, as soon as I saw July's poll. @evita-shelby

The fact that I named his son after the founder of the Roman Empire, suddenly it has a new meaning 🙃.

#luca changretta #moodboard #peaky blinders #luca changretta x oc #luca changretta x reader

[evita-shelby]

Beware the Ides of March!

Grab your knives and togas and join me on this Tumblr Holiday where we celebrate the murder of Julius Caeser.

🥖send a prompt for a moodboard or a fic where the only requirements are: must have a murder, a knife, and/or a party

🍷 write a fic or a moodboard with the same requirements from the list above

🫒 let's play Caption This! Send a gif or picture of a character(ocs welcome!) And I'll supply the caption. You can also send the caption and i will find the gif or picture

🗡 the Gladiator Arena: send me a poll and the participants and let's see who wins the fight!

Won't be restricting myself to just peaky characters, every character I've written for be it a cillian murphy character, BBC's World on Fire and now, Masters of the Air

Masterlist

#ides of march #evacore #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders ocs #tommy shelby x oc #eva smith shelby #thomas shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x reader #luca changretta x shelby sister #luca changretta x polly gray #luca changretta x oc #jack nelson x oc #lizzie stark x reader #michael gray x reader #jack nelson x reader #diane shelby #mota fanfic #world on fire bbc #bucky egan x oc #buck cleven x oc #no one has to know fic #its only a paper moon fic

[zablife]

My Sun, My Moon and All My Stars-Part 1

Luca Changretta x OC (Aurora Sabini Changretta)

Summary: Luca and Aurora Changretta come to the UK to avenge the murder of Luca's brother and father. However, as their volatile marriage unravels, events take an unexpected turn.

Author's Note: This has been on my mind since I created the moodboard ages ago. And it's been requested in several forms, the most recent being a lovely anon who wanted to see Tommy with an American mafia girl. OC Rose Solomons belongs to @raincoffeeandfandoms. Prequel has been posted as phone calls in two parts here and here. I would def recommend reading that before starting this fic! One more part coming soon!

Warnings: language, domestic violence, mention of blood, use of ethnic slur

☀️🌙✨MASTERLIST

Luca stood pointing at a map with his forefinger, tracing a path from the garden to the center of Arrow House, mumbling in a low voice to his men. Thunder rumbled overhead as Aurora made her way into the room, unnoticed by everyone, skirting the perimeter of the room as she listened carefully. When she’d heard enough she spoke up from the back of the room, voice even and measured to show she was in control as much as her husband. “Non sono d’accordo, Luca.”

Luca’s head shot up as he searched between the faces to find his wife, though he thought he’d caught a hint of her perfume moments earlier, taunting him as he attempted to strategize. 

“It’s too risky to approach him at home again,” Aurora declared, stalking toward the desk with cigarette in hand. The smoke parted the men before her arrival at the table and she stamped out her cigarette a bit too forcefully before joining her husband where he stood. Although she hadn’t been invited to give her opinion, she’d been listening to every word, silently judging the ludicrous plan Luca was suggesting.

“Don’t you remember what the intelligence said about his family? They’re gypsies, fucking savages,” she emphasized. “And he’ll be expecting us this time so he'll have even more protection,” Aurora said with a dismissive shake of her head. Luca’s face and neck reddened at the scolding tone of her voice, his blood boiling instantly at the brazen way she dared to usurp his power.

The air grew thick with their silence and as Aurora’s eyes scanned the room, she noticed not one of the men looked in her direction. They shifted uncomfortably as Luca reached for a matchstick, placing it between gritted teeth.

A low growl emitted before his words, causing everyone to stand at attention once more. “And what would you have me do, tesoro?” he said the pet name without any hint of warmth, but Aurora did not back away. In fact, she stepped closer to her husband, standing just below his shoulder as she placed a hand to his forearm gently. 

“I’m only asking that we consider a few more options,” she said diplomatically. Then she reasoned, “There must be another way to get to Tommy Shelby. His sister’s home in London or perhaps one of his factories. We’ll have to wait for him to come to us this time.”

Luca removed the match from his mouth as she spoke, lighting it and held it perilously close to her face as he taunted, “We smoke him out, principessa? Is that what you want?” he asked moving even closer, the flame in danger of catching her loose curls on fire.

Aurora didn’t blink as she watched the flame dance before her eyes. She could feel the heat close to her skin and her pulse quickened. “Basta cosi!,” she warned with raised eyebrow.

As lightning flashed outside the office window the spell was broken, Luca blew out the match with a dark chuckle. Turning to his men he concluded with a wave of his hand, “You heard my wife.” Then rolling up the map before him with haste he added, “We’ll pick this up tomorrow when everyone’s rested.” Everyone filed out, but Matteo and Enzo remained to ensure nothing else was needed for the evening. Aurora remained at the window as Luca instructed, “Seven o’ clock sharp, you understand?” 

“Yes, boss,” Matteo and Enzo replied, trudging toward their rooms. It was only their second night in England and they had not yet acclimated to the time difference. They felt the exhaustion seeping into their bones, the relentless demands weighing on them heavily. 

Before they could move more than a few steps down the corridor, they heard the shouting begin. As the sound of glass shattering broke the crescendo of voices, Matteo ran a hand down his face, a hint of irritation as he sighed heavily. “Do you have the number for the hospital?” he asked his associate.

Enzo nodded slowly. “And the morgue,” he added solemnly, eyes lingering on the doorknob. He didn’t want to listen to the distinct sounds of Luca’s blows striking the object of his ire or Aurora’s muffled cries, but he would have to stand watch until it was over to know how to proceed. 

Luca tired easily tonight and Aurora limped from the suite thirty minutes later, hair disheveled to hide the bruise forming across her cheekbone. She fell once, picking herself up from the hard wooden floor with a sniffle and Matteo and Enzo turned from her as though they hadn’t seen her in ruin, a familiar routine of make believe.

“Let’s get some fucking sleep,” Matteo said when she disappeared into a separate room.

Enzo had just closed the door to his room and kicked off his shoes when the phone began to ring.

“Enzo, what’s going on? Luca hasn’t phoned,” Mr. Sabini grumbled.

“Luca’s been…working on strategy,” Enzo fumbled, thinking of the fight he’d just witnessed. He didn’t dare mention it to Aurora’s father though. Out of everyone who knew of their tumultuous marriage, Antonio Sabini was somehow unaware of his daughter’s plight. 

As if on cue, Antonio asked, “How’s Aurora?” 

Enzo gulped as he thought of a reply. “You know, she’s got her ideas,” he said truthfully.

“That’s my little girl!,” Antonio answered proudly. "She's got a sharp mind and she's good under pressure!" he boasted. "Mark my words, Enzo, this vendetta will end as quickly as it started now that Luca has my Aurora by his side. She won't lose any of our men either because she's much more delicate than he is with these affairs you see. Luca's always been too temperamental," he mused.

"Yeah," Enzo agreed quietly, hoping Mr. Sabini was right.

“Keep me informed. I want to know everything,” Antonio said sternly. “And keep Aurora out of danger if it comes to that.”

“Yes, sir,” Enzo reluctantly agreed, unsure how he was going to keep the promise. 

“And Enzo, buy her blue hydrangeas tomorrow,” Antonio ordered. “They’re her favorite. I don’t want her feeling homesick,” he added softly, the fondness of a memory seeping into his voice and making it much quieter than before.

“Of course,” Enzo said, replacing the heavy receiver in the cradle and falling into bed, only to be awoken an hour later by the sounds of lovemaking in the room next door.

—————————————-

At seven the next morning, Aurora entered Luca’s office, smiling to herself as she held a large bouquet in her arms. All the men in the room turned to drink in the sight of her glamour, a trait that lived on in her from her exceptionally beautiful mother. Enzo and Matteo exchanged knowing glances as they traced the lines of her face, noting how talented she’d become at hiding the swelling and bruises. 

Although it sickened them to watch, she bent low to capture Luca’s mouth in a tender kiss, pulling away to breath a near silent “mi dispiace” against his lips. For reasons known only to her and Luca, they always fell back into each other’s arms. It was as predictable as the rising sun.

“I know you are, baby,” he replied, turning her out of his lap. 

“Grazie, amore,” she said sweetly holding up the flowers and stroking his cheek adoringly.

Luca knitted his brow, a hint of confusion noticeable, before he glanced up at his wife with a smug grin. “Of course, sweetheart. If you’ll excuse us, there’s business this morning and I think you had your say last night.”

Aurora nodded obediently and went to put the flowers in water as though in a trance. As soon as the door had shut behind her, Luca’s expression changed to a deep grimace. “Which one of you assholes got flowers for my wife?” He leaned forward onto his elbows, awaiting an answer.

Soon Enzo spoke up with a slight tremble in his voice. “It was me, but it wasn’t because of last night, Luca.”

Luca narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck did you say to me?”

“Her father asked me to get ‘em,” Enzo clarified with a slight cough, suddenly remembering his lines in the play they were subconsciously rehearsing at any given moment.

“Figlio di puttana!” Luca said, smacking the desk with his palm. “He spoiled her and now look how she acts!”  He shook his head with an indignant scoff, turning to look out the window. “Thank God she married a man like me to keep her in her place, right?”

———————————————

“We aren’t in Darby’s territory any more. Where are we going, Luca?,” Aurora asked as the car bumped along the narrow roads. Luca turned to look out the window as though he didn’t hear, second guessing his decision to bring his wife along to the negotiations with the mad baker of Camden Town. However, Aurora would not be ignored. She had played the dutiful wife for weeks so as not to insult his manhood further, but every attempt at moving closer to Tommy Shelby had failed, resulting in multiple casualties. To make matters worse, every man lost was a member of her own family, brought from New York to aid the Changrettas in their vendetta. The idea of losing more men sickened her and she began to consider the possibility that she would have to challenge her husband once more.

Then Luca spoke up, but he only offered a sliver of information. “We’re on our way to Camden Town, alright?” he said before settling back into his seat with a sigh.

Aurora was raised at her father’s elbow watching the deals he made and how he researched his enemies. However, there were things she’d learned on her own as a result of being the only woman in a room full of men. How you had to demure and make them think an idea had been their own. She’d learned the art of manipulation and weaponized it early on as a means of survival. Today called for such an approach.

“An alliance with the Jews? That’s clever,” she praised, hoping her guess was correct. Running a hand along his knee seductively, she waited for Luca to confirm her suspicions.

Luca turned to face his wife, a surprised look on his face. “And how do you know about Alfie Solomons?” 

“He’s connected to the east Boston Jews. But, Darby knows him, of course. Says he’s unpredictable and violent,” Aurora added wearily.

She watched the muscles in Luca’s jaw tighten beneath the shadow of his fedora, knowing he didn’t like Aurora involving herself. Rubbing two fingers against his chin thoughtfully, he dismissed her concern. “I’ve spoken to your father and he approves. That’s all you need to know,” Luca said firmly.

“I wish you would tell me more about today,” she cajoled.

“No, amore. Not this time,” Luca said, clasping his large fingers over her gloved hand and giving her a squeeze that bordered on painful reprimand.

As the car jerked to a stop in front of a dilapidated building in Camden Town, she turned to her husband and took once last desperate chance as they exited the vehicle. “Luca, let me speak to Mr. Solomons. A woman’s touch to the negotiations might be just the thing to keep him from erupting,” she said innocently.

This infuriated Luca and he pulled her back, making her stumble on the rough cobblestones. “Like hell you will. This is my deal!” he spat.

“That concerns my family name and my blood!” Aurora retaliated, batting at his chest with her fists, unable to control herself further.

Luca’s eyes blazed with fury, striking her with full force and causing her to fall to the ground. Landing on rough stone, she sliced her arm as she hit, immaculate clothing ruined in the filthy street.

“Get the fuck up,” Luca commanded through clenched teeth.

Aurora winced involuntarily as she pushed her body forward, feeling the pain in her arm throb as soon as he placed weight onto her hand and blood trickle from her nose. “Vaffanculo!” she yelled, placing her fingertips to her chin and thrusting them toward him. 

Luca leaned down and dragged her to her feet, fingers digging into her flesh as he swore, "You make any more trouble for me and I swear to God you'll die here, Aurora. No one will know the difference if I tell them the Shelbys did it," he hissed in her ear as a small woman with dark hair appeared before them. 

“Can I help you with something?” she asked, looking the couple up and down, hands on her hips with more authority than someone her size ought to have. 

Luca released his wife immediately, straightening her clothes as he painted on a charming smile. “She fell on the cobblestones,” he explained smoothly. “I’m here to see Alfie Solomons. Is he in?” he inquired as he stepped forward, seeming to forget his wife in distress.

“Depends on whose asking,” the woman replied, glancing at Aurora with concern. 

Luca removed his hat as he introduced himself. “I’m Luca Changretta,” he said, extending a hand.

Thoroughly unimpressed by his charisma, the tiny woman tilted her head at him. “And who is she?” 

Luca coughed to cover his embarrassment. “This is my wife, Aurora. She’ll be staying outside,” he said with a pointed look at his wife, who stood, cradling her arm.

“If you want to see my husband, I insist this woman come in as well. She requires medical attention,” Rose said sternly. 

“If you insist,” Luca said, pursing his lips. 

“I insist,” the woman said with a definitive nod. “I’m Rose Solomons, Alfie’s wife. Come in,” she said with a wave of her hand.

“Darling,” Luca said with a sneer, extending his arm toward Aurora.

Aurora pushed past him and followed Rose inside. Luca followed two steps behind, removing a match from his pocket and chewing it ferociously. He didn’t like being humiliated by the Solomons woman and made a mental note to make Alfie pay dearly for it.

As Luca was shown to Alfie’s office, Rose took Aurora to a separate part of the distillery. Her interest was peaked now that she’d witnessed something between husband and wife that felt unsavory. The Solomons’ liked to make it their business to know everything about their associates and this felt like something worth noting.

———————

Rose expected someone quite different from the woman she was meeting today. She’d heard Aurora Changretta was a tigress, someone who never gave an inch to her enemies. However, the woman who stood before her bloodied and broken was not in a position to argue. She might listen to the plea on Rose’s lips so she began in earnest.

As Rose handed over a flannel dipped in cool water, she admitted what she wanted. “I’ll be blunt, Mrs. Changretta. My Alfie has cancer. He’s riddled with it. The doctors say it’s probably from the gas during the war,” she explained with furrowed brow as though she didn’t understand or believe the words that came from her lips. However, Aurora knew them to be true. They were the admission of someone who loved deeply and had not yet come to terms with an imminent loss. 

“I’m sorry,” Aurora responded. “But I don’t see how I can help,” she admitted.

Rose cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders, rising to her full height. “You can get that man out there to go home. Leave us in peace for the days we have left,” she asserted.

Aurora bit her lip to keep a bitter laugh from escaping. Instead she just shook her head. Taking a deep breath she turned to Rose and spoke slowly to make the other woman realize her predicament. “You think I tell him the ways of the world? No, he doesn’t answer to me,” she admitted, dabbing at her wounds. “He has very little use for me these days,” Aurora admitted in a soft whisper.

"I thought your family ran New York?" Rose asked slightly confused.

"And now it's my husband so you see we're bound," Aurora replied with a look of resolve.

Rose took in the sight before her, bruises covered by layers of make up, bones badly healed over time. The limp when she walked inside and the arm she cradled gingerly now. This was a woman who knew suffering and yet there was tenacity in her hazel eyes that couldn't be denied. It was this strength Rose appealed to now.

“You’d die by his hand? Because that’s where you’re headed, love,” Rose warned, recalling her own difficult past. “Won’t you try?”

Aurora paused for a moment, a trickle of bloody water running down her elbow as she washed. This went against everything Aurora had ever been taught. You never spoke against your family, no matter what happened. Her parents ingrained that in her at an early age. However, her parents’ marriage had been one based on love and respect. No matter how many times they reconciled, she and Luca did not carry the same affection.

As she sat in the damp distillery, listening to the distant sound of machinery, she thought of her future with Luca and his intention to crush her beneath him became abundantly clear. He didn’t care for her as he once did. When the money and the resources were gone, he would dispose of her.

Finally Aurora mumbled one word into the darkness of the small room, keeping her voice low in case Luca was nearby. “How?”

Rose inhaled a sharp breath, chin rising suddenly with renewed hope to meet Aurora’s wide eyes, full of questions and doubt. She knew how hard it would be to ask this of kind of trust from a stranger, but if she could convince her to take the first step, the rest would fall into place.

“We get you to Tommy Shelby,” Rose said confidently.

Aurora shook her head violently. “No, please. He’ll kill me.”

“He won’t. He’s not Luca,” Rose promised, rushing the rest of her speech for fear Aurora might bolt in fear. “This vendetta was started by the Changrettas and your husband is using your family to fund his war. Now he’s asking my husband to help. It won’t stop unless we say so. We can stop him, Aurora. Will you join me?” Rose asked, reaching for Aurora’s bloodied hand.

Aurora’s lip trembled thinking of crossing Luca, but she had had enough. If there was one thing her father taught her it was to fight for her own interests and she knew she still had fight within her. 

“Yes, I’ll help you,” Aurora agreed on a shaky breath, reaching for Rose.

“We’ll protect you, I promise,” Rose said, intertwining her fingers with Aurora’s stained fingertips. The blood that tainted her would soon be washed clean.

————————————

It had taken another week and several clandestine phone calls before Aurora could steal away to meet Rose. She’d convinced Luca that she needed medicine for her cuts and he allowed her to leave the hotel though she knew she didn’t have long. Rose knew a man who could help them meet in neutral territory, but it would be brief as Luca sent someone to watch over Aurora whenever she left. With that in mind, Aurora stole away one afternoon wondering if this was all a mistake.

The bell above the door of the chemist rang out and Aurora took a deep breath, scanning the small shop for Rose. The tiny woman stood in the corner, observing a box as though she were another patron and when she spied Aurora she beckoned to her. Aurora felt her heart thundering in her chest as she followed Rose through a narrow doorway, descending a dark staircase. However, it was far too late to reconsider and she marched ahead with as much courage as she could muster.

Aurora soon found herself face to face with Tommy Shelby who paced the length of a small, dimly lit room. She knew him instantly from photographs and descriptions of his deep blue eyes like two pools that could drown you if you stared too long. The moment she entered, she was mesmerized by him.

“You killed my wife,” Tommy said, a stillness coming over his features when he caught sight of his enemy. Aurora sucked in a breath, recognizing the inherent danger facing her. Violent men all had the same deceiving comportment, a snake coiled and ready to strike. 

“Tommy, please....” Rose interjected in a pleading tone, willing the meeting to continue. Rose glanced at Aurora and noticed a visible change in her demeanor, a hardening of her exterior as she refused to show any kind of weakness.

“Luca killed your wife. I only tried to kill you,” Aurora said defiantly, head held high.

A moment of silence passed as Tommy considered Aurora. Then she spoke again, "You misunderstand, Mr. Shelby. I'm trying to end this. It was never my fight," she said softly, feeling the weight of every life lost in service to her and the family.

“If this wasn’t your fight, why the fuck are you supplying your husband enough money and soldiers to overthrow the British empire, love?” Tommy countered.

“Loyalty. I hear that you’re like me when it comes to your family, Mr. Shelby. You would do anything to protect them. I didn’t agree with my husband, but I promised to protect him….”

“Do you honestly think he’d do the same for you?,” Tommy asked, blue eyes icing over to match the chill in his voice. He knew he was being cruel, but he had to test her in this moment to see if she would crumble.

“I have no illusions about our marriage,” Aurora confided on a low breath. She forced herself to make eye contact as she said, “That's why I'm here. Rose told me you might be willing to strike a bargain.”

Tommy scoffed, turning away from Aurora and she worried what she’d been told about his mercy was false. 

“Fucking hell, Tommy. She’s here and she’s willing to talk. Isn’t that enough?” Rose asked.

Tommy turned with a look of warning, “Alright, give him up.”

“What?” Aurora asked.

“Give up your husband and we’ll call it even,” Tommy demanded.

Aurora swallowed harshly, considering the choices at her disposal. Stay and see more bloodshed or end it with one final betrayal. It took only a fraction of a second to see the choice she had to make. 

“An ambush,” Aurora agreed quietly, fixing her gaze on Tommy. “But we have to make Luca think you aren’t expecting him. That he can take the shot.”

A smug look came over Tommy's handsome face. "You are as ruthless as they say, aren't you?" he commented. Then just as suddenly the amusement in his features disappeared and he turned stone faced once more. “How do I know I can trust you?” Tommy asked.

Aurora began to laugh bitterly.

“That’s fucking funny to you?” Tommy asked.

Aurora shook her head as a tear fell from her cheek, the enormity of her decision causing her to fall into a momentary fit of insanity. “He married me and he saw cashmere, cologne, red racing cars…All I wanted was love. It wasn't supposed to be like this,” she sniffed as she looked away from him, trying to catch her breath and regain composure. She pushed the pain away and felt her anger rise up in its place, “I just want out, you understand? I want out from under him," she confided, her whole body beginning to shake. 

Rose approached her and covered her with her shawl. “It’s alright, Aurora. You’re going to be alright,” she promised, looking to Tommy.

“Artillery Square, two days time,” he said with a satisfactory nod. 

------------------------------

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#Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby #Luca Changretta #Luca Changretta x OC #Tommy Shelby x OC #Luca Changretta x fanfic #Luca Changretta imagine #Tommy Shelby fanfic #Tommy Shelby imagine

[peakyswritings]

And as Luca looked at her, he was almost a normal man. In the reflection of her dark eyes, he wasn’t Changretta, the ruthless mafioso who had butchered and killed more men than he could count on his hands. He was just Luca. A love so strong that even he felt like could be redeemed. A love so pure it could wash away the blood that stained his hands.

Moodboard made for @justrainandcoffee ‘s blog-birthday. Aveline Young is an OC and belongs to her.

Flor, I hope you enjoy this little gift I made for you. Ever since I started reading about Aveline, she made her way into my heart and I just had to do a little something for her and Luca🤍

#peaky blinders fics #luca changretta x oc #aveline young #luca x aveline

[red-riding-wood]

OC: Charlotte Griffin

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Summary: Charlotte Griffin, on a quest to emerge from her family's dark shadow, becomes a spy in a gang war that puts her loyalties and desires into question as she grows closer to the man who is meant to be her enemy.

WARNINGS for whole story: eventual explicit sexual content and references, explicit violence and gore, mentions of physical abuse, language, ethnic slurs

The steel of the revolver was cold as my fingers brushed its trigger guard, Thomas pressing its handle to the palm of my hand. My fingers curled around it tentatively, though I hoped that he did not notice this. The last time I had held a gun, it had been my twin brother by my side.

“This is a revolver,” he said. “Six shot. Always hold your finger above the trigger until you’re ready to fire.”

Though it could hardly be called a smile, my lip quirked at that. Alexander’s choice of weapon had been a revolver, and the weight felt familiar in my hand, as did the sight of the chamber. But I did not want to talk about such things.

Thomas pulled a small box of ammunition from his pocket, and withdrew a brass bullet.

I cocked a brow at him as words began to form on his lips, and I said, “The next thing I know, you’re going to tell me this is a bullet.”

Thomas hesitated, the brass between his fingertips glinting in the light of the afternoon sun. His eyes seemed to glitter, and the quirk of his lip mirrored mine as he examined me.

“Those are .455 rounds,” he said, and handed one to me. The bullet was even colder against my fingertips, and though they itched to slot it into place, I awaited Thomas’ instruction patiently.

“Now…” he said. “… you see this on the side? You pull that, break it open, and load your bullets.”

Alexander’s revolver had been a Colt .45. An American model, a single action that required each round to be chambered individually. I’d never used a break-action, though I’d known it to be my father’s weapon of choice. Something sinister seemed to crawl its way to the bright of my soul as I did as Thomas asked, smothering the light. I hoped he did not notice the way my fingers trembled as I loaded the sixth bullet.

“All right, close it like that, now – yes, just like that. Now, you’re live.”

“I don’t need to cock the hammer?” I asked, my thumb hovering over the mechanism.

Like Luca, Thomas always seemed to take his time before answering, even if he knew his response. He was currently lighting a cigarette, dragging it along his bottom lip in the way I’d learned to be a habit of his. Only when a puff was blown and his lighter was placed back in his pocket did he say,

“No.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes – I was perhaps becoming too comfortable around him, letting my guard down in a way a spy should not, especially not a spy who dared dance with the enemy – and I situated myself so that the targets were in sight, the winds cordially still today so not a leaf rustled in the apple trees alongside the gongs.

Thomas came to stand beside me as I aimed, a cloud of smoke encircling him, his eyes shadowed by the cap he wore and still squinting against the sun, his thoughts hidden past his inscrutable countenance.   

The Webley kicked hard, though it wasn’t the kick that startled me, but rather, the memory it attempted to drag me into, of Alexander’s body pressed against my spine and his hands hovering over mine to steady my aim, of his chiming laugh when I started crying and shaking, of the warmth of his loving hands as he took the cold gun from me and brought me into his arms.  

“It’s not going to hurt you,” he’d told me. “Only those you point it at.”

Thomas side-eyed me, his lip curling into a tiny smirk that seemed to both humiliate and infuriate me. Unlike Alexander, his amusement was more smug than it was playful, though I was not a child anymore. And I was determined that he didn’t see me as such, that he didn’t see me as the little posh girl from London who was too frightened to shoot a gun.

“I’m all right,” I said, a little too defensively, and I attempted to steady my shaking hand as I eyed the gong; the bullet had hit the outer edge. “Let me try again.”

I sucked in a breath, and I banished the memories of Alexander, letting his warmth and his lovely laugh fade away, letting the cold bite of the winter air seize my marrow past my coat and flesh and bone, letting my boots sink into the soil of the pasture, letting the sounds of birds whelm the silence. And on my exhale, I squeezed the trigger.

I recovered better this time from the recoil, and my eyes remained focused on my target, on the bullet that had crept just an inch or two closer to the bullseye.

Thomas’ smirk remained.

I took another shot. And another.

And his smirk waned. And while my flesh crawled and while I knew, from the screaming light in my soul, that I should not have been pleased, my own lip tugged into the slightest of smiles, the hot rush of adrenaline spiking my veins.

Only when the sixth shot was fired and I lowered the Webley did my chest heave a tremulous breath, and I swallowed against a knotted throat, as if forcing back the doubt and the pressure, and, most important of all, the memories.

Thomas stepped forward, making his way to the front of the range, and I followed as he mumbled past his cigarette,

“So, when did you learn to shoot, eh?”

As we came further to the gong, my eyes raked across the impressions the bullets had made, all offset from the bullseye by perhaps a few centimetres. Not perfect, but far from awful.

“You don’t reckon it’s beginner’s luck?” I said, coming to stand by the gongs.

“Not with that grouping.” Thomas pointed with his cigarette to the impressions left by the bullets.

I swallowed again, and studied my grouping so I did not have to meet his eye as I said, “My brother taught me.”

The slightest whisper of breezes stirred the wisps of hair from my eyes, and  I shivered beneath my thick overcoat.

“I hear you have a lot of brothers.”

The unease in my hesitation was palpable, so much so that I knew Thomas could sense it. Anyone could. I had been trying so hard not to think of Alexander and his mischievous blue eyes and his warm embrace.

“My twin brother. Alexander,” I said past the ever-growing knot in my throat. “He used to say I needed to learn, to protect myself from bad men.”

“Bad men.” He mulled over the word, before quirking his lip. I met his eyes to find a glitter in their aquamarine depths. “Like me?”

“Yes,” I said, having found the irony in my business here but only tasting it on my tongue now. “Like you.”

“Your brother was wise.” Thomas handed me six more bullets.

“He was.” I swung my head away from his gaze as I reloaded the Webley. “Reckless, but, clever. He caught on faster than anyone in that family. Including me.” I slotted the last bullet into place with lead in my gut, eager to change the subject from my brother if only to someone who hadn’t left a fracture in my soul. “Except for maybe my cousin. The only one who seemed to get away. Granted, she went to live with the Gypsies – that’s what my brother said. She likely went mad.”

“But you stayed.”

The Webley snapped shut, and another silence fell between us. I found myself looking him in the eye again only to find an unexpected intrigue in bright blues.

“I stayed.”

“And why did you stay?”

“For my brothers, mostly,” I answered in earnest, my tone taking on a grave note as I said my next words, “My father was a bad man, Mr. Shelby. They needed me.”

“And yet, here you are.”

My lip quirked. And I spared myself one moment and one moment alone to feel an amount of guilt for having left. Who was there now to take care of Ivan when he drank too much? Who was there to keep the others safe?

No one, and yet… there wouldn’t have been even if I’d stayed. My father would’ve found a suitor for me eventually, would’ve married me off to form some allegiance with the Solomons or the Sabinis.

“I started to listen to my ambitions rather than my heart,” I told Thomas, knowing full well that the threat of an unhappy marriage wasn’t the only thing that drove me away. Something had pulled me here; for whatever reason, Small Heath, with all of its bad men and its relentless bloodshed, had whispered thoughts of a throne to me.

Though, I didn’t necessarily want to tell Thomas these thoughts, either. The last thing I needed was to have him suspicious of me desiring more than what he was offering. So, I changed the subject,

“And who taught you to shoot, Mr. Shelby?”

A puff of smoke spiced the winter air, and he rolled the cigarette between his fingers, gaze fixating somewhere on the distance as if I had ceased to exist. He didn’t look me in the eye when he finally said,

“Let’s head back, shall we? See if we can group all your shots.” Cigarette wedged back in his teeth, he turned, black coat swishing at his heels, but I kept my feet planted in the sodden earth.

“Was it your father?” I called to him, raising my voice over the faint bluster of the wind as he walked away. “Most men learn from their fathers.”

He stopped, head sinking just below his shoulders, as if the weight of the world was finally beginning to bury him. I yearned to witness his countenance, to learn what emotions he hid beneath those eyes of frozen tides. And he turned, slowly, his cigarette cast to the earth and stubbed out with the toe of his boot, as if the taste were suddenly foul.

The cap rose to reveal those aquamarine eyes, and when he looked at me, I thought I almost detected a rage burning in those icy depths. “My father was a bad man.”

“Worse than you?” I cocked a brow.

Thomas Shelby nodded, slowly, the flame of rage flickered out, as if silenced by the winds, silver fragments of his eyes a hollow vestige of what once had been, just like the tendrils of smoke that rose from beneath the toe of his boot.

“Worse than me.”

Though eager to pry, I allowed another silence to stretch between us. I found that there was more to learn about people from the spaces between which they spoke than their actual words, but his eyes were squinted tight against the glare of the setting sun, and the peak of his cap still shadowed them in a mysterious dark that was fitting of his cryptic nature.

“That reminds me,” I said, tone shifting as I walked forward, deciding to release his gaze so as not to make my curiosity overly known. “I wanted to ask your permission to take a day or so to visit London. I have business there. But I can be back as soon as I can.”

“What sort of business?” he asked as I fell into stride beside him, and a breath slowly hissed from my nose as I recalled Aberama’s threat, as the golden line of the horizon winked like that of the citrine amulet I would need to fetch.

“Business with bad men,” I said, and caught his gaze out of the corner of my eye. Something flickered through it that was too fleeting to catch, and it ate at the pit of my stomach. But I clarified, the word bitter on my tongue, “Family.”

“Very well, Charlotte. We can go over the details when we get inside.”

And across the sprawling acres, a maid in black and white waved a frantic hand in the air to catch our attention, the other clutching at her skirts as she rushed from Arrow House. Frances, as I recalled, her withered frame unmistakable even at this distance.

A look passed between Thomas and I, and I pressed the weight of the revolver back into his gloved hand. Whatever was going on, it was surely better off in red hands than white. 

---

I tried not to betray the way my hand trembled around the phone as I set it down on the finely veneered cedar-wood desk of Thomas Shelby’s personal home office.

But Thomas did not pay such subtleties any mind. “What’s going on?” he demanded, his tone darkened by an urgency I had not yet witnessed from the collected gang leader. His fists were balled, shoulders hunching as he rested his weight on the desk.

“It’s Matteo. Luca’s requested a meeting… at one of the local churches. He says I need to be there in thirty minutes.” My tone, thankfully, did not share the same trepidation as my hands. I had learned to exert more control over my words than my body language.

“Why?” Thomas’ eyes darted across my features, impatient for an answer. It was almost unsettling how much haste brewed beneath his demeanor. “Did he say why?”

“He did not,” I said, my mind whirling, thinking back to my last interaction with Luca – the blood on his desk and gloves, the way he had dismissed me so bitterly. “I have a very bad feeling about this, Mr. Shelby. We may not have ended on the safest terms.”

“We’ll do as he says. But I’m ordering ten men on horseback, and three in cars, on the road. What church is it?”

Fear prickled my flesh. I shook my head. “Mr. Shelby, I think it’s much better that I go alone. I’ve come this far; I don’t want to lose his trust. Sending reinforcements could be more dangerous than sending me alone.”

For one moment in which I swore he could’ve heard the raucous beating of the heart that nearly chattered my teeth, those twin blues bore into my soul, piercing through the layers of carefully-constructed dignity and calm, striking the pitch black of my soul where both fear and something too dark to fully discern dwelled.

For the briefest of moments, I thought I might’ve glimpsed something like concern in the bright of his eyes.

“Fine,” he said, at last sparing me from the icy hooks of his gaze. “I’ll have a mare saddled for you in the stable. You know I don’t trust taxis, Charlotte. I trust horses. Your father was a regular at the races, always placed a hefty sum of coin on his bets. I imagine with your upbringing, you were taught to ride?”

Alexander had been the one to teach me to ride, not my father. Sometimes a horse could take you places an automobile couldn’t, places away from watchful eyes and cruel hands, from biting sneers and bitter disapproval. Away from misery and sin.

I could do nothing but nod, trying to swallow my heart since it had crept to my throat, and the heels of my boots clicked against the flooring as I made my departure, knowing Frances would await me on the other side of the door to escort me through the labyrinth of the manor.

As I reached for the doorknob, I paused, my eyes catching on a photograph on one of the tables. A blonde woman, her features fine yet striking, her eyes a pale grey and her flesh a milky white, her head held high despite the weight of the sapphire strung around her neck. Her hair was tied back but held unmistakable curls, and though she donned a brilliant wedding gown and she smiled, some kind of sadness brewed beneath those pale irises and seemed to reach for the empty of my soul, sending a cold shiver through my bones, as if her ghost was reaching for me as Alexander’s had.

She must’ve been Thomas’ former wife, I reasoned. I’d glimpsed portraits of her around the house, hadn’t paid much mind until now. My eyes wandered to the lock of champagne hair at the base of the frame, the one that coiled around the little red ribbon that had been placed alongside it. Grace Burgess, her name was in life; she had been killed on order of the Changrettas. 

I looked back to Thomas now, where he sat in his chair, flipping through some documents rather tensely, a coil of smoke rising from the cigarette he clenched between two shaking fingers and his dark brow sewn by stress.

“Mr. Shelby…” I wasn’t quite sure why the words left my chest, but they were gentle, perhaps softer than I had anticipated them to be. As if they came from the dwindling light still shining past the black of my soul.

Pale eyes met mine again, brow raising. He took a puff of his cigarette. “Yes, Charlotte?”

I managed a small, sad smile, not unlike the woman in the photograph’s, and shook my head, unsure of what I had wanted to say.

“Nothing, Mr. Shelby,” I said, and bid him farewell, hoping that the heavy door that swung shut behind me would swallow whatever weakness, whatever strange kindness had consumed me in that brief shift of reality.

---

Dusty was the air aroused by the drum of hooves against the pavement, and it reeked of rubbish and soot in these narrow streets. I didn’t think I would ever become accustomed to the sour undertones of urine and the brawling men who threw themselves about as if they were wrestling children.

The air was shattered by the sharp crack of a bottle that smashed against the brick of a colonnade; the streets were beginning to widen, lighten with the faint trace of dying light through the smog-ridden air.  

I eyed the coat that was swishing at my heels in time with my horse’s strides, the ink black of the thick fabric dimming gradually with each fleck of dust that it collected. The mare’s beautiful white coat was greying, sullied by such filth. I nearly scowled, but set my gaze ahead, to the dark swathing of ebony beneath the awning of the ivory church.

The evening’s light limned the church’s colourful, stained windows in a graceful sort of beauty, and shadowed the recesses that were hidden by the surrounding buildings in a sinister sort of dark. Of course Luca had chosen this place. It was fitting for someone who seemed to hide the wretched half of his soul.

Anxiety brewed beneath my flesh as I pulled gently back on the reins, the mare seeming to sense this as she nickered to announce our presence, cone-shaped ears swivelling back to me before settling on the building ahead. She pawed at the concrete, the jarring scrape of her hoof tensing my shoulders as I swung gracefully down from her saddle. She nickered again as I led her to the hitching post, still trying to drum something up from the barren earth, as if calling upon the souls of the damned. She began to thrash against her reins, dark eyes flaring wildly.

“Shhh,” I said softly, my leather-clad fingers ghosting her snout, letting her smell me, my other hand reaching round to her sturdy neck to lightly brush off some of the dust that had collected on a coat that had once been pure as the snow.

“I know you’re afraid,” I told her with the same gentleness in my tone that I had revealed to Thomas. I glanced down her line of sight to the church, a shudder tracing my flesh as I imagined Luca awaiting me. “But you cannot show them.” My eyes darted around to the onlookers who were beginning to take notice of the mare’s display.

She eased if only slightly under my touch and my words, and so I led her to the hitching post beside the nearest building for good measure. A hot breath whickered against my hair, stirring up fine strands of champagne locks. I couldn’t help but smile, and patted her affectionately as I tied her to the post.

My smile faded as I approached the door to the church, brushing what I could of the dust off from my coat. A cold chill seemed to work its way beneath my flesh, and I took a sharp breath in as I attempted to force down my nervousness, my doubts.

Luca may have worn two faces, but so could I.

I knew that I courted death each time I met with the man, and I knew that last time, I had dared too close to the flames of his wrath. I knew that someday, perhaps, I would no longer prove useful to Luca, that the false information from Thomas would run dry or he would find someone else for his dirty work, but perhaps that someday had drawn closer than I had imagined.

But surely not even Luca would rid of me on holy ground?

The church was barren, quiet, the air stale, but not a complete assault on the senses. Rather, the scent of myrrh and the faintest trace of smoke glided across an oily odour that indicated a fresh paint; I slipped a leather riding glove from my hand and ran a finger across the benches. It came up wet.

I rubbed the oil paint between my fingers and turned my attention to the black-coated man who stood before the altar, a beaded rosary clasped between slender fingers and held to the Virgin Mary statue as if in offering. As I approached, my heels clicked against floorboards that groaned and wailed as if caging spirits of the underworld, as if kept at bay by the rusted nails and splintered alder.

The smell of the incense grew stronger, the myrrh almost innerving in comparison to the piss and grime of the streets. The man’s head was bowed, hat tipped to obscure his features. But I would’ve recognized his voice anywhere.

“So it seems you are not of Hell after all, Miss Griffin.”           

His voice was serpentine, each syllable hissed more than spoken, though the undertones seemed to rumble low from his chest.

The rosary was tucked away into a pocket of his overcoat, and the silhouette of a face tilted towards me.

When was the last time he had called me by that wretched name? I tried not to dwell on it too much, tried not to remember the cold feel of the Webley in my hands and how it had reminded me of my father.

I smirked, once more forcing down the bitterness and the questions and the doubts, and said, “Out of the two of us, I wouldn’t think my soul would’ve been the one in question.” My voice, in contrast, seemed to pitch too high.

We were a few feet apart now, and the incense that burned on the altar masked the scent of his usual cologne. But pale green eyes fell upon mine beneath the shadow of his hat. From the last rays of the daylight, the windows bled upon pale features, softening a sharp cheekbone.

I took a step forward, heart thudding in my chest, and reached my hand out to remove his hat with a smirk still plastered on my painted lips. I was tempted to rub the oil of the paint across the felt, for I knew how much he prided himself in his appearance, but I switched hands and relieved it from a neat bed of jet-black hair. The back of my hand brushed along his jaw, the contact intentional.

“You know, it’s a great disrespect for a man to not remove his hat upon entering a house of God,” I told him.

“Then maybe you’re right,” he said.

“I’m right about a lot of things,” I said, and placed the hat beside the incense. “Just like I’m right in assuming that you didn’t forget to remove it. You just wanted an excuse to have me this close to you.” I paused, my eyes seeking his for any signs of emotion before adding, low yet soft, “Again.”

Pale greens narrowed, flitting across my own features. He was studying me. He seemed to do that a lot. And as two-faced as he was, not even he could hide the wick of burning sin that seemed to set them alight for just a mere moment.

And then he was turning his back, and fitting a toothpick between his teeth; an angular jaw moved against the grain of the wood. He was most likely in contemplation.

“If I wanted to be close to you, piccola spia, you’d be begging to never see me again.”

A tickle of a current darted along my ribs at his words, and I cocked my head at him. “Is that a threat, or a flirtation?”

The toothpick twirled slowly between his lips, and he turned to catch me in the side of his gaze. “While you know I enjoy our pleasantries, don’t make the mistake of thinking this is a social call. I summoned you here because I have a lead on Shelby’s whereabouts.”

“Of course,” I said with a tight smile. Using people was the way of the world. I hadn’t forgotten that I was still just a tiny pawn in his game.

“Tommy Shelby is entering a fighter into a boxing tournament come the end of winter.” Luca wound his way back to me, the boards groaning again beneath his weight, lost souls screeching. “High stakes. High bets.” His overcoat settled at his heels as he came to stand before me again, closer than we’d been before, as if to prove some sort of point. I tried in vain to disguise my rapid blink as a hot breath fanned across my cheeks and that damned toothpick shifted in his mouth.

“As you will come to learn, Luca…” I purred. “… I have many uses.” My brows raised a fraction, my eyes once again seeking his for that inkling of desire that sometimes graced their pestilent green. I received more than my wish; they swept down across the corset that hugged my stomach tight to the curve of my hips, and dragged leisurely up to the hint of cleavage that my gossamer scarf failed to hide.

“But brawling is not one of them,” I said, as his eyes met mine again. They were brighter, if only by a tinge.

“He will be there, in the audience, along with what’s left of his little gang,” Luca told me. “I need you to get my men and myself in.”

“You’re going to kill Thomas in the middle of a tournament? That’s bold, even for you Italians.”

His lip curved into the semblance of a smile around his toothpick, and he tilted his head at me this time, eyes narrowing again. “You doubt my ability, piccola spia?”

My eyes roved across him, at the toothpick that had stilled between thin lips, at the faint gleam of mischief in his eye, and I smiled back.

“That wasn’t what I said, Luca. I have no doubt in your abilities… but my answer is no.”

His smile fell slack, and the mischief was gone from his eyes. As he was rendered speechless, I turned to the alter, wafting a gout of the incense towards me and inhaling deeply, relishing in the aromatic scent of the myrrh.

I know you’re afraid, my own words echoed in my skull. But you cannot show them.

The fabric of an overcoat teased the line of my hip, and a rush of stale air stirred my skirt faintly from my ankles. A hot breath raked down the side of my neck, fluttering the threads of champagne locks that seemed to dance at the corners of my vision. The shiver that ran down the length of my spine was from the incense, and nothing more.

“No? Your answer to me is ‘no’? You’re fortunate, piccola spia, that you are not put down like the rest of those filthy dogs. But you’re not fortunate enough to answer me with ‘no’.” His toothpick rattled in his teeth with a bitter wrath.

I still had not become used to this side of him, this temper that flared beneath the surface of such poise and control. But unlike him I kept my calm despite the mad thrum of my heart against my ribs; my hand stilled where it wafted the incense, and I spoke evenly, “I still have a reputation to maintain among the ranks of those ‘dogs’, Luca. And I will not be caught letting you in to the event.”

My throat tightened, collapsed beneath the force he applied to his fingers, rings hard and cold against my sensitive flesh. I sputtered, and gasped, the scent of the incense tapering as did my oxygen.

Green eyes flashed, and a broken toothpick hung, suspended by one thread of wood, from his lip. His nostrils flared and his body pressed close to mine, backing me into the sharp edge of the altar, as he looked me in the eye.

“You knew about the event?” he half-growled, half-hissed.

I gulped beneath his grasp, and parted my lips to attempt a defense, but tuned my ears to the sound of a whinny and the click of a chambered bullet outside the glass of one of the majestic windows.

We both quieted; his grip loosened, and a glare was cast upon me before his attention turned to the window, and incense flooded my aching lungs.

As I sputtered, I glimpsed the silhouette of a horse and rider outside the stained glass.

“You brought the cavalry, I see,” Luca said, and clicked his tongue disapprovingly against the roof of his mouth. The toothpick fell to the floor and he swept a few stray wisps of black hair from his forehead.

Of course Thomas had disobeyed my request. But for what purpose, I wasn’t quite certain of. Images of the blonde woman with sad, grey eyes returned to me, haunting me.

“A man won’t even remove his hat in the presence of God... who knows what else he might do to me in here,” I said, my voice slightly raspy from the hold he’d had on my breath, but my tone dipped in a sultry tincture.

Chest still heaving with an ireful breath but clearly attempting to calm himself, Luca’s gaze flashed to me again in a strange yet satisfying mixture of virulence and curiosity.

“Be there. Have a Mr. Bennet on the guest list. And my men, too. Or this one…” The brass of the bullet gleamed in the soft bath of the emerald and magenta light of the window as he held it up to me. “… this one’s for you.”

NEXT CHAPTER coming soon!

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[rysko]

Kings of Spades - Part 4 l Luca Changretta x M!OC

Summary: Juliusz is stuck in a limbo of not being useful enough to Tommy and, to his inner dismay, impatiently awaiting any 'orders' from the Italians. That changes when he visits a work colleague...

Previous Chapter

Warnings: mentions of drug usage, Peaky-typical swearing and violence, minor death

A/N: It's heeeeere!!! This chapter went through SO. MANY. rewrites. It's mostly a set up for the next few chapters (i cannot wait to share them with yall, there's so many scenes i've been waiting to write :>) I hope ya'll like it. Have fun!

(the occasional use of Polish/Italian will be translated at the end of the chapter, while Polish will be directly translated by me, Italian is with the use of google translate, so sorry if there's any mistakes)

It was a slow morning in the Small Heath office. At this hour, only a few people were clocked in. Thomas and Juliusz, on account of being known early birds (or insomniacs for that matter), were already at their respectful places, getting the first points off their to-do lists. Curly visited for a short while, but only to update Thomas on a newly birthed foal.

“A really nice horse, I’m telling you, Tommy! The beautiful reddish coat she has, and nice strong legs!” He rambles on as both he and Tommy exit his office and walk by Juliusz, assembling some files at the main entrance desk.

“That’s good Curly.” Thomas smiles ever-so-slightly.

“We’re thinking of naming her John, as a tribute.” Curly looks at Thomas in anticipation, clearly more excited than anyone else.

“...How nice.” Thomas chokes back a laugh, glancing at Juliusz in an almost ‘help me’ look. The Pole isn’t having any of it.

“It’s not like the horse cares, unless you’ll call her Esme?” Juliusz smirks at Thomas, then proceeds to throw a small smile in Curlys’ direction.

“Then she’ll come back and butcher us before the Italians do.” Thomas sighs through his cigarette, clearly fighting off a smile. It’s nice to see just a bit of tension ease, especially after yesterday. Thomas damn near interrogated Juliusz after his ‘truce’ meeting with Changretta, only to be left disappointed, and somehow even more paranoid, after he learned that no crucial information has been found out.

He’d never admit it, but some part of Juliusz impatiently waited on a call from the Italians. Where he was right now was a limbo, overwhelmed with emotions from the evening before, mixed with the tense atmosphere of Small Heath all wrapped in… Uncertainty. He didn’t know anything of importance to Tommy, and Changretta was as enigmatic as ever in letting Juliusz know his use. He shook his head to snap himself back into reality as he opened yet another novel-length document from the worker unions, despite his thoughts going everywhere but labour disputes. 

There’s still work to do. He doesn’t need to be glancing at the telephone every minute.

With Curly leaving the office in an almost giddy step, Thomas turns to go back to his duties. With a raise of a heavy document, Juliusz stops him.

“What will you do about Jesse Eden?” The lawyer repeats, it might as well be the 100th time he’d asked his employer that question since the communist representative started sniffing around the Shelby factories.

“What about her?” Tommy stood next to Juliusz’ desk in a relaxed pose, hands in his pockets, a hand-rolled cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. 

“She’s not making these strikes easy for the company. I thought you’d deal with her already, a revolution is coming.” He plops the file back on the desk and reaches into his jackets’ inner-pocket, taking out his cigarette tin and a pack of matches.

“I thought you were on the workers’ side.” Tommy replies in his usual smug tone, one that he uses whenever he thinks he’s got someone figured out. Juliusz fights the urge to roll his eyes. 

“I’m a Shelby Company Limited employee first, whatever i believe comes second. I don’t need drunken men frustrated with their life running around the street with guns and bayonets. And i’m sure you don’t as well, Thomas.” He slides the tiny box open to reveal just one match left. The oddly comforting smell of burning sulphur reaches Juliusz’ nose as he lights his cigarette. 

Working for the Shelbys these past few years has been fulfilling, and in some ways he’s been considered part of the family. This deranged, insane, unhinged and frankly dysfunctional family, always within punching distance as well as earshot.

It happened by accident. One minute you’re just a newly hired company lawyer in the Garrison after hours, the other you’re screaming “DUCK” to the oldest Shelby, as Irishmen flood the place with knives in their hands, IRA songs on their lips, and an inconceivable amount of alcohol in their blood. A drunken brawl, which frankly Juliusz wouldn’t expect to go that well, ended in only a few bruises on the brummie side. He rubbed his hands in pain, as he thought that he’s definitely going to regret that throughout the next week. Juliusz’s trance was paused by the first pat on the back of many…

“I knew i knew you from somewhere.” The surprisingly jolly (and honestly, probably as drunk as the Irish on the ground) Arthur Shelby squinted slightly at Juliusz, trying his hardest to pinpoint his face to any he might know. “Me brother hired you, right? From Solomons?”

“I wish i’d get introduced to you under better circumstances, Mr. Shelby.” He greeted him politely, as best as possible, while catching his breath after the fight. His hand reached for a handshake. 

“That’s the best circumstance there is! Just a couple of lads, fighting about.” Arthur slaps Juliusz’s handshake away, only to pat Juliusz’s back again, making some of the broken glass on his shoulders fall off. “Call me Arthur, would ya? You took out this bastard's tooth for me, i’m no Mr.” He kicks a laying man, not sure if it’s a beaten IRA associate, or a Peaky Blinder who's celebrating early by taking a nap on the wooden floors of the Garrison.

“I could go for another right about now.” Arthur looks around for any more fiends he could beat up without any consequences.  “Harry! Have we got any more Irish?!” He shouts, filling the whole room with his voice, despite being only a mere few meters from an unamused barkeep. 

“Only Irish whisky, ‘m afraid.” Harry smiles smugly in Arthur’s direction, looking up from searching for a broom to start cleaning this ruckus with.

“Eh, it’ll do.” He grumbles as he reaches over the bar to grab a bottle. “Do you want any- uh...?” He looks at Juliusz like he’s trying really hard to remember something, his voice now surprisingly polite. The Pole observes him with a curious glance. He’s different than people described him. Sure, unhinged was the right word some workers used. That man is unhinged, but only when the situation calls for it, it appears. There has to be more to that seemingly simple man, and he’s nice enough, Juliusz figures. Not many people wanted to get to know him (not that he complained, at least vocally). A foreigner with a learned London accent probably doesn’t spark a lot of trust. 

“Uh, Juliusz.” He joins his side at the bar, glancing briefly over his shoulder at the Irishmen on the floor, unconscious, and the locals getting back to drinking the day away.

“Yewl…” It’s not rolling off his slightly intoxicated brummie tongue well. “How about Jul?” Arthur suggests as he pours two heaping glasses of whisky, seeming proud of himself and the nickname he thought out.

"Good enough," Juliusz shrugs and tries to fight off a chuckle. 

“You seem like y’don’t get out enough. You’re a Blinder, look like a fookin’ egghead, but a Blinder nonetheless!” They clink their overflowing glasses together, both spilling a bit on the floor and hands. “What do you do in our company anyway?” He takes a big gulp of the whisky.

“I’m the new company lawyer.” Juliusz says, trying his hardest not to sound as excited as he actually is, but his eyes have been sparkling with curiosity and ambition ever since he stepped foot in Small Heath. Sure, most would think London to Birmingham is a downgrade, but going from a law advisor at an illegal ‘bakery’ to a company lawyer in a successful, legal business is quite the leap, at least for him.

“Oh jesus, an egghead, i was right.” Arthur choked-laughed on his drink, while Juliusz responded with a raised eyebrow, wanting to signal annoyance, but couldn’t help laughing along with the oldest Shelby. “I have to take you out to drinks with Michael, this kid’s right up your alley. John too, a bit less in your alley, but he’s a fun bloke, and also…” Arthur rambled on, and Juliusz surprisingly found himself listening. With a small smile on his lips, he reaches for his matches, and lights his and Arthurs’ cigarettes.

“I’m taking care of it.” Thomas tries to shut down the conversation.

“In what fashion, exactly?” Juliusz’ tone is starting to sound annoyed. Can’t Tommy for once in his life not speak in half-assed riddles? “I can take care of it if you need me to. I’m sure we can find something on her.”

“I’m planning to meet Miss Eden and discuss the whole dispute, and come to a conclusion that benefits us both.” Thomas says the whole plan directly to the wall, words spewing out of his mouth with grey smoke, not even appearing to consider his employees’ offer. Juliusz studies him for a few seconds.

“That’s a very long way of saying you’re going to stop the strikes with your cock.” He points his hand lazily in Tommy’s direction, cigarette held between his middle and ring fingers.

“Did Ada tell you that?” Tommy finally looks at him, then makes a sound which can only be described as something between a chuckle and a scoff.

“No. Has she told you something similar?” Juliusz raises an eyebrow whilst taking a drag of his cigarette. “I’ve always thought she’s very bright.” He lets out. Something inside him tells him he should let go and stop his remarks, but he’s frankly too annoyed with Thomas and too stressed to let it out in any other way.

“It just works.” Tommy breathes out.

“Thank God most judges are repulsive old men, you’d have put me out of a job otherwise.” He smiles smugly. Thomas only responds with a prolonged, empty stare.

“Did anyone call?” Tommy changed the subject, clearly done with whatever their conversation was up until now. 

“No one you’d find important.” Juliusz sighs, deflating slightly. Closing his eyes, only opening them to look at the telephone again.

“If they do-” 

“I will! For gods’ sake.” He snaps back, his hands tightening into fists. Tommy doesn’t seem impressed, his icy blue eyes seem to change in a way, as if switching approaches. 

“I have an appointment with Ms. Ross in a bit, let her in when she comes.” His tone is fake casual, as he puts out his cigarette in the ashtray resting atop Juliusz’s desk. Tommy leaves in the direction of his office just after that.

“What am i? Your secretary now?” Juliusz whispers-shouts after him, not earning a response. 

“Niewiarygodne.” He mutters to the now empty room, his only companion being the ever-present floating dust that came with the betting board. He sighs and buries his head in the crook of his elbow, only to immediately glance at the phone in anticipation.

.

.

.

. 

.

Silence. What is he even expecting?

Juliusz takes a deep breath. His fists are shaking slightly. This time, he’s not sure if it’s the stress or his body asking for some more snow, even if he promised himself he’d use it less, out of necessity. It could be his hands acting out, again. He closes his eyes tightly.

Pull yourself together. 

An otherwise soft hand riddled with faint freckles and birthmarks, and a big, jagged scar going through it’s back, reaches towards the stack of paperwork once more.

**************

He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but Juliusz was suddenly taken out of his work trance by the sound of the front door opening. Glancing at his watch, he saw that only an hour has passed, still early, for most. 

Out of the corner, he saw the frail figure of a woman, who after a brief moment of thought he recognised as Ms. Ross. She looked quiet and unassuming, almost like a mouse. Juliusz signed the last piece of documentation with a swift motion of a fountain pen, before standing up from his chair. Ms. Ross looked around the office warily, before her gaze rested on the lawyer that stuck his head out of his office.

“Can i help you?” He stepped in her direction, straightening his jacket.

“Oh. Yes, you can. Where can i find Mr. Shelbys’ office? I’ve got an appointment.” She asks, but seemed on edge, though Juliusz couldn’t blame her. Civilians hardly ever relax in the vicinity of the Peaky Blinders, especially Thomas.

“It’s just straight on, there’s a sign on the door, can’t miss it.” He nodded in the general direction of Tommy’s working space, shooting her a polite smile, to which she responded with a nervous grin and a rushed ‘thankyou’ as she headed for Thomas’ office. He saw her off with his gaze, then proceeded to look around the Small Heath office, people steadily turning in and starting business, mostly revolving around betting. All his paperwork for the day was done, he was only needed for a meeting in one of the factories, yet he still felt like he forgot to do something. Another look at his watch reminded him, midday. Michael should be able to answer the phone right about now.

With a quick spin and the hospital address, he waited next to the mounted telephone, leaning against the wooden, dusty walls.

“...Yes?” Rang a voice from the other side. 

“Michael, hey.” Juliusz put the speaker against his shoulder nad cheek. “How’ve you been?”

“Julius! Better, i guess.” Juliusz heard something that seemed like someone getting up from the rusty hospital beds. “Haven’t heard from you in a bit, old man.” 

 “Old man?” He laughed. “I’d like to see you call Thomas that, i’m barely his age.” 

“He’s my supervisor,” Michael quips. “We’re basically equals, Company Accountant, Company Lawyer.” He drags on, his tone visibly amused.

“Equals? Don’t forget who helped you study for your Worcester course, because it damn well wasn’t Tommy.” 

“I still don’t know what i need risk analysis for.” 

“That’s what I thought in university as well. And i haven’t used it since.” Both laughed, Michael’s voice disturbed from time-to-time by the telephone signal. “Uh, listen, i’m calling to ask you. Is it fine if i come by tomorrow?” Juliusz changed his position, now more hunched over the telephone.

“Fine? Sure you can, yeah. The only people that come visit me are mum and Thomas, and both pester me about me having to rest, not work.” This earned an eye-roll from the lawyer, it seemed like everything Michael did was work. He didn’t blame the kid for having ambitions or being loyal to the company, but he didn’t want Michael to get all his life-satisfaction out of work. He knew that all-too-well.

“Because they’re right. You got shot. I’ll only bring a few things you need to sign, but other than that, i’ll bring you nothing but my fun-loving spirit.” Juliusz said, sarcastically.

“Sure, you will.” Michael chuckled, then cleared his throat. “Would you bring me some whisky? I haven’t-”

“No. I know what kinds of pills they’ve got you on.” His voice turned stern, with a mix of concern. “You can’t mix that with alcohol, even i know that. It’s like snow.” 

“Speaking of which, will you need any?” Michael asked with genuine intent, casually, as if he’s telling his colleague about a cigarette. 

Out of a corner of his eye, he could see Ms. Ross leaving the office, pale as paper.

“...No, i’ve stopped.” He was met with silence from Michael. Juliusz sighed. “Really, this time.”

“That’s good Jul, i won’t tell you anything.” There’s a silence for a few seconds, then Michael says again, softer. “How about some Morphine? For your hands, i’m sure i can sneak some from the nurses.” 

“Oh no, i’ve heard what Morphine did for Thomas.” Juliusz sighs. “I’ll be fine Michael, don’t get into trouble on my behalf. You worry about yourself kid.” 

“Tommorow?” 

“Yeah, i’ll see you.”

Like clockwork, Thomas rushed out of his office, almost as if experiencing tunnel-vision, only coming to a halt when he sees Juliusz put down the telephone receiver. Before he could even say a word, the lawyer stopped him.

“It was Michael.” Juliusz tried his best not to sound annoyed, which didn’t work almost immediately when Thomas gave him one of his empty, blue stares, which usually meant calculating distrust. “Fucking hell, shall i call him again and let you ask him yourself?” He remarked, in an ironic, tired tone. He felt like he’s a teenager with overbearing parents. Only Juliusz isn’t dealing with a worried mother, but a grown man.

“Very well then.” Tommy said in one big exhale. “Do you know where Arthur is?"

“Haven’t seen him today, i’d call the other office if i were you.”

“I’ll go there.” He nods, immediately turning to leave. There was something about the way he was acting. Rushing step, wider, more alert eyes. 

“What’s happening?” Juliusz takes a step after Thomas, confused. “What did Ms. Ross want?”

“Nothing important. I’m dealing with business.” He raises his hand as if to signal ‘stop’.

“What kind of business?” 

“Blinder business.” Tommy reaches for the door and opens it, looking over his shoulder. “Nothing important to you.” 

The door closes with a silent click, leaving the office almost devoid of sound. Juliusz takes a deep breath, releases it, and after a moment, puts down the telephone speaker way harder than he should’ve.

***************

God, he hates this office. 

Don’t get him wrong, he loves Small Heath, everything about it, except this old betting shop turned office. He’s worked here temporarily only two times. Once, when the plumbing in the Company offices made the floors flood with sewage, and since the Italians came to town. Somehow, Thomas seems more full of shit now than then. 

Juliusz packs the last things he needs for the hospital and checks the clock, almost an hour to go. Just as he was finishing packing up for his visit at the hospital when, just as yesterday, Thomas stopped by his desk on his way out the office.

“Where are you going?” 

“I could ask you the same question.” He deadpans, but when his remark is met with the same icy stare, Juliusz sighs. “I’m visiting Michael in the hospital.” Thomas only nods and turns to leave without a word, again.

“Where are you going?!” Juliusz bitches after Thomas, frustrated and angry.

“Business.” This time he doesn’t even look at him, too occupied by whatever’s on his mind, which looking at him, you could immediately deduct the ‘Shelby mastermind’ was hard at work in that brain of his.

“Oh fuck off, what if i need to reach you?” He glanced at the telephone, not sure if willingly. “What if they call?”

“They won’t.” He says over his shoulder, making Juliusz even more perplexed. “Close the office after yourself, will ya?” And there he went, and Juliusz felt like he’s the crazy one. Is he the crazy one, or is Thomas slowly rubbing off of him?

It took everything in him not to release his frustration on the poor flowers Linda helped him pick out for Michael. Instead, his walk to the hospital took him ten minutes, instead of the usual twenty.

****************

He pushed the door open with his back into the sterile, but oddly home-y room. The strong strands of sunshine rested atop the wooden table, hospital bed, and Michael himself, who immediately upon hearing the door open looked up from a file.

“I come in and see you working again, i’ll burn those reports in the chimney.” He sighed as he laid out both his briefcase and a large paper bag on the table, along with a small bouquet of flowers. Michael slowly approached the table and sat down, immediately inspecting the mix of dandelions, yellow roses and sunflower petals.

“These are nice, but i’m afraid i like you only as a friend.” The younger man said with a teasing grin, but still put the bouquet next to the ones his mother and other coworkers gave him.

“Very funny.” Juliusz rolled his eyes, but still chuckled. “Whatever will my foolish heart do, the man twelve years my junior doesn’t reciprocate my very true and real feelings.” He exaggerated a theatrical speech, receiving a laugh from Michael.

“What’s there?” He points to Juliusz’s briefcase. 

“Some documents regarding the budget, you only need to sign them.” He hands them to Michael, figuring it’s better to get the ‘official’ part of his visit over as soon as possible. The boy signs them one-by-one with identical motions of his pen, then slides them back to Juliusz. “Thank you.” The lawyer says, stuffing them back where he took them from.

“Here, they’re from my mum.” Michael tosses him a red-green apple, which Juliusz barely catches. “Uh, the other mum.” 

“Oh my god, these are delicious.” He’s not sure if they’re that good, or if his body will accept any kind of breakfast as an ambrosia. He takes another bite, nope, they’re that good.

“I know!” Michael bites into one as well. “You can’t get something like this from the city anymore, they don’t smell like coal.” 

“True.” Juliusz nods. “The city ones aren’t as juicy.” 

Silence, a pleasant one, for the first time since that drink with Changretta, which says a lot about what kind of tension was rising in the office. Michael looked as if he was internally debating something, a thin line appearing between his eyebrows, which year-by-year grows thicker.

“Tommy came by recently.” He blurts out finally, looking to the side. Oh, that makes sense. He’d have to know sooner or later, Thomas must have taken it upon himself.

“He told you?” Juliusz was almost sure he knew what Michael meant. 

“Yeah.” He nods. “How’ve you been getting on with the Italians?” There seems to be the smallest glimpse of concern in Michael’s tone. He leans forward in his chair, but tries not to disturb his wound too much.

“Somehow better than with Thomas.” Juliusz sighs. “He seems so paranoid around me now, how can i actually help when i don’t know anything? Not to mention that i haven’t been able to give the Italians anything more than he permits me to, useless documentation that Changretta doesn’t even need.” His fidgeting with the apple stem makes it snap.

“What did you want from Changretta in exchange for Tommy?” he throws the apple core in a bin nearby. “From the Italians’ perspective, at least.” The smallest of smirks appears on his lips. 

“...My life. My name was on a bullet.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. Juliusz didn’t want to say anything about Michael or anyone else being involved in his ‘truce’ with Changretta. They don’t have to know, the only thing that matters is that they’re safe for the time being. “It isn’t anymore, for now.” As if on instinct, he put his hand in his jacket’s inner-pocket, along with the tin cigarette holder and a pack of matches, the cool sensation of a bullet stood out. He took out the cigarettes, only to be stopped by Michael. 

“You can only smoke on their balcony.” He nods towards the nurses’ room. “How about you go and I look at what else you got for me here?” Michael winks and reaches into the brown bag on the table, his eyes widening when he sees the whisky bottle hidden between some clothes Polly packed for him and a few treats.

“Hey, that’s only if you don’t drink it after taking your meds, got it?” Juliusz slaps Michael’s hand away as he stood up.

“Mhm.” He hums, still looking at the amber bottle like he’d definitely drink it the second Juliusz turns his back. A stern glare from the Pole makes Michael roll his eyes. “Yes, i won’t drink it after the pills. You're the best.” Juliusz nods approvingly and takes one last big bite from the apple.

“You wouldn't say that if i didn't get it for you, you brat.” He says with his mouth full. "I'll be back."

“Some of the nurses here are really nice, chat one of them up, i’m not going anywhere.” Michael takes this opportunity to rest his feet on Juliusz’s chair, already ogling the work-related papers. 

The balcony in the nurses room was fortunately open to all visitors, looking over the back of the hospital. The last nurse on break was a clearly overworked middle-aged lady, for whom he was happy to light the cigarette. Even more so when she had no intention of initiating conversation or offering any unnecessary and costly treatment. As Juliusz slowly enjoyed his cigarette, his mind wandered back to the peculiar item in his pocket.

Hm, at least they spelt it correctly, was the first thought he had when Juliusz held up the bullet, the sun reflecting its gold-brown metal and grey scratches. He rubbed his thumb along the bullet, before hiding it again. He looked up at the sky.

Is it midday already?

BAM!

Juliusz, as if on instinct, ducked and covered his head.

.

.

.

Nothing. After the shot, the hospital was surprisingly quiet, only the sound of a few footsteps, crash of a door, and the muffled cries of the nurse next to him. The footsteps ceased just next door.

Oh no.

Michael.

He shushed the nurse and took out a small handgun out the holster strapped to the small of his back. Out of the balcony, he had to force himself not to sprint and bash into Michael’s room. Warily, he made his way down the corridor, passing next to a shot Peaky Blinder. The bright wall behind the poor man now a glistening, bloody mess. The smell of fresh blood was sickening, Juliusz looked away and took a deep breath, just like they taught him. Just as he approached Michael’s door, he heard muffled voices, more accurately, A muffled voice. He slowly comes closer, as he hears whoever was inside approach to the exit

Step He raises his gun to eye-level.

Step He focuses on a spot where a person would have their head.

Step, click He takes a breath as he hears the door open-

Step- A figure steps out, he disables the safety with a loud click, which makes the man perk up. An all-too-familiar man. It’s Changretta, Luca motherfucking Changretta. He slowly raises his hands, but doesn’t seem too bothered by the gun pointed at him. Juliusz could swear that for a brief moment, Changretta appeared surprised to see him, only to once again put on his usual smug demeanour.

“Ferenz! Fancy seeing you here.” He stepped forward, motioning the other men he was with to follow. “I was actually gonna call, but-”

“We had a fucking deal.” He growled 

“And it’s not broken, the boy’s fine.” Changretta vaguely motioned in the direction of Michael’s room. Loud voices rang outside the hospital, sounding like people trying to break the hospital’s doors open. “Now if you wanna shoot me, be my fucking guest, but do it now before your idiot friends get here.” Juliusz came forward and shoved the Italian back a step, and looked inside the boys’ room. Michael was fine, merely shook, looking between his friend and the Italian at his gunpoint. He could just shoot him, be done with it. Everyone would be happy. Yet, when he imagined the blood splatter from the Italian’s head, and the life drain from his already dark eyes, his body at the place of the man he passed in the corridor, he felt a tug inside himself, and couldn't find on what to blame it for this time. Ferenz sighed and took his finger off the trigger.

God, why is he so weak

“Go.” He stepped back and nodded at the corridor. He felt angry, not sure if at himself or the smug bastard in front of him, who took his granted freedom and used it to rush forward where Juliusz motioned.

“You’re goin’ too.” As Changretta passed him, Juliusz felt a tug, this time at his shoulder when he was basically dragged along with the Italians.

“What?!” He basically shouted as they sprinted across the corridors, though he was less sprinting, and more being pulled to their step.

“I need you for something, c’mon.”

“Why? What does ‘something’ mean?” Juliusz finally twists himself from Changrettas grip, but still running side by side with him. “What did you want with Michael?” They pressed their backs against the corridor wall, just before two turns, left and right.

“This and other fascinating questions will be answered in the car, my friend.” Luca replied as he looked around both corners. “Now don’t get your panties in a twist. Which way?” 

“Oh go fuck yourself.” Juliusz muttered. “Left.” He followed up immediatly, which was only met with a chuckle from Changretta as they ran for the exit, with a black Rolls Royce already waiting for them.

*****************

If someone told Juliusz a week ago that he’d spend his afternoon squished between two Italians in the backseat of a car, he’d laugh at you, or maybe he’d assume you meant a totally different kind of encounter, which would also be paired with a laugh. 

But now, with the man on his left, Matteo and the nuisance on his right, who was in the middle of reading a newspaper, Juliusz truly felt like fate is a very bored man dead-set on making his life hell. Maybe if Matteo didn’t confiscate his gun the second they were out of the hospitals’ viscinity, Juliusz would again briefly think of shooting both of them, or himself, he hadn’t yet decided.

“Will you finally answer my question?” Juliusz mutters, still looking ahead, arms crossed. The outside view of endless forest didn’t entertain him that much, but it was still better than awkward eye-contact with Matteo or glaring at Luca.

“Which one?” Changretta says, turning to another page of the newspaper.

“Where the hell are we going?” He finally turns to look at the Italian.

“To a place Darby let us use, not far. There’s business in London i’ll need you for.” He drawled. “You know Sabini’s and Solomon’s businesses?”

“Solomons’ more than Sabinis, but yes.” Juliusz sighs, pushing up his glasses. “What about Michael?”

“Nice kid.” Changretta muses, flicking the match he was biting down on between his teeth and lips, and Juliusz faught the urge to snap it in half.

“You know damn well what i’m asking you.” 

“You’re not the only one who put Tommy’s neck on the line for him.” Changretta meets his gaze as well. “I just came by to let him know we have a deal.” At first, Juliusz had no idea what Luca was insinuating, but a brief moment later, it’s as if a light turned on in his head. Polly… This doesn’t surprise him, which is odd, because Polly has a strong habit of surprising him. Juliusz pushes the thought aside, he’ll confront her or Michael later.

“You better leave him out of this.” 

“It’s his mother and you who i’m dealing with, that’s enough.” He takes the match and tosses it out the car window.

That seemed to be the end of that conversation, though a few glances at Changretta made Julliusz think something was on his mind. Then again, almost always when he saw him the Italian appeared so. Either somber and toned down, or smug and calculating. Something about his expression, the way he grimaced, stared, or even fidgeted with that damn piece of wood made him appear like he’s distracting himself from something. And just when he thought he was being discreet, Luca’s dark eyes met his green ones. Looking away would just be admitting defeat now. Changretta seems to be considering something, then throws Juliusz a smug smile.

“Back at the hospital, why didn’t you shoot me? Didn’t have it in you?”

“Are you…teasing me for not blowing your head off?” His eyebrows furrow. “If someone has to kill you, let it be one of the Shelbys, it’s none of my concern.” Somehow, this response appeared to satisfy Changretta, who turned to his right-hand-man.

 “Matteo.” His voice changed in a way, even though that usually happens when changing languages, Juliusz couldn’t help but pay close attention, as if he could read the foreign meanings off his lips. “Hai i documenti?” 

 “Vuoi usare LUI per questo? Luca, con rispetto-” He wasn’t sure what he said, but judging from the way Matteo glanced at Juliusz with every word, he could safely assume the Italian didn’t have much trust towards the Pole.

“Just fucking give ‘em.” Changretta makes a motion with his hand that Juliusz would only describe as so very italian. Matteo shrugs and reaches under his seat. 

“Here.” A stack of documents and folders, some looking like they’ve been through better times than this plop onto his lap. “Take it.” Luca taps the files with a ringed finger.

“Why?” Juliusz questions, but still takes the files and quickly skims through the first few. Financial outputs of Italian-owned clubs in London, copies of shares of the South England racetracks, even tax reports. “Why do you have these?”

“I’m planning on making Sabini an offer he can’t resist.” He grins. “I need you to draw up a contract for me. 100% of his businesses, to my family.”

“Don’t you have lawyers for this?” 

“I do, i’m sitting next to him.” Changretta responds nonchalantly, turning his face away from the lawyer, looking out the window.

He actually has a task now. 

He took it as an opportunity to get a closer look. This was everything legitimate Sabini holds record of having, earning or spending. That’s the problem though, Juliusz noticed, it’s only everything legal Sabini has to offer. Not thinking twice, he nudges Changretta, not even looking at him, nose still buried deep in the documentation. 

“You don’t have everything.”

“Hm?” The noise makes him think that Changretta may have just been taken out of a daydream.

“I know Sabini owns a lot more properties and businesses than meets the eye. He just owns them through different people and companies, for tax purposes. I’d know, we do it as well.” He opens one of the tax reports, pointing at a company name, one of their ‘brother companies’, functioning only to hold assets for Sabini. “If you want the entire Sabini empire, i’ll need their papers as well.”

“...” Luca takes a moment to look between Juliusz and what he’s pointing out, then takes the document out of his hands, skimming it through. “Consider it done.” He closes it and gives it back to Juliusz, the sound of his approval oddly satisfying to the lawyer.

“Great.” 

“You got until tomorrow, that good?” Luca raises an eyebrow at him.

“Perfect.” For a while, Juliusz tried to put down the papers and leave them until he comes back home, but not a second later turns to Luca. “Do you have a pen?”

“Matteo?” 

“Pencil only.” The Italian takes out a small pencil out of his jacket.

“Even better.” He clarified whilst arranging the documents in a different, more organised order. When Matteo passed him a comically tiny pencil, he let out a fast ‘thankyou’ and in the blink of an eye transformed his part of the backseat into a pile of papers. Now this was where he shined, a horrendously boring reading for most, exciting underlining for him. Everything to be used for later when he’s back at his desk. As odd as it may be, finally getting a task from the Italians is satisfying, and later he’ll have something to tell Thomas to make him happy. He worked with the smallest of smiles on his face. In the fervor of dates, taxes and company shares, Juliusz didn’t even notice Changretta looking at him. From his fingers shuffling page to page like a dealer handling cards, or how his eyes raced left-to-right as he read, there seems to be something endearing in someone who’s in their element. Luca opened his newspaper again, but didn't continue reading it.

Now, if someone told Juliusz a week ago that he’d possibly spend his afternoon trying to move a wagon with some Italians, he’d laugh at you as well.

Yet there he was, getting out of the car as Changretta threw a “C’mon poindexter, try not to break your glasses” in his direction, which, at this point, Juliusz didn’t even bother to grace with a talkback. 

Winter hadn’t dwelled harshly in the Birmingham area, if he didn't know any better, he'd assume it was typical gloomy authumn. Though the dirt road underneath them crackled as if not so long ago it had been completely frozen.

“What’s this?” Matteo walked up front. “Whose wagon is that?” He got immediately stopped by the policeman, as if this trashed wagon is somehow a sensitive crime scene.

“They’re gypsies.” he blurted out. “Tribe of fucking gypsies.”

An alarm rang inside Juliusz’s head, something surely wasn’t right. The tussle between Matteo and the lawman didn’t help ease whatever was hanging in the air.

“I said that it’ll be clear in 20 minutes.”

Something definitely isn’t right. He glanced at Luca and was met with a similar look. Both men seemingly having a smililar gut feeling.

"Let's go." He nodded in the direction of the car. "We'll find another way outta here."

When the man he got introduced to before as 'Frankie' hadn't started the car yet, they just assumed he couldn't hear them. The second time Luca called out to him, they thought there must have been something wrong with him and/or the car.

With his head leaned back, exposing the cleanily slit neck, crimson, already slowly clogging blood oozing out of it, chaos erupted.

Shots fired just above their heads, some putting holes in the Italians' hats as they got out of the car to fight back.

Juliusz pressed his back against the Rolls Royce, heart pounding as he realised just what was happening. Aberama Gold, thats what was happening.

Another Italian fell to the ground, while more bullets pierced the cars' body. Bullets whistled in the air just like they did all these years ago.

Gold must be here from the order of Tommy. The Blinders must have known Juliusz went with the Italians. Tommy must have known. Why were they ambushing them with him right there, when-

Something cold pressed against his palm. He looked down. Changretta is giving Juliusz his gun back.

"Cover me, yeah?" His voice was raised, with more than an ounce of panic in it, cracking at places.

He didn't need to be asked twice, he's not dying out of friendly fire from the Golds anytime soon. Juliusz takes a deep breath, and sticked his head out slightly, shooting wherever he saw movement, not to kill, but to scare off and buy Luca the few seconds he needed to get the car running.

"DUCK!" Juliusz shouted when he saw Gold's son aim a shot clearly meant for Luca as he was trying to get to the steering wheel. It just ended up a bullet in Frankies' already dead brain.

Never before would he think he'd be so relieved to hear an engine turn on.

With Changretta maneuvering the car out of the bridge, and with Matteo and Juliusz emptying their magazines to hell, they barely made it out the forest and into a typical, empty english field.

They damn near fell out the car when Luca stopped the engine. The only sound being the distressed and tired breaths of three men after a brief date with death.

Then, you could hear the music of two Italian men shouting at eachother, and one Polish man puking his guts out on the side of the road.

"Holy shit." Juliusz drew a sharp breath as he wiped his lips, trying his best to compose himself after the initial adrenaline started to wear off. "Kurwa mać." He could hear the italians slowly calm as well.

"Fuck, you alright?" Luca calls out to him.

"Yeah, fucking peachy." He wheezes out, exhausted, not sure if more mentally or physically, or both, probably.

"They got two of ours." Matteo pointed in the direction of the woods they drove out of. "What do we do?" This question seemed to put Changretta even more on edge, frustration gradually building up.

"CAZZO!" He kicked the car, luckily it being so beyond repair, it didn't seem to mind. Luca ran his hand through his hair, now noticing he has lost his hat somwhere in the middle of the ordeal. "All right, change of fuckin' plans. Ferenz, you still got that contract to make. Go back to Small Heath, we'll have time for business, i'll call you." He points at Juliusz, not appearing to be asking, but telling. The Pole didn't have it in him to argue at this point.

"I need to make a phonecall to our dear friend Polly." Luca handed Juliusz the files out of the car, still holding them when the other man tries to take them. "Be safe." He lets go.

As he got dropped off at a safe distance, instead of heading to a place like home, preferably into the arms of his bed and a hefty bottle of whisky, he turned to Small Heath, where he'll kick Thomas' Shelbys' fucking teeth in.

******************

Translations:

Niewiarygodne - Unbelievable

Hai i documenti? - Do you have the documents?

Vuoi usare LUI per questo? Luca, con rispetto - Do you want to use HIM for this? Luca, with respect-

Kurwa mać - Fucking Hell

Cazzo - Fuck

#peaky blinders #luca changretta #tommy shelby #michael gray #luca changretta fanfic #luca changretta x oc #kings of spades #juliusz ferenz #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders oc #rip frankie #we don't know your lore but you have a kickass name

[victoria-daydreams]

The Dressmaker

AN: So, I did it, I wrote a Luca Changretta fanfiction. This was supposed to be 1k words at max, but of course I went overboard. If this story seems all over the place, I’m sorry but I promise it made much better sense in my head.

Trigger warnings: racial slur, my attempt to write sexual tension, knowing nothing about sewing

Word Count: 3.3k

The crackle of static and then the slow melody of a bow drawing across the strings of a violin floated into the ears of the young woman seated behind a polished mahogany counter. Selina let her pencil glide across the paper, a few faint lines here, a dark outline over there. All was quiet in Miss Clarke’s Dress Shop, the store located right on the corner of the street. Everyone on the street knew who she was, for she was constantly mending or designing pieces for customers that frequented her shop. Not to mention, that Selina’s dress shop was infamous for its wide variety; fabric of every conceivable color and style exploded from the racks.

However, there was another clientele that Selina extended her services to in a much different capacity. The Peaky Blinders, also known as The Shelby’s, often used the space in her basement as storage for their shipments. They appreciated her discretion and Selina was more than to happy to help, because that’s what family is for, right? Selina wasn’t a Shelby by blood, but she was a Shelby through and through and no one dared to dispute that.

Orphaned at young age due to her parents dying from disease, Selina had no where to go, but in swooped Polly who happily adopted her. According to the older woman, Selina’s mother and her were good friends; faintly she could remember Polly’s face as a young child before her parent’s death. Still, Polly raised her like she was her own and was fiercely protective of her.

Out of nowhere, a saucer and teacup was placed down onto the counter with gentle clink. Selina lifted her head and looked over to see Naveen’s friendly, brown eyes staring back at hers.

“Still cracking away at it Lina?” he asked, holding a teacup of his own.

“Unfortunately,” she sighed, letting the pencil fall from her fingers. She grabbed the handle of the porcelain cup and raised it to her lips. A contented hum left her. “Bless you Naveen, you made it just how I like it,” Selina said, a smile on her face.

“You started teatime without me?” Julia questioned, looking up from the hem of a dress she was inspecting. “Some friends you lot are,” she commented, letting out a scoff.

“The teapot is still hot, plenty of time to pour yourself a cuppa and join us,” Naveen joked, moving further down the counter.

“It’s not the same though,” Julia complained, shoving her hands into the pockets of the same white coat they were all wearing. “There’s something about the way you make my tea that makes it fantastic,” she said, leaning against the counter.

“Better luck next time,” he wished, with a smirk as he put his cup down.

Naveen picked up a pair of shears lying on the countertop and held them up to the light. The blades glinted dully. Reaching underneath the counter, he grabbed an emery stone and positioned the edge of the blade against it before running the shears across it repeatedly.

“What do you say, Lina?” Julia asked, causing her to whip her head from watching Naveen to her. “Be a friend, and make me a cup of tea,” she suggested.

“Absolutely not,” Selina answered dryly, picking up her pencil again. “The lord has blessed with you two hands and two feet,” she continued. “Use them,” Selina suggested, flashing her friend a smile before focusing on her sketch again.

“The next time you two need a favor, don’t bother coming to ask me,” she warned playfully, as she walked to the back room.

“Oh, I’m shaking in my boots Julia,” Naveen retorted.

Selina laughed quietly as her pencil scratched against the paper as she fidgeted with the details. Just then, the bell to the door rang signaling a customer had just entered the shop.

“Welcome to Miss Clarke’s Dress Shop, how may I help you,” Selina greeted cheerily, without having to think about it as her eyes remained glued on the paper.

She received no response, just eerie silence. Selina felt herself stiffen, now noticing that Naveen’s scrapping had also came to an abrupt halt as well. Her head snapped up and towards the direction of the door, Selina’s blood ran cold but she kept a stoic expression. Standing at six feet tall, a hawkish and smartly dressed man with half a smirk was flanked by more men similarly dressed as him.

“Fuck me,” she thought.

Whoever this man was, he definitely had a presence, a certain air about him that commanded your attention and respect. The type of man that when he talked, people listened. It reminded her of Tommy. The worst part of all though, was that the stranger was undeniably handsome.

"Yes, can I help you?" Selina repeated calmly.

“Where’s the funeral?” the man asked, walking further in the shop.

“Quite the accent. He’s certainly not from here,” she thought to herself. “Italian, but he sounds American as well,”

The stranger’s voice was smooth, reminding her of honey. Instinctively, Selina went on alert. This man, whoever he was, radiated a persuasive aura and a potentially manipulative one as well. His tone said it all. She just knew underneath this man's gentlemanly exterior hid a hibernating beast.

“Why all the solemn faces?” he questioned, looking around the room, before his eyes connected with hers.

Those coal black, mournful eyes burned into her dark brown ones intensely, and she returned the stare in equal measure. It was not the time to show even the slightest amount of fear.

“Solemnity isn’t the right word,” Selina answered, as Julia slowly emerged from the back room with boxes in hand. “Maybe it’s confusion my colleagues and I share,” she corrected, putting the pencil eraser to her chin.

“And what’s so confusing about us?”

“It could be the fact that there are…….” Selina trailed off, starting to count the men standing behind him with her pencil. "One, two, three, four, five, six,” she counted, before finally pointing her pencil at the man with inky black hair who was clearly the leader. “Seven,” she finished, staring pointedly at him.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Naveen’s hand had discretely moved to underneath the counter again. This time, he wasn’t reaching for a sharpening stone, his hand was resting on a revolver.

“There are seven men standing in my dress shop, and I don’t know why that is,” Selina stated, glancing around the room.

He grinned, “Ah, so you’re the owner of this fine establishment, you’re its namesake,” he said, walking up to the counter and standing directly across from her. “Well, Miss Clarke, have you considered that the seven men standing here might want dresses made for their girls?” he suggested.

“And yet, none of you brought any of your ‘girls’,” Selina observed, wagging her pencil. “Hard to do measurements on your girlfriends if they’re all figments of your imagination,” she remarked, which the man smirked at.

He leaned against the counter, his eyes boring into hers once more.

“Signorina, I’ve been told you deal in a great many services,” the man hinted, as she placed the pencil down.

“As do many other dressmakers,” Selina retorted, interlocking her fingers. “Signore,” she added.

A smirk tugged at the Italian’s lips, his eyes merely twinkling with mirth at Selina’s use of his language.

“How many deal with the criminal underworld?”

That one sentence caused an uneasy silence to envelope the room. Tension hung in the air, tight and overbearing. The atmosphere was suffocating.

“Shit,” she thought.

“Mr. Varma and Miss Russell, we have deliveries that need to be taken out today,” Selina informed, gazing between the two of them. “Why don’t you two do it now, before it gets too late,” she said, as the man pushed away from the counter, a smug grin on his face.

“Miss Clarke—”

“Now, Miss Russell,” Selina ordered.

“Yes, ma’am,”

Julia nodded in defeat and slid off her white coat and hung it up. Reluctantly, Naveen mimicked her movements, carefully pulling off his coat as well. Grabbing two of the three white parcel boxes, each neatly tied with a bow, Julia walked between the Italian man and Selina, shooting her one last wary glance before leaving with the chime of the bell. Naveen’s eyes swept over the room as he took the last parcel off the counter, slowly moving away from her.

“Wait,” Selina called, grabbing his arm. She rose from from the stool and pushed herself onto her tip toes. She leaned towards him as if she was going to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Be careful. Make sure that you aren’t followed,” she whispered, her lips close to his ear.

“Christ, you’re not sending the boy to war,” the man jested, causing his henchmen to chuckle.

Selina’s eyes narrowed, but she remained silent as she pulled away from him.

“I’ll be careful with the dress, Miss Clarke. Don’t you worry,” Naveen assured, sending her a smile as he backed away.

“Make sure you take the scenic route, Mr. Varma,” the man ordered. “There are some things Miss Clarke and I need to discuss,” he explained, glancing over towards her.

Naveen shifted his eyes to Selina and she nodded her head, mouthing “Go,” to him. The little bell rang again, signaling to Selina that she was now utterly alone in her own shop which was currently being occupied by a group of strange Italian men.

“You run a tight ship, for a dress shop. I’m impressed,” he said, nodding his head. “Most times I tell people to do something, they do it, stranger or not. But not your workers,” he noted. “They look to you for your blessing,” he noted.

“It’s like you said, this is my namesake. What I say goes,” she countered coolly.

He chuckled, “You’ve got spirit, I like that,” he commented, pointing a finger at her.

Abruptly, the man started speaking in Italian and his henchmen immediately filed out of the shop.

“So, do you want a dress made or not, sir?” Selina asked, crossing her arms. “Though, I still don’t know how would you do it. Your girl isn’t present for measurements,” she said, an expectant look on her face.

“I’m staring at the perfect model,” the Italian stated, almost purring.

There was a hunger in the man’s eyes as they traveled down her body, and oddly enough, it sent delicious chills up her spine and flooded her body with warmth.

Selina’s eyebrows rose, “Women come in all different shapes and sizes,” she pointed out. “It’s simply impossible for she and I to have the exact same measurements,” Selina explained, shaking her head.

“Let me worry about that,”

“How am I going to take the measurements? I sent Mr. Varma and Miss Russell out,”

“I’ll do them,”

Selina couldn't help it. Her poker face broke as she let out an incredulous laugh.

“You?” she questioned, her brow arched. “You’re not a tailor,” she stated, looking him up and down.

“My uncle is one,”

“Oh, quite the qualification,” she quipped.

“Humor me,” he said, another smirk on his face. “I want to talk business with you,”

“Other than dresses?” Selina asked knowingly, unbuttoning her coat.

“Other than dresses, Miss Clarke,” he repeated, as she laid the coat onto the counter.

“Hmm,” Selina hummed, moving from behind the counter. “For your girl’s sake, I hope you know what you’re doing,” she commented, brushing past him.

She walked towards a section secluded from the rest of the shop. Immediately her eyes fell upon the two cushioned chairs near the open entrance, the three panel mirror directly positioned in the center of the room, and a single door to the changing room. Entering the space, Selina stood in front of the mirror and briefly shut her eyes while rubbing her temples.

“This is such a terrible idea, why did I ever agree to this? I don’t even know who I’m speaking with,”

“You still haven’t told me your name,” Selina reminded loudly, still massaging her temples. “How am I to do business—”

“Luca Changretta,” he murmured hotly against her ear, his breath leaving goose bumps on her flesh. “Of the Changretta Family,” he added, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Can’t say that I’ve heard of you, Mr. Changretta,” Selina responded, trying to control her breathing.

She needed to remain calm, and keep herself composed and grounded. She refused to show him how much he was affecting her. That would just be embarrassing and mortifying.

“I’m truly hoping that there’s another Changretta family out there, and not the one I’m thinking about,” she thought.

“But,” Luca began, his cold nose butting against her ear. “I’ve heard of you, Miss Selina Clarke,” he informed, finally pulling away from her. “The dressmaker who has a penchant of keeping her ear to the ground,” he went on, now standing in front of her.

“It’s not a crime to be a well-informed citizen, is it?” Selina asked curiously, looking up at him.

“No, I suppose not,” he agreed, shrugging his shoulders.

“Then why—”

She was cut short, inhaling sharply as slender fingers slid around her waist and cinched a ribbon of measuring tape tightly against her. The motion had her nearly made bump chest to chest with Luca. He gazed down at her, studying Selina with shrewd eyes; reading her like an open book. She felt like she was being pried apart by the dark pupils roaming her face. She felt completely naked. Selina drew a shuddering breath, each and every one raising her chest up and down

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, she was surprised that Luca couldn’t feel thumping in her chest, but she was eternally grateful.

“However,” he continued, briefly glancing at her lips. “Not many citizens make it their business to know the ins and outs of the criminal underbelly of their city,” Luca remarked, his eyes focusing back to the measuring tape.

“And why is an American interested in learning such knowledge?” Selina wondered, finding it much easier to breathe. “Don’t you have your own criminal underworld to worry about?” she asked again. He ignored the question and instead removed the tape from around her. “Unless, you’re a criminal yourself,” she figured, feeling the tape drop to her hips.

“I’m not just any old criminal, Miss Clarke. I’m head of a mafia family,”

“Fucking hell, the Sicilian mafia!”

Gingerly, he brought his arms around Selina, circling her bust and pinching the tape at the side. Luca stared at the number before smirking to himself, not even bothering to hide his gaze on the hint of cleavage from her top.

“Men can be such pigs,” she thought.

“The Changretta Family,” she began, getting his attention away from her breasts. “Still doesn’t ring a bell,” she lied.

“I wouldn’t expect it to,” Luca answered simply. “But I do know, that you’ve heard of another prominent family in this city,” he said, with a knowing stare. “One full of fucking gypsies,” he added.

“You’re talking about The Shelby Gang,” Selina replied, her face neutral.

“Shit, what did Tommy step into now?”

“Indeed I am,” Luca confirmed, as holding her arm up with his large hand and stretching the tape along it, starting to measure her left arm.

“Of course I’ve heard of them, who hasn’t?”

Luca read the tape before pulling it away, “What have you heard then?” he questioned.

“The same as everyone else I suppose,” Selina answered absentmindedly, as Luca finished measuring her other arm. “Cuts people a smile and blind ones that can see. Fiercely loyal to each other and little bit volatile,” she described, shrugging her shoulders. “Of course, that depends on which way the wind blows each day,” she noted.

In a way, Selina was being truthful, she mostly kept herself out of Peaky business, focusing mainly on her craft. Of course, that is not to say Selina did not know the ins and outs of the organization, she was very much aware of their dealings. Today was different, as it had shown Selina that her approach staying out of it didn't always go to plan. The Peaky Blinders affairs had landed right on her doorstep.

He paused, “You must heard more than that,” Luca said, eying her skeptically.

“Must I?” she asked back, cocking her slightly. “I hear just enough that my ears don’t get cut off,” she retorted.

The room fell silent and the tension between them was palpable again. It was thick and bulky, impossible to ignore. Luca and Selina stared each other down, neither backing off from the other. It was there, a new type tension began to unfold, one of the carnal nature. Selina felt something stir deep inside, something that she hadn’t experienced a while. Longing. Desire.

“I’m quite sorry that you traveled all this way and I couldn’t be of assistance,” Selina stated, finally breaking strained silence.

“Oh, just the opposite sweetheart,” Luca replied, the heat in his gaze burning through her like a wildfire.

“If I may ask,” Selina began, looking up from her lashes. “What’s an American mafia leader interest in a British one?” she asked, her voice cautious.

Luca let out a series of tsks and shook his head. Already standing close to each other, he reached his hand out and gently ran a finger down her cheek.

“Don’t worry your pretty, little head about that,” he answered, tapping the tip of her nose.

“You think I’m pretty, Mr. Changretta?”

“I think you’re a helluva lot more than pretty, Miss Clarke,” Luca stated, staring at her lips once more.

Another shiver coursed through her from the combination of his accent and his close proximity. Selina was inches away from him, their lips barely touching, breath mingling together in the tiny space between them.

“I do have one more thing to share with you,” Selina admitted breathily.

“What’s that?” Luca asked, his breathing just as ragged.

She stood up on her tiptoes, leaning forward to press her lips to his. But, at the very last second she dipped her head and ghosted her lips over his jawline.

“You’re a terrible tailor,” she whispered into his ear, before drawing back as he chased after her mouth.

Luca let out a frustrated puff of air, chuckling lightly against her cheek.

“You’re a fuckin tease,” he said, a slight growl in his voice.

Selina smiled as she used her hand to cover his own, guiding the slender fingers to slip up underneath her skirt.

“You didn’t take measurements of my thighs,” she reminded, her tone dropping an octave.

Her skirt rose all the way to the apex of her right hip, revealing thick thighs encased in sheer material of her stockings. Luca swallowed audibly, his fingers tracing over the fabric.

“Silly me, how could I forget,” he murmured, slowly dragging his eyes over her exposed leg.

Luca knelt in front of her, letting his cool fingers caress the bare skin where the stockings ended. Slowly, his hand curved over her hip, squeezing roughly at her backside. Unconsciously, Selina’s head fell backwards, her lips parting with a breathy sigh as her eyes fluttered shut. Her heart was beating wild in her chest, like it was about to explode. The only thing keeping her steady was her hand on Luca’s shoulder and the grip on the back of his neck.

He tugged at her leg slightly, pulling her closer to his face and slid his nose over her rich skin. Luca inhaled deeply, breathing in the flowery perfume she put on in the morning before planting his lips on her flesh. Slow, languid, and hot open mouthed kisses that trailed up her leg as Luca started to undo the clips holding her stocking up.

Loud gasps and pants escaped past Selina’s lips, her eyes screwing shut instinctively. Luca’s hair was no longer neatly slicked back, not with her manicured nails mussing it up. Suddenly, the cool sensation of the measuring tape around her thigh, shocked her. The ribbon almost felt like it was burning her already hot flesh. Pulling away from her thigh with a soft smack, Selina could feel Luca’s damp, warm breath fanning across skin.

“Since I’m no tailor, I may need assistance on where to measure from,” Luca stated, his breath coming out in short puffs.

A genuine smile finds its way to Selina’s face and she lets out an airy giggle, opening her eyes. Luca was already staring up at her, the intensity of his stare made her heart skip a few beats. Selina ran her fingers through his hair, playing with the strands at the nape of his neck.

“Mr. Changretta, you’ll be glad to know that there are three ways to do that,” Selina informed, a pleased smile on growing on her face. “And I would be more than happy to teach you,” she offered cheekily.

Part II

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #black fanfiction #black oc #luca changretta x reader #black!reader #luca changretta #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders oc #luca changretta x oc #poc!reader #woc!reader

[call-sign-shark]

This is a man's world, this is a man's world But it wouldn't be nothing, nothing without a woman or a girl This is a man's world, this is a man's world But behind every dangerous man, is a more dangerous woman.

Ah yes, the gangsters and their witch wives.

A little something for the adorable @evita-shelby and her beloved OC Eva Changretta to show gratitude for your magnificent moodboard and support.

Heaven Shelby is from Heaven in Your Eyes || an Arthur x Reader!OC series.

Eva Changretta is from Incantatrice || a Luca Changretta x OC series.

#peaky blindrs imagine #arthur shelby #Arthur shelby x oc #Luca changretta #Luca changretta x oc #luca changretta x eva smith #heaven shelby #eva smith changretta #Peaky blinders moodboard #peaky blinders oc

[klarolineashur1919]

Only We Matter Series

Part 9

January 3,1926

As it was

Luca pov

Shelbys.

I have all their files on my desk and I honestly could have done without them.

Penelope told me everything.

She always used to talk about her family.

That was one of the few things we had in common, we love and are devoted to our families.

To the people we love.

"I'm here to see Mr. Changretta, let me pass please" speaking of the angel.

"You think one of you can just walk in here?" Matteo better hope he doesn't do anything to warrant a bullet by the time I make it to the door.

"Please Mr. Changretta is expecting me" I gave a huff out as I was about to open the door at her calling me Mr. Changretta. I always thought that was a title for my father, I guess it's mine now.

Before Matteo can utter another word to her, I open the door watching him and her step back.

Then I make eye contact with her and realize I can't look her in the eye now. I look to Matteo who is looking confusedly between us but I'd rather him remain confused.

"Matteo, I suppose you know this is Penelope Shelby next time just let her in" I didn't wait for confirmation as I walked back towards my desk that I was sitting at.

As I sit down, I hear her take a seat. We sit in silence for a while.

"You came" I said also as a question, and she just nodded.

"Why did you want me to come here Luca?" There it is I missed hearing her say my name.

"I missed you" I said as nonchalantly as I could. We were silent again.

"Whatever deal you made with my aunt I wouldn't trust her" I finally made eye contact with her again.

"I know we'll see if she comes through" I said going back to looking everywhere but her. I try and not have memories come back to me of just a few years ago before all this shit started. I have other things to think about. Why did I ask her to come here?

"I wish it could go back to how it was" I look back at her, she's looking away from me. I take a look at her now and I realized why I haven't been.

The most obvious thing was the hair, she swore she would never cut her hair and I never thought she would. But here she is with a very short straight bob replaced the long curly hair that once made it pass her hips.

But I don't hate it.

She looks thin with her curves looking almost gone.

I'll miss them but I bet she still feels the same.

Her eyes are sad there's no light left in them; the clear blue looks like they became dark.

Even in the sun.

Her face the innocence, the youth and the easy happiness I remember always were there was gone.

It could almost make me cry.

"I know" Thinking it was the only thing I could say. I wished it too.

"Do you think it ever will?" She said with lack of hope.

"When the vendetta is done" I said matter of factly as I got up to get us the wine I brought over from my villa.

Because I decided years ago even with this vendetta, I will still have Penelope Shelby even if she wants me or not after I'm done with her family.

#luca changretta #luca changretta x oc #luca changretta x shelby!sister #shelby oc #luca changretta fanfiction #luca changretta x shelby!reader #luca changretta x reader #Dark!Luca Changretta

[justrainandcoffee]

Mercy (Arthur and Tommy Shelby) + (Luca Changretta x fem!oc)

Summary: Who's that tall black woman entering the Garrison without asking permission? Arthur Shelby felt something when he saw her. She was looking around, when finally she saw his blue eyes. "Who are ya?" he asked. "Mrs. Changretta," she answered "and you're the one who killed Luca."

Warnings: None.

Words: 1.7k || I'm sorry if I didn't capture Arthur's voice perfectly. It's hard enough to write in other language 🙃.

Over a year ago.

One of her friends was trying to comfort her. Kelly was a dancer in the same place that Aveline sang and the same as her, she was a black woman.

Rumours were too loud to be false. And that explained his disappearance. Aveline was walking to her home when she first heard it.

"Luca Changretta is dead."

"He was betrayed. A mad man killed him."

Luca was dead. Aveline felt her heart breaking in thousand pieces but she refused to believe it. Anyone but Luca.

Next time she heard it was at her workplace. She was leaning against the counter when one man said to the other that the Changretta clan were part of the history now.

"Arthur Shelby."

"The peaky blinder?"

"The eldest one, yes. He shot him."

Her eyes filled with tears. Luca was an assassin and she knew that probably deserved to die, but it didn't mean that it hurt less.

"I'm going to England," he had said to her their last night together "I have business with certain family. But I'll return to you, amore mio."

Aveline smiled at him, while Luca kissed her bare shoulders. "Will you be alright?"

"Of course, Linnie. As always. My sweet Linnie."

They made love once again. That same night Luca gifted her his pocket watch and a brooch made of gemstones. "So you can remember me," he said. "You know, beautiful lillies are Italy national flower and when I saw this brooch I thought it was a perfect present for you. You're a beautiful flower."

She kissed him. Months later, Aveline still could feel his lips over hers and his tongue in her mouth. Luca was as passionate as dangerous.

That was the last memory she had of him.

Now

Birmingham has nothing to do with New York. It was cloudy, cold, rainy and full of mud. And in comparison it was really small. You could hide in New York but apparently not in Birmingham.

Small Heath was almost empty. Very few people pay attention to her.

"Where's the Garrison?" she asked to a man who was selling milk.

"Two blocks away, ma'am. But be careful, not good people."

"I know. And I appreciate your help, sir."

Arthur was smoking and drinking whiskey waiting for Tommy who was dealing with new partners and Michael. Their cousin was starting to be a nuisance and they tolerate him only because of Polly.

Some men were drinking there as well, minding their own business.

The door opened again. This time the person who entered was a really tall woman. Arthur looked at her. Her slim and yet curvy figure was covered by a purple dress. Her gloves were black as her hair. And Arthur could say that she was a pretty woman but most of all, he was impressed by her height. Taller than him, for sure who was the tallest of the family. So different from his wife. The black woman talked quietly with the barman and he pointed to Arthur who gulped.

He stood up when she walked towards him. He wasn't used to see people taller than him. He had to lift up his head to look at her.

"Good afternoon," she greeted.

"Good afternoon, ma'am. How can I help ya?"

"Are you Arthur Shelby?"

"Indeed, ma'am. The owner of this foockin' bar. Who are ya?"

The black woman extended her hand and Arthur took it "Aveline is my name. I'm from New York… and I'm Mrs. Changretta."

A cold shiver ran through his spine. Luca Changretta was married? That killer bastard had a woman? How could Tommy ignore that? Arthur could see Luca behind his wife smiling triumphantly at him.

"Did you really think that you could kill me without consequences, Shelby?" He imagined Luca bitting his toothpick and smirking. "I just sent you my beautiful black angel."

Arthur blinked, still confused. Luca Changretta had a woman and she was there, probably, to kill him.

"May I sit down?"

"Sure, yeah. Yes." Arthur moved the chair and helped her. Then ordered the barman to bring her a glass of gin.

"How can I help ya?" He asked seconds later when they were alone once again.

"I need answers. I really need answers." Aveline touched the glass but didn't drink. Her long fingers grabbed it, feeling the coldness of it. "Why?" Now her dark brown eyes were looking at him.

Arthur drunk another glass of whiskey before answering. "He killed my little brother. My Johnny boy. Then he tried to kill us one by one. I had to."

"You talked as you didn't have another chance."

"I foockin' didn't. It was him or us."

.

"Who's the woman Arthur is talking to?" Tommy Shelby arrived at the pub and saw his brother talking to a woman he had never seen before. The barman shrugged.

"No idea, Mr. Shelby, she came in and asked for Arthur they're talking since then."

From the distance, Tommy studied his brother. Arthur clearly wasn't flirting with her, he wasn't trying to seduce her. Arthur was uncomfortable, but the question was why.

The leader of the Peaky Blinders walked towards them. He put his cap inside his pocket and approached the lady.

"Who are you?" she asked confused by his attitude.

"Don't you know who am I?"

"Should I? I have no clue who the hell are you, sir, but I'm talking with this gentleman."

"He's my brother," interrupted Arthur. "The one in charge: Tommy."

So that was Thomas Shelby? Aveline stood up slowly and looked at him. He barely surpassed her breasts. She saw his blue eyes trying to reach hers, so Aveline lowered her head facing him. "Good afternoon, then, sir."

But Tommy wasn't a man who could be easily intimidated, not even for a tall woman. Why was she so tall? So he didn't apart his eyes from hers. The woman barely blink.

"She's Changretta's wife," Arthur said looking at the table. Only then Tommy stared at his brother and then at the woman again. "Luca Changretta in any case," clarified.

Tommy wasn't sure about it. He investigated. He really did it and as far as he knew, Changretta was a single man. Too busy for love, for a woman. "I need proofs," he said.

"What makes you think that I'm going to show you some proofs apart from my words? Do you want me to prove you that I knew him and that I loved him with every inch if my body? Luca was everything to me."

"He was not married."

"Not officially. Look at me, Mr. Shelby. I'm nothing but a black woman, do you know the atrocities I have to hear day after day? The things his family said to me! But Luca… he was different. We didn't married officially because it's forbidden, because in the eyes of the law I'm less than person. But we did married. Alone, just him and me. I became Mrs. Changretta one cold night after a particularly bloody massacre. I didn't approve it, but I always accepted Luca the same way he accepted me. I'm Mrs. Changretta. Like it or not."

Tommy lit a cigarette. It didn't seem to him that the woman was lying. Only a wife could talk that way of a man like Luca. What she wanted, then? Money? He offered her a cheque but Aveline cursed him.

"I came here because I needed to talk to Arthur Shelby. His name crossed the ocean. Of course, the hero who killed the monster."

"Not a hero, ma'am. Just a man. I won't ask for your forgiveness, this just our job."

"I don't believe in forgiveness. I don't believe in mercy. And considering your job, I don't think you believe in it either. Don't worry about that."

Aveline studied the eldest brother. Unlike the other one, he looked defeated. She imagined Arthur Shelby like a knight in a shining armour. Brave, arrogant, despicable. Instead, he was nothing but just a man. Probably haunted by his own demons. Amazing that he was the one who killed her Luca. Her poor Luca. It seemed he was more willing to talk until Thomas Shelby appeared, now it looked like he was looking for his permission to open the mouth. Tommy Shelby was clearly in charge.

"Then, if you already talked to Arthur and if you don't want money. Maybe what you want is protection, a shelter… I know a woman in London. She works helping women in need. Her name is Rose Solomons…"

"Ya foockin' kill Alfie!! Ya don't want two widows, thanks to the Shelbys, together, Tom."

"Oh, another one. What a nice hobby. Killing husbands must be a nice entertainment." Aveline, snorted.

"Same hobby as Luca. Ask John's wife what she thinks about it." Tommy replied.

"The same wife who run away from your family with the kids? That one? Esme Lee-Shelby, nice woman… she wants you dead."

Tommy chuckled, "I see you did your job."

"I'm a Changretta, do not underestimate me. But, I'm not a killer. My hands are clean and so is my soul." Aveline closed her eyes just for a few seconds. "Do not fear me. I'm harmless. I'm just a singer and now I'm just delivering a message."

"What's the message?"

"The blood of Luca Changretta will chase you. From now and for the next decades."

"All Changrettas are dead," affirmed Tommy Shelby.

Aveline smiled at him, "Wrong. There's still one. Augustus Caesar Changretta my son. His son. Named after the founder of the Roman Empire. Fascinating, don't you think? Maybe he'd found a new Italian empire. It'd be interesting that in the future a tall black man appears in front of you claiming vengeance for a father he never met."

Their last night together, Luca and Aveline had made a baby. The boy was a little over a year old now. The kid was protected by a person she trusted very much.

Aveline stood up and walked through the pub until she reached the door.

"I don't have anything else to say. Good afternoon, a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shelbys." She was ready to leave but stopped for a moment "Do you know what Italian word Luca taught me first?"

Arthur shook his head and Tommy just looked at her.

"Vendetta."

#arthur shelby #tommy shelby #luca changretta #arthur shelby fanfic #arthur shelby imagine #luca changretta x oc #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x oc #tommy Shelby fanfic

[evita-shelby]

Hi Juli!!

I saw the prompt list you reblogged and was wondering if you would be interested in writing something for Luca with "smile for me" or, "twirl for me" ??

Thanks so much if you choose to! 🥰

Thanks for the request K, i ended up using both prompts and it came out very dirty 🙈

Modern!Luca x reader x Eva Smith

Cw: older man/younger woman, lingerie kink, allusions to a threesome and polyamory, boss/secretary

Gif by @severousse

Two for One

You knew the risks of a job like this.

Luca Changretta owned everything from priceless jewelry to apparel you could never dream of affording. He was also so, so sexy.

Tall, handsome, charming when he wanted to be and gave every indication that he was fantastic under the sheets.

He has a fiancé, a beautiful woman who matches his appeal in a way you didn’t think was humanly possible. A shipping heiress with a bleeding heart. You wonder how she still has mountains of cash with how much she throws at every charity in her way.

Once she gave you her diamond earrings when you complimented them.

And because the soon-to-b Mrs. Changretta was so like that, it makes your crush on your boss so much worse.

But you want him, and he wants you going by how intensely he stares at you going about your business at the office.

“I have a job for you, Y/N.” he says in that low grave voice of his that has you ready to drop on your knees if he asked.

He wants you to try go shopping with him and model for him somethings Eva would get as a gift. You were the same size as her and would keep anything you liked.

You agreed to do it before he even finished asking.

He smirks, eyes you like he wants to consume you and you know the day will end with something even better than fancy clothes and champagne: him.

“Twirl for me.” He orders you as you come out of the dressing room in the lingerie he’s ordered in advance.

Luca has taken pictures of you in everything you’ve tried on, from the jewelry to the shoes. You had gotten so aroused when he mentioned coming to this shop.

He has good taste and a very filthy mind. Everything is elegant yet as scandalous as you can get. Eva was a lucky woman; you think as you model something that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.

“You look so good like that, pussycat.” The Italian smirks as he notes how desperate you are for him. “Doesn’t she, Eva?”

That is when you notice the other woman coming to join you in the luxury dressing room wearing almost as little as you.

“She does, mi amor. Now, Y/N, are you opposed to having two for the price of one?” the woman responds and seductively approaches you.

You can’t deny you want both of these people, a dream you’ve had ever since you met her and were given a glimpse into just how it would be to be railed by your boss.

“Smile for me, y/n.” Luca says as you let the bewitching Miss. Smith make your wildest dream come true.

#luca changretta x oc #luca changretta x reader #luca changretta smut #peaky blinders x reader

[zablife]

My Sun, My Moon and All My Stars-Part 2

Luca Changretta x OC (Aurora Changretta)

Summary: Aurora and Tommy put their plan into motion. When things go wrong in Artillery Square, she’s the one who must deal with Luca.

Author’s Note: Rose Solomons is an OC belonging to @raincoffeeandfandoms.

Warnings: language, drinking, ethnic slurs, mention of death, fighting, injury, blood, mention of domestic abuse

☀️🌙✨MASTERLIST✨🌙☀️

Part 1

The last of the letters sat addressed and ready to mail home in the morning, It was important to Aurora that she tell the families about their brave sons and husbands who had given their lives for her family. She pledged continued income and protection on behalf of the Sabini family for their sacrifice, but the promise felt as weightless as the cheap hotel stationary she held in her hand. Rubbing an ink stain from her finger, she hadn’t noticed Luca enter, furrowing his brow at her.

“You’re still awake?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“I couldn’t sleep until I finished my condolence letters,” she said, motioning toward the neat stack at the corner of the desk. 

“Come to bed,” he said, extending a hand for her and she rose to meet him without resistance. “You’re a good woman, Aurora,” he commented, urging her to lean into him.

“Is that what we should tell their children?” she asked into the darkness of the hallway, limbs feeling heavy with exhaustion.

“The Shelbys will answer for this, hmm? They did this,” he stressed, rubbing his palm along her upper back. She winced slightly from her healing injuries, murmuring about the nightly regimen she needed to complete and he guided her into the bedroom.

Aurora sat at the edge of the bed, dark hair cascading over one shoulder as Luca’s long fingers massaged a soothing balm into her bruised shoulder. The moonlight reflected against her glossy locks, drawing Luca forward to kiss the top of her head. Breathing in the hint of spice in her perfume, he mused, “You remember the first Christmas we were married? All the promises we made?”

Aurora nodded as she glanced down at the bauble on her right hand, a gift from their first holiday together as a married couple. The large princess cut emerald nestled amongst smaller brilliant diamonds, one for every child they hoped to be blessed with in the future. “My sun, my moon and all my stars,” she whispered. It was true they’d made plans for a dynasty of their own in the early days, but this was no longer the dream as all her hopes had turned to fear, joy drowning in sorrow and every kiss from Luca sinking her deeper into death.

Luca rested his cheek against her momentarily as he continued, “This vendetta has made me realize how short life is. When we get back home a new life begins for us. Things are gonna be different.”

Aurora’s breath caught in her chest as she listened to his words, eyes slipping closed at the memory of Tommy Shelby’s icy stare as she agreed to the unthinkable.

“When all this is done, I think it’s time to talk about having a family,” he said, caressing her arm. “We have to find a way to move on after Angel and Papa,” he said, a sadness tinging his voice that made her whole body ache even more as guilt permeated her soul.

After a few moments of silence, she looked up to find her husband staring at her in the mirror and she could hardly meet his gaze.

“Did you hear what I said, Aurora?” he asked, pulling her into him. 

“Mmm-hm,” she acknowledged numbly.

Satisfied he had her attention, Luca continued, brushing her hair with his fingers absently as he spoke. “You can stop working for your father and let go of all the worry. Have my children and let me spoil you for the rest of your life, vita mia,” he promised with a squeeze. “God, you’ll make the most beautiful mother,” he praised, kissing the side of her face. When she remained still, Luca pulled away to look at her, finding a tear in the corner of her eye. “You alright?” he asked tenderly.

Aurora’s hand came to rest at his cheek as her mind whirred, unable to answer him until she finally heard herself say, “Luca, I’m so tired. Can we go to sleep?”

“Of course,” he replied with another peck to her shoulder, moving backward on the bed and tossing the covers aside. She slipped beneath the duvet, silk night gown sliding against the smooth cotton and sighed at the relief of the cool material against her face. She watched intently as Luca turned out the light, hoping he hadn’t noticed the turmoil behind her eyes.

————————————-

Two days later, Aurora entered the dining room to find Luca with his head in his hands. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, taking a seat beside him at the table.

Luca tossed a telegram before her and she grasped it between her fingers, eyes flying across the page. She tried to hide the small intake of breath as she realized it came from Camden Town, realizing the plan was in motion.

“The jew says he can lead me to Shelby,” Luca said, leaning back in his chair as he drummed his fingers on the tabletop. 

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Aurora asked encouragingly, reaching for his hand.

Luca pulled back with a shake of his head. “Something isn’t right. I can feel it,” he said stroking his cheek thoughtfully.

“Wh-why do you say that? I thought you had a productive meeting at the distillery. You promised him distribution for his rum in New York in exchange for Tommy Shelby’s whereabouts,” she said, reiterating the terms of the agreement. 

Luca stood and crossed to the window looking down to the street. “I don’t trust him, baby,” he eventually replied.

“I admit he’s a bit eccentric, but Darby said we can trust him. Papa said,” Aurora stressed, attempting not to raise her voice and show her hand. 

“It’s not just him. It’s that wife of his. She’s got opinions on everything, always in his ear,” he said with a disapproving sneer. Luca spun around to look at Aurora as he asked intently, “What was it she said to you that day when you were alone? You never told me.”

Aurora’s eyes dropped to the patterned tablecloth, tracing it slowly as she thought of a believable lie. The clock in the corner ticked away the seconds forcefully, urging her on until she landed on the telegram once more. Placing a manicured finger over a few words she pronounced, “Look, the Solomons mention Artillery Square.”

“And?” Luca asked with clenched jaw.

“Tommy Shelby hides his youngest brother there. Goes to visit him one day a week to give him his orders in person and check on him,” she said confidently.

Luca was listening intently now, studying his wife with suspicion. “And how do you know this, principessa?” he asked. 

“You asked what Rose said. She told me they’ve had a girl from the bakery who was sweet on him. She tried to warn her off and couldn’t. She said she followed her there a few times,” Aurora continued as naturally as possible. 

“And why wouldn’t you have told me this before?” Luca asked with raised eyebrow, pacing back to the breakfast table with a dangerous look in his eye.

Aurora went to him, stroking a hand down his shirt front to calm him. “I had to be sure,” she said, faltering slightly in her delivery before dipping her head under his chin. When Luca accepted her, lacing an arm around her waist, her body relaxed against his. However, she quickly noticed the tension did not leave his grip as he tightened his hold on her.

“Sure of what, amore?” he whispered in a low growl, fingers pressing against her flesh painfully. One hand slipped away to find her chin, pulling her eyes up to meet his in a challenging stare.

Aurora eyes darted momentarily as she forced the lump back down her throat with the note of panic desperate to escape. “I couldn’t risk her giving us false information. Putting you in danger,” she purred.

Luca’s head tilted slightly as his brow softened, “So how do you know she’s not lying?” he implored, wanting to believe.

At that moment, Enzo entered the room and Aurora turned to him with a desperate look in her eye. With her back to her husband she silently pleaded through her gaze as she spoke. “Enzo followed him there,” she said, heart thundering in her chest as she waited for her father’s man to give confirmation.

“Have you been watching Artillery Square?” Luca asked the young man before him.

Aurora gave an almost imperceptible nod of her head toward Enzo and his eyes went wide for a moment, glancing between husband and wife. He knew what needed to be done though fear coursed through his veins. “Yes, boss,” he quickly replied.

“And Tommy Shelby’s brother lives there? You’re certain of it?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Enzo confirmed, feeling a trickle of sweat run down his back.

Luca sighed heavily, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek as he thought.

“You see, Luca, we can trust the intelligence,” Aurora spoke up. Seeing his resolve was weakening at the thought of a victory over the Shelbys, Aurora delivered one last impassioned speech. “Let’s end this so we can go home. You take him today, Luca. You must,” she urged her husband, stroking his cheek gently.

She could see from the glint in his eye that he was ready, having waited too long for vengeance for his family. “Today,” he repeated with a firm nod, assured in his decision. 

———————————————

Tommy waited patiently from a second story balcony late into the afternoon with a machine gun covered by a thick swath of muslin. Residents had been evacuated from the buildings in Artillery Square, though he suspected some still remained as noises could be heard occasionally with the rustle of the breeze. If it were rats or curious tenants, he couldn’t quite be sure. It was of no concern now though, the only thought on his mind was waiting for Luca and his men.

Tommy closed his eyes, taking in one last deep breath and exhaling into the heavens. This would be the end to it all, the black hand and the blood in the kitchen had been nothing compared to this moment when he would finally be victorious. And if he wasn't, that would be the end of everything extra and he could be at peace with Grace. “In the bleak midwinter…” he began before the roar of a car engine could be heard in the distance.

Readying himself for battle, Tommy withdrew the cloth from his weapon and hid beyond the shadows, listening to the distant footsteps of at least four men, recalling all the places he’d stored guns and ammunition around the compound. He steadied his breathing as he’d done years ago in the war, taking in the stream of oxygen as he might the opium or whisky afterward to stop the shakes. He took one last look at his pocket watch, the soldier's minute had begun.

—————————————-

Aurora watched the last of the vehicles Darby provided pull away from the curb and she felt a rush of adrenaline course through her whole body. She packed quickly knowing time was not a luxury today and gathered the tickets Rose had left for her under an assumed name. Everything was falling into place almost too well when she felt a hand on her shoulder as she waited for a taxi. 

She startled at the touch, dropping her case to the pavement as she glanced over her shoulder nervously. This was the moment she was found out. She was certain of it and she nearly fainted as she glimpsed the fedora in her peripheral vision. 

In a blessed moment of relief, the voice that issued forth was not that of her husband, but a warm, soothing tone of her bodyguard. Shoulders slumping forward in instant relief she managed, “Enzo! It’s only you.”

“Yes, Mr. Changretta said I should stay behind and watch over you,” he explained, a note of apology in his voice.

“I won't be needing you today. Go back to the hotel,” Aurora instructed.

Enzo looked confused as Aurora straightened her dress and picked her case up from where it had fallen at her feet. He dipped quickly to pick it up for her, but she grabbed the handle first with a shake of her head. Her hazel eyes turned dark with warning, the same look she’d given him that morning in the dining room and he understood she was fleeing. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t stay,” she said as a taxi pulled up to the curb. 

“No, it’s I who must apologize, Mrs. Changretta,” he replied as he opened the door for her. "Potrai mai perdonarmi?"

She paused as her hand fell upon the door. “Why do you say that?” she asked, eyes snapping up to meet his.

Enzo looked away as he fixed his eyes on something across the road answering honestly, “I never protected you from him. It was my one job and I failed you,” he confessed.

Aurora’s swallowed harshly as she was confronted by the truth no one had dared speak into existence in her presence. She placed a gloved hand over his and gave a gentle squeeze as she tried to fortify him with a look of reassurance. “You've done enough. Be satisfied with that and don't worry. I'm my father's daughter. No one strikes a Sabini without bearing a scar of their own.” Then she ducked inside the cab without looking back.

——————————-

“Dear Lord, vengeance is yours. My father, look upon me. Vengeance is yours too.” Luca whispered before making the sign of the cross and kissing the St. Christopher medal that hung from his neck. As Matteo drove a bread truck deep into Shelby territory, he searched for signs of life in the smoggy streets. However, the neighborhood appeared cold and desolate, gray clouds hanging like a burial shroud over the decaying buildings.

Luca leaned forward to give his final instructions to his men. “He may try to surrender, but remember, I’ll fire the final shot,” he warned them, flexing his gloved hands until the leather cracked breaking the tension in the air. They nodded in silent understanding, exchanging glances as they all recognized the blood lust in Luca’s eyes. He wouldn’t be contained a moment longer.

As soon as the car stopped, Luca jumped from the back, surveying the empty car left by the alley. By all accounts this was Shelby’s car and he smirked with pleasure knowing his enemy was nearby. 

In the distance Tommy watched through the iron bars of the balcony railing as Luca marched through the courtyard, a lion prowling unfamiliar territory with his nose high in the air. He had an unsettling sense of superiority Tommy found nauseating, a reminder of the cavalry who rode past him without a single glance. That was the secret to his plan, however. Hiding in plain sight where Luca would never think to look. Taking one last view through the sights, Tommy’s finger curled over the trigger in anticipation of just the right moment.

No sooner had Luca begun thinking of his plans to ambush Tommy, gunfire reigned down from above. The sharp echoes around him bit at his nerves and the wind opened his coat, exposing him to the elements in a sudden reversal of fortune he hadn’t been expecting. His men poured from the back doors of the bread truck, machine guns in hand, but two were struck down instantly by his side, blood pooling at his feet. “Fuck!” he shouted, returning fire to the balcony above, grimacing as he held his gun against his shoulder tightly and fired several rounds in quick succession.

As the specter of a man in a flat cap disappeared beyond undulating waves of hanging bed sheets, Luca motioned the others forward. “Come on!” he said with a wave of his arm, unwilling to give up the chance now that it had begun. His earlier certainty had been robbed, however, and he now stood motionless despite his command, flattening himself against a wall as he collected his thoughts. His face twisted with rage as he hissed, “I was lied to.”

———————————

Aurora fidgeted with the buttons on her gloves anxiously, willing the couple in front of her to move more quickly. She'd already waited at the docks for hours for her boat and the churning in her stomach was worsening with every passing second. Her nerves were not helped by the elderly pair before her having a lengthy discussion about securing their dog on board, along with endless questions about their voyage. She attempted to take long, slow breaths through her nose, but nothing seemed to calm her.

Finally it seemed she would be next and she readied her papers in hand with a warm smile. As she stretched her hand out to offer them, a clerk approached her. “Ma’am, a word please,” he said in a stern voice.

With a dry throat, Aurora attempted to swallow and hesitantly turned to face him. “Yes, can I help you?” She was certain it was a mistake. Women traveling alone were often questioned and she was confident she could talk her way out of it.

“I need you to follow me, please,” he said with a wave of his hand. "There's been a problem with your paperwork, ma'am." 

"Surely you'll find everything in order if you take a look," she demurred, offering her papers. They shook in her hand as she pleaded, "Please, I’ll miss the boat and my family is waiting in America."

“Now, ma’am, or I'll be forced to call a policeman,” he commanded.

Seeing no other option, Aurora complied, gathering the small case at her side. The row of waiting travelers parted for her, pointing and staring at the elegant woman being led away. Although she kept her head held high, her legs nearly collapsed when she made it to the end of the dock to see Luca towering above her. He smiled at her with a predatory glimmer in his dark brown eyes. “Amore, I was so worried when you weren’t at the hotel,” he greeted her with open arms, pulling her into him like a long lost lover. 

Aurora’s heart raced, beating wildly against her chest. She knew each and every one of his moods. This was his best impression of a loving husband, an act he would discard later in favor of the cruelest forms of punishment. The soft, even tone of his voice terrified her more than the beatings that followed. 

She tried not to react as he pushed the scarf from her head and stroked her hair, fingers tracing along the column of her neck. A prickle of goosebumps developed beneath the wake of his touch as he whispered in her ear, “We could have had everything.” His nose nudged the shell of her ear tenderly as he did when they made love, but his next words came out even more breathlessly as he struggled to temper his emotions. “Mi hai spezzato il cuore…now I’m gonna break you, sweetheart.” Then he placed a rough kiss to her temple, hand clutching at the back of her neck possessively as though he might crush her skull and she whimpered involuntarily.

As he attempted to drag her from view of the remaining passengers waiting to board, Aurora began to feel nauseous. If she went with him, she wouldn’t return home. He had warned her once. Spotting the waiting car at the curb, she began to kick against his hold.

She wrenched herself from him in a moment of panic, his hand clutching at her necklace. It stopped her for a brief moment, a small choking sound emitting from her throat as it held her to him. Then the clasp gave way and she stumbled, watching a shimmering row of pearls fall to the walkway. Her hand flew to her throat as she saw Luca’s eyes widen in shock at the shower of jewels bounce along the ground at their feet.

Seeing her moment to flee, Aurora ran in the opposite direction as quickly as her legs would carry her. The shouted curses began as the sound of Aurora’s heels beat against the pavement, sounding a war drum in Luca’s ears as the blood pumped through his veins provoking him to chase after her. 

She cut a path back through the crowd, weaving between bodies to disguise herself. The murmurs from the crowd intensified as she ducked low to avoid the men in dark coats and her position was given away when a woman screamed out in surprise. “Over there!” Luca called to Matteo who rushed to find her, pushing a man out of his way as he reached for the handle of his pistol.

In an instant Aurora’s brown curls had disppeared once more and the men stopped to watch and listen. They hadn’t seen her remove her shoes and scamper down a ramp, concealing herself beneath a set of stairs. Although soon one of the men discovered the passageway and motioned for Luca. “Here, boss!” he called out. 

The men stalked through the shadowed area slowly, weapons drawn now that they were out of sight of any bystanders. Aurora closed her eyes tightly as she heard the sound of a gun cock, chest heaving and silently praying they wouldn’t discover her position. When she heard their footsteps move on, she took one last gulp of air and ran toward freedom, but the sound of a single shot echoing along the corridor immobilized her with a shock of lightning through her entire body. She dropped to the ground as the sound of police whistles rang out and her vision blurred.

———————————- 

**The Changretta Calls-3 happens here **

Margate, One week later…

As the heavy front door swung open, Tommy’s voice rumbled lowly, “Is she still alive?” Expression unreadable below his flat cap, only his tightly clasped hands and rigid posture gave away his anxiety.

“And good morning to you, Tom,” Alfie said, stepping aside to allow his business associate inside. “Would like some tea, I think Edna’s got some brewing.” Observing Tommy’s pacing, he stroked his beard, adding, “bit of something stronger?”

Removing his cap swiftly, Tommy’s bloodshot eyes came into view and he stepped closer to Alfie as he hissed, “I need answers, Alfie. Right fucking now.”

“Yeah, suppose you do, mate. Come on, then,” he said, shuffling toward the back of the house to find Rose.

As they came into view of the sitting room, Rose’s head shot up. “Mr. Shelby, there are a few things we need to discuss,” she said with arms crossed against her chest. “First, I’d like to know why you left Mrs. Changretta to die when we agreed it was her husband you wanted.”

“Now wait a minute,” Tommy interjected. “I’ve already told your husband, I had nothing to do with that.”

“Of course you’d deny it,” she huffed. “She delivered him to you on a silver platter and it still wasn’t enough for your ego,” she let out a bitter laugh as she marched toward him. Pointing a finger at Tommy accusingly she continued, “If that bullet had been three inches to the left, she’d be dead. She risked her life to save yours, you arrogant prick!” Her words were pitched with emotion, a bit high for her usual register as the emotional distress from watching Aurora suffer spilled forth all at once. 

“It was only Luca and his men in Artillery Square,” Tommy said with conviction.

“Then how did she end up in hospital?” Rose asked.

As the waves crashed outside the open balcony door, Aurora’s words echoed in Tommy’s ear, “I just want out.” She’d been desperate that afternoon in the basement room, clawing her way out of the pit Luca had dug for them. Tommy recognized it in her, the will to live despite being buried. Then all the pieces clicked into place. His throat felt dry and the room far too warm suddenly. Alfie had been right about one thing, the unexpected guilt that arose. He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen when he arranged the meeting in Artillery Square. It was his battle to fight, not Aurora Changretta’s.

The harsh cry of a lone seagull dipping low in the sky brought Tommy back to himself as he choked out, “I proposed an alliance in good faith and I haven’t broken it. The only other person in this country who wants her dead is her own husband. Have you asked her about him?”

The tightness in his jaw and the strained look in his eye told Rose Tommy was concerned for Aurora. Perhaps he even cared what happened to her after this, but he was definitely telling the truth about the events of the past days. Even if she wanted to hold a grudge, she had no choice but to work with him because a war was still raging outside her doorstep.

“She lost a great deal of blood and fell unconsciousness before I could speak with her further,” Rose admitted. “I just know she needed protection and asked to come here.”

“Well let’s settle this, shall we? I’d like to know where the fuck Luca is for a start, wouldn’t you?” Tommy asked with raised eyebrows.

“I told you, she needs rest,” Rose cautioned, still feeling protective over her guest.

“We don’t have time, Rose,” Tommy countered. Rose opened her mouth to argue, fury ready to fly from her until he added more gently, “I can’t protect her or any of us if I don’t have information.”

She couldn’t deny his logic and closed her mouth. Pursing her lips for a moment before beginning, “I’ll check on her, but I don’t want that woman upset. If you speak, you’ll watch your bloody tone with her. She’s been through enough, do you understand?” Rose gave him a stern look and without waiting for a reply, she whisked away to Aurora’s room to see if she might be able to speak.

Alfie let out a low whistle. “Ready for that drink now?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Tommy agreed with a quick nod, watching Alfie push himself up from his chair with a low grunt.

Alfie lumbered to the bar cart in the corner, pouring two fingers of Irish whisky and passed it to his friend with a grumble. As he stood considering the bright morning sun over the water, he reached for the chain around his neck and produced a pair of half moon shaped glasses. Their size was unremarkable in comparison to their owner who held them in his enormous hand with great awe and wonder.

“The man who made this pair of spectacles for me is a fucking magician, Tommy. You wouldn’t believe it,” he said with a satisfied nod. “A fucking magician!” his voice boomed. “Ain’t they lovely though?” he asked, pulling the chain out from his body and offering them toward Tommy for inspection.

Tommy took a swig of his drink, tilting his chin to the ceiling as he allowed the burn of the alcohol to reach his brain. It was too early for Alfie’s theatrics, especially with the weight on his mind. He licked his lips and nodded thoughtfully. “They’re quite nice, Alfie.”

“They tell me things as well. All that’s about to happen," he gestured with an open palm. "I’ve seen into the future with these,” he said in a hushed voice full of reverence. 

“Is that right? Perhaps I need a pair then,” Tommy dead panned, reaching into his coat pocket for a badly needed cigarette.

“Ah, but you already know, dontcha?” Alfie hummed, pacing toward the balcony once more. “It was you who said they was coming for us all one day. That was you, weren’t it?” he asked,  glancing over his shoulder as Tommy lit his smoke, looking more interested than before.

Nodding to himself, Alfie clutched the spectacles in his large fingers and turned his back to Tommy saying, “Hmm, didn’t need a pair of these after all, did ya?” Tugging at the hem of his shirt to polish a spot, he held them to the light for inspection as he continued, “The way I see it, the wops know she’s a traitor.” Alfie stopped, one ringed hand resting over his mouth, stroking his beard momentarily, before he dared speak the rest. “Worse they’ll know by now my Rosie’s one cause they’ve been seen together.”

“What would you have me do, Alfie?” Tommy asked, taking a long drag as he awaited an answer.

“I can’t keep the Changretta woman here another day, mate,” Alfie proclaimed, a veiled request rolled into his statement.

“Rose won’t agree to it,” Tommy warned.

“She might not like it, but she knows what’s best for everyone, don’t she?” Alfie countered.

“Aurora can’t possibly travel,” Tommy argued, pointing his cigarette at Alfie for emphasis.

“She got here,” Alfie reasoned, tucking the glasses back into his shirt front. "She can make it to yours," he said decisively.

Tommy bit the inside of his cheek before slamming his glass on the nearest table, accepting his inevitable defeat in this argument. “I’ll need blankets and a medical kit, plus two cars to accompany us on the drive.”

Alfie nodded thoughtfully to accept the proposal, but his pacing continued as though some other issue still plagued his mind. “You do realize my wife will have your balls if you don’t do right by this woman,” Alfie proclaimed, chewing his bottom lip with worry. 

Tommy looked down the hall where Rose had disappeared as he nodded, “Yes, I do.”

—————————————

Rose helped Tommy bundle Aurora into warm blankets, carrying her down to the car as gingerly as possible. Aurora was still quite delirious from the pain medicine, making a proper goodbye difficult, but she managed to thank Rose, giving her hand a weak squeeze. Rose wiped a tear away as she placed a basket on the bench seat by Tommy. “Be sure she eats the bread I sent,” she instructed. It was the only bit of care she could give now that they would be separated.

“And Tommy…this time you must succeed. This man has to be killed,” Rose implored with fierce determination.

“There's no other option,” Tommy replied before driving off. 

It was close to midnight before they reached Arrow House, rows of men welcoming them back to what had become a heavily guarded fortress. Frances swept from the house the moment the car arrived with questions about room preparations which Tommy answered in short, half sentences, too tired to address properly. He was thinking of the calls still to be made that evening to a doctor, his brothers and Pol. There would be a lot of explaining to do and he could only hope they would trust him. 

As he carried Aurora to her room, the full moon broke through the parting clouds and Tommy looked down at her sleeping form, wondering when he’d gone soft. Hadn’t she been the same woman who tried to have him killed mere weeks ago? Now she rested against his chest, the weight of her in his arms a promise to be fulfilled. He couldn't say if it was Rose's influence or the bandages that lay in the same place against her chest as the red stain upon Grace's dress the night of her murder, but something was driving him to protect her.

————————-

The next day…

“Thanks be to Mary and Joseph," Johnny Dogs exhaled at the sight of Tommy entering the foyer of Arrow House. With Arthur in tow, they followed at Tommy's heels until they'd reached the office. With a heavy sigh, Johnny closed the office door behind him. “You didn't say she was gonna wake up, Tom! We had to barricade the fucking door,” he huffed, shoving his hands into his pockets angrily.

“What’s happened?” Tommy asked, quickly removing his jacket and placing it on the closest chair. 

“I don’t know. She’s up there smashing up the room, speaking in bloody tongues,” Arthur said in disgust, pouring himself a whisky as he shook his head, ears still ringing.

“It’s Italian, Arthur,” Tommy retorted. “And I didn’t tell you to fucking lock her in. She’s not a prisoner, she’s a guest in my home. This is a delicate business which must be conducted accordingly, you understand?” he scolded.

“Yeah, well you’d think she’d act a little more grateful for what you did for her, eh?” he said, tossing back his drink as another loud crash came from the upstairs bedroom. “See what I mean?” he gestured above his head. “Fucking madwoman!”

“Alright, you get Polly for the family meeting later and I’ll deal with this,” Tommy replied with a sigh. Rubbing a hand over his face, he climbed the grand staircase. Despite the lack of sleep and the obvious displeasure of his guest, it was time to discuss strategy.

Potrai mai perdonarmi?=Can you ever forgive me?

Mi hai spezzato il cuore=You broke my heart

---------------

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#Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Luca Changretta fanfic #Luca Changretta imagine #Luca Changretta x OC #Tommy Shelby fanfic #Tommy Shelby imagine #Tommy Shelby x OC

[mxpseudonym]

With me, near me, all around me

Pairing: Luca Changretta x Blossom OC (or characterized)

Reader Gender Expression: she/her pronouns

Summary: Luca wants Blossom to see his new apartment

Length: 982

Warnings: Nada

Ask: Hi, I really enjoy reading your works 🦥🦔.. Could you perhaps write fluff about Luca. I adore Blossom. What I really like about her is that she is confident and independent and the fact that she made him really work before going out on a date 😂

A/N: This is a second answer to this ask! The other is here: Made for You I Think. Enjoy!

—

“I could get rid of that guy for wasting your time,” Luca declared quietly. Even with an ice cream cone in hand and shades on, he still sounded a bit menacing as a Changretta. Blossom raised her eyebrows as if he said the magic words.

“Really?”

“Geez,” he scoffed, making her laugh.

Luca cleared his throat and looked around the outdoor facility of the nursing home. His finger tapped the sugar cone and his arms crossed over his chest.

“Should I guess?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve got something to say, but you’re not talking faster than your mind can think like usual. Should I guess what you want to say?” She gave him a look and he shook his head. For a woman who couldn’t be bothered, she sure knew him best.

“Listen,” he began, turning to her and leaning in.

“Yeah?”

“I just got the luxury over on Ashland,” he announced. She blinked at him and took a breath, then motioned for him to continue. “It’s an apartment building, real nice. I want to have you over.”

“I thought you were going to say you robbed my mother’s bank or something serious,” Blossom chided him.

“What? This is serious. I’m a man askin’ a woman to his place.”

“You’ve already been to my apartment. It’s about time you invited me to yours.” She shrugged.

“So you’ll come? Saturday at five?”

“Mm,” she hummed with a nod. Almost reflexively her hand went up to stop his celebratory kiss. “Not when you’re sticky.”

—

Blossom looked around in awe. She wore her nice sundress, and still, the golds, reds, and greens that divinely accented the lobby on its own made her feel underdressed. If she wasn’t holding a bag and a warm dish, she was sure she'd be fidgeting. There was a ding and Luca nearly jumped out of the elevator.

“Oi, what’s all this?” He kissed her cheek and took the dish at the same time.

“I could ask you the same. It’s so nice in here,” she whispered. Luca chuckled and led her to the elevator where a doorman was ready to return them to the top floor.

Blossom was sure she screamed when she saw the suave interior, but Luca quipped about her catching flies while she was stunned to silence.

“Holy shit. There’s no way your mother knows what you do when you’re not at home.”

“Why do you have to bring that up,” Luca huffed as he led her to the kitchen. He set down the dish and opened the lid. “Fuck me. Did you make me ribollita?”

“I did. Nearly cost me my life, too. I endured several lectures about bringing you 'poverty meals.' It’s not my fault you craved it.” She pouted, looking away while Luca was trying not to smile too big.

“I love it. Thank you, Blossom,” he gushed, approaching her with puckered lips until he kissed her cheek and wrapped his arms around her. Her nose scrunched and she grumbled but let it happen. Luca slid his hand down her arm to find her hand and interlaced their fingers. “Let me give you a tour.”

The apartment was flashy in ways and effortless in others, the way only new money could pull off. At some point, Blossom’s eyes mostly followed Luca. This was his first time living alone, after all. He was excited to point out all the plans he had for the apartment. If she wasn’t holding his hand, she wouldn’t have felt the oncoming clamminess as they walked around to the master bedroom.

“And this is my bedroom,” he told her from the doorway.

“Are we going in?” She looked up at him. His cheeks were a bit red and he looked hesitant before letting go of her hand to walk around.

“There’s a closet room and a bathroom in here,” he said. There was a large bed in the middle of the room, much too big for just two people, much less one. She turned to walk around when he stopped her. “I made sure the drapes are heavy how you like them so they block out the sun.”

“Oh.”

“And there’s space in the closet, just in case. I got you a toothbrush too, and an eye mask.”

“You must have really had your cashiers swooning,” Blossom chuckled as she looked around. Thinking back to the whole tour, there were several things that Luca didn’t mention but was definitely done with her in mind.

The colors around the place were ones she enjoyed, and none of the ones she hated. Her favorite artists graced the walls. Even his dining room chairs were the ones she pointed to in a store window once. She rubbed her hands together, feeling the clamminess between them. He had a right to be nervous.

“She did ask if I was buying for someone.”

Blossom walked over to the right-hand side table and picked up a pink, silk eye mask that rested so perfectly it was like what she imagined a hotel was like. But much better. Tears blurred her vision as she picked up the silk. It had been a while since someone had expressed that they wanted her, so much, to be with them, near them, all around them.

“Is that alright?” Luca asked from the doorway, bringing her back to the room. She blinked away her emotion the turned to him with a click of her tongue.

“You’re so in love with me it’s sick.”

Luca stared for a moment then rolled his eyes, making his way over to her just so he could tackle her to the bed. Laughter filled the apartment along with the release of tension.

“You are such a brat!”

>> Luca Changretta Masterlist &lt;<

>> Mx’s Main Masterlist &lt;<

>> Mx’s Peaky Blinders Masterlist &lt;<

#Luca Changretta #Luca Changretta Imainge #Peaky Blinders Imagine #Luca Changretta Fluff #Luca Changretta x OC #Luca Changretta x reader #Luca x Blossom

[red-riding-wood]

White Ribbon Masterlist

1: White Letter

2: Little Spy

3: Traitor

4: Kestrel

5: Venom in My Veins

6: Throne

7: Play For Me

8. Fight Like Animals

9. Made, Not Born

10. Afraid

Chapter 11 coming soon!

? total chapters; WIP; novel length

AO3 link

Charlotte tag: #oc: charlotte

Ship tag: #luca x charlotte

Story tag: #s: white ribbon

Playlist WIP/Coming Soon

#luca changretta #luca changretta x oc #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #adrien brody #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #my writing #alfie solomons #masterlists #tommy shelby #polly gray #arthur shelby #oc: charlotte #s: white ribbon #luca x charlotte