Two weeks later and Irina found herself back in Small Heath. It wasn't by choice, more so the pull of her inner moral compass that had brought her back to the industrial town in the Midlands.

She had received a telephone call from Thomas who gave her the details of his brother's funeral. Irina wasn't sure why she was on the list of people to inform about the date and time, but she felt compelled to board a train up north and pay her respects, even if she had never met John.

Irina had spoken to Alfie just once since he'd driven her home and the two of them had shared a dance in her kitchen. Her phone rang just shy of midnight, a call for Alfie, telling him he needed to attend to some business at the factory urgently. Irina listened in as Alfie went back and forth with whoever was on the other end of the line, trying to explain that he was in the middle of something, but to no avail.

She wondered how the other person had her phone number, or even knew Alfie was with her, but she was too tired to question anything and so, said goodbye to Alfie, falling asleep not long after closing the door.

Irina awoke the following morning with an intense sensation she recognised as blinding regret running through her veins like fire. The words she'd said to Alfie, the way she found herself looking up into his eyes and the way she'd unwillingly let herself feel a small flurry of excitement unleash itself inside of her was too much for her to comprehend.

Had she learned nothing from Luca? Was his death meaningless if she didn't take away a painful lesson? Getting close to another man was the last thing Irina should've been doing, and she knew that as soon as she woke up with a clear mind.

The one interaction Alfie and Irina did have was over the phone. He called her asking if she'd been informed about John's funeral, offering to drive her up to Small Heath himself the evening before. She politely declined, saying she would travel up by herself on the day of the funeral, having to work extra hours to keep on top of things at the warehouse.

Alfie woke up the morning after feeling like a new man. He'd fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning after meeting Ollie at the office to sort out some work, closing his eyes and seeing nothing but Irina's smile as she looked up at him, his hand on her waist.

He had been attracted to her since the moment he laid eyes on her, which wasn't an unusual reaction. Alfie had seen the way men's eyes would follow her around the room wherever she walked, watching them wander up and down her body. He didn't blame them, either, knowing that she hadn't even glanced in their direction. It made him feel good to know that she gave him her time, enjoying revelling in the fact that plenty of men would've killed to even offer to buy her a drink, let alone share a bottle of whiskey with her in her own home.

The lack of contact between them since, however, had put somewhat of a rain cloud over Alfie's head. He was a logical man most of the time, realising that he couldn't push too hard, she had just come out of a relationship, if you could even call it that. Alfie was happy to bide his time, but the urge to see her only grew stronger by the day and so, in a twisted way, he was looking forward to John Shelby's funeral, knowing she'd be there.

It was raining as Irina followed the heard of people from the funeral into The Garrison pub for the wake. She arrived with a few minutes to spare before the funeral and lingered at the back, spotting Alfie stood close to the Shelby family. His head was spared of a hat that day and the rain hammered down, soaking his hair and weighing down the shoulders of his coat. Irina stood with an umbrella, her heels sinking into the mud, starting to regret making the journey to the place she said she'd never return to.

Once she was inside the pub, she made her way over to Thomas who was sitting alone at the bar, a bottle of rum in front of him with Alfie's name printed on it.

"Hello, Thomas." She said, standing beside him.

He turned his head to face her, his eyes drier than she'd expected a man who'd just buried his brother to be.

"Thank you for coming, we really appreciate it. A drink?"

Irina nodded, "My deepest condolences, from the bottom of my heart."

Thomas drew in a long breath as he poured her a glass of the rum before pouring one for himself. Irina felt guilty about John's death, knowing that she was involved with the man who was responsible. Even though she was most definitely not complicit in any way, it still weighed on her shoulders, especially as she looked around the room and saw people crying.

"I'd say I'm sorry I killed your boyfriend, but that would be a lie."

Thomas Shelby was a stone-cold warrior of a man. Some would say he was a closed book, but Irina saw him more as a sealed casket buried fifty feet underground with an entire city built on top. He was as secretive and introverted as they came, his face giving nothing away, not even a hint of emotion at his own brother's funeral. The lack of anything apart from coldness reminded Irina of herself.

"Don't be. And he wasn't my boyfriend, I wouldn't want people to think that."

Thomas chuckled, "You don't strike me as the type of woman to care what other people think."

Irina just looked at him, "I'm not, but there are some ties I'd rather people not know."

Tommy raised his glass towards Irina who clinked her own against it, both of them taking a large gulp at the same time. She didn't particularly like Tommy, but the similarities in personality that they shared meant that he was starting to grow on her, as much as she despised that.

"I'd like to make a proposition, if I may?"

"I'm all ears."

Tommy grabbed a barstool and pulled it out for Irina to take a seat.

"I had an idea that could benefit both of us. We both work in the same field, most of the time, selling alcohol. I was wondering if you'd be open to sharing some of your customer's details with us in return for the same the other way around. It's simple, really. They all like alcohol, why would they buy gin and not vodka? We'd both double our customer base, ideally, anyway."

Irina narrowed her eyes at Tommy, "I thought you said nobody drinks vodka?"

He raised his eyebrows, shrugging in defeat, "I think it's fair to say you've proved me wrong, Irina. So, what do you say?"

Irina scoffed, "You're really doing business deals at your brother's funeral?"

"There's no rest for me in this life," he took a swig of his rum, "Perhaps in the next."

She rolled her eyes, half in disgust at the fact the man sat before her couldn't even take a day away from business for his own brother's funeral, and half in irritating admiration at how much she liked his idea.

"I'll think about it," she said.

"I expected nothing less," Tommy slid off the barstool and straightened his jacket, slamming down the empty glass on the bar, "Now if you'll excuse me, I should probably actually go and speak to people instead of avoiding them."

Irina let out a small laugh, nodding as Tommy disappeared into the sea of people packed into the small room.

She felt isolated as she sat at the bar by herself. It wasn't that she didn't like being alone, because she preferred her own company to anybody else's, but she couldn't help but feel like she was intruding on an event she shouldn't have been at. She could count on one hand the number of people she knew in the room, and the fact she'd never even set eyes on the man they were all mourning made the way she felt frozen out even colder.

"So you do like my rum."

Alfie pulled up the chair beside Irina, perching on the edge with a grin. His hair was dry now after being soaked earlier, his jacket in his hands. He wore a white shirt with a black waistcoat, the bandage on his arm still visible through the soft cotton.

The way she instantly felt her heart race when she heard Alfie's voice before even seeing him made Irina feel sick. She didn't want to have her feelings dictated by a man, she didn't have the time, the patience, and she certainly didn't have the trust. Though the way Alfie looked at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes made it impossible for Irina to suppress the flare of her heart.

"I'll drink anything, you know that."

"I do," he said, looking her up and down, "Nice dress."

"It's a funeral, Alfie," Irina glanced to the side to see if anybody was close enough to be listening to their conversation, "Is now really the time to be complementing my outfit? Shouldn't you be crying?"

Alfie just laughed and shrugged his shoulders, "I got all my crying done in the car on the way up here. If I cried now, I'd have rum coming out of my eyes."

"God," Irina shook her head at Alfie's comment, "You're so insensitive, you know that?"

He grinned, enjoying the way she narrowed her eyes at him in disapproval.

"If I'm insensitive what the bloody hell are you? I haven't seen you shed a single tear."

"I never met him, Alfie." Irina said in a hushed but defensive tone, leaning closer to him as she spoke.

"Not an excuse." He drank a swig of rum straight from the bottle, making Irina roll her eyes. He might've done it just to antagonise her on purpose.

"Yes, it is."

Alfie pursed his lips, looking over his shoulder around the room before jumping down from the stool and leaning over so his lips were just centimetres away from Irina's ear.

"Think anybody would notice if we left?"

"No," Irina answered straight away, thankful that Alfie was feeling just as awkward as she was.

He looked around one more time, scanning the room to make sure nobody was paying too much attention to them. It turned out nobody was paying any attention to the two of them sat at the bar, everyone was far too busy being upset or too drunk to notice.

Alfie pulled on his coat and cocked his head to the side, holding out his hand for Irina to take. She looked down at it, clenching her jaw for a moment in debate before thinking,  fuck it.

"Come on, you," he said, pulling her by the hand towards the door, looking back at her with a slight smirk with the side of his lips.

The angel on Irina's shoulder was telling her that leaving with Alfie was a terrible idea, but the devil? Well, the devil was the one holding her hand.