Irina had kept her distance from both Thomas Shelby and Luca Changretta for the past two weeks. Luca had made a habit of calling her office at least once a day to check on her, though he had no need since she'd already spotted one of his men lurking around outside her offices all day.

The fact Luca was so worried about her made half of her heart warm, but the other half freeze. In one breath, she was amazed that somebody cared deeply enough about her to want to protect her, but in the next breath, she was irritated down to her bones that he thought she couldn't protect herself.

In truth, Irina probably couldn't protect herself, not from the type of situation that for some reason she'd found herself caught up in, anyway. She was confident in her ability to defend herself against gangs of men, but in reality, she knew she wouldn't stand a chance. Whether she liked it or not, Luca was looking out for her.

She hadn't seen or heard from any of the Shelby brothers since Thomas' visit to London, but she had a feeling that not much more time would pass until she saw his face again.

Irina had spent occasional evenings with Luca over the fourteen days and nights, but no more than that. She had so much on her mind that she found even during sex, her mind was preoccupied with other things. The reliability of Alfie Solomons, being one of those things.

It was dark when Irina walked into the pub buried deep down a back alley in Camden Town. The sign above the door creaked as it blew in a strong gust of wind, windows rickety as candles flickered from inside.

She pushed open the door, ignoring the stares from the factory workers and men with stained cheeks and torn clothes, jugs of ale in their hands, bottles of whiskey on the tables. Spotting Alfie, she made her way over to him without wasting another second.

"Mr Solomons?" She said, clearing her throat as she approached the arm chair by the fireplace that he was peacefully sat in.

"Irina," he beamed, gesturing to the armchair opposite him, "Have a seat, to what do I owe to pleasure? Bar man, a glass of champagne! If you don't have any, go and buy some."

Irina took a seat opposite Alfie, shrugging off her fur coat and laying it across the side of the chair, smiling shyly at the bartender who stared as she joined Alfie.

"Thanks," she said quietly, "I just wanted to speak to you about something, if you don't mind."

"Ah," he nodded with a knowing grin, "Your vodka. Nice, from what I remember. Little bit strong, not sure if it's what people need when they have work in the morning, perhaps tone it down a bit."

Irina rolled her eyes, "Not about my vodka. And if it was, I certainly wouldn't be asking you, your rum tastes like sewage water."

"Can't say I've ever tried sewage water to make that comparison myself, love."

Glaring at him with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw, Alfie's lips curved into a mischievous smile as the barman placed down a glass of champagne in front of Irina.

"Go on," he drew in a breath and leant back in the chair, the roar of the fire beside them warming Irina's cold hands, "What can I do for you?"

She pursed her lips after taking a sip of her champagne, debating for a moment on whether to say what she'd planned to before arriving at the pub that night.

"Well," she began, "I want to know if I can trust you, first."

Alfie chuckled, licking his lips, "Where is this going, Irina?"

"Can I trust you, Alfie? Can I trust you to not say anything to Thomas?"

He raised an eyebrow, his seriousness increasing, "Why? Is it about Luca?"

She shook her head, watching the way his eyes softened and his tone hushed when he spoke, shifting in his seat to get closer to the table, closing the gap between them.

"You are the only other impartial party in this situation, Alfie. Kind of, anyway."

"Nah," he shook his head, "I'm not impartial, I'm employed by Tommy Shelby and I'll do my job. That being said, it doesn't mean I can't help you."

"So help me," she said, placing her hands flat on the table and leaning closer to him, "What do I do? Luca cares for me, he wants to keep me safe."

A flicker of jealousy flashed across Alfie's eyes, swallowing hard as he stared at Irina from across the table. He despised the Italians just as much as the Peaky Blinders did, running riot all over his city was more than enough reason for him to get on board with Tommy. It was clear, though, that Irina didn't have even an inkling of what was going on.

"You stay with Luca, Tommy and his men won't hesitate to shoot you. If you take Tommy's protection..."

Alfie trailed off, sipping his drink and staring into the fire beside them. Irina was on edge as she sat in the busy pub. It wasn't the type of place she would usually spend her evenings, tending to stay away from places with mostly wooden chairs, but there was something about seeing Alfie in an emerald velvet armchair that made the place seem homely.

"What, Alfie?" She urged him to continue.

"You would be used as a pawn, I won't lie to you. They'll keep you safe for the time being, of course, but if it came down to it, Tommy wouldn't think twice about harming you to get to Luca."

Irina froze, Alfie's words swirling around in her mind. She'd never thought of Thomas as a violent man, though recent discovery proved otherwise. She couldn't imagine him with a knife or a gun to her throat, but the look on Alfie's face told her that he was deadly serious.

She sighed loudly and sank back into the armchair, her champagne glass now empty after quickly drinking what had remained. Alfie noticed the lost expression falling onto her face. She looked weak, defeated, at an unknown end. The lack of confidence didn't suit her, Alfie thought as he fixed his gaze on her, she didn't look as vibrant as she usually did.

"Look, Irina," he started, shuffling towards her with his voice lowered, glancing around to make sure nobody else was listening in, "If you're worried about your safety, which I really don't blame you about, I can help."

He reached into the inside pocket of his coat, pulling out a scrap of paper and a pencil, jotting something down and tearing the end of the paper off, sliding it across the table to her.

Irina took the paper in her hand, looking at the phone number he'd messily scrawled down for her. She switcher her gaze to look up and meet his, his eyes an innocent pale blue.

"You need anything, give me a call, I'm sure you're rich enough to have a phone in your house if I am. I know people, people that the Italians and the Blinders don't. You need protection walking to work or just to hang around outside your house in the evening to help you sleep better, I can sort it without any problems."

Irina gave Alfie a soft smile. Truthfully, she was still very much clouded in her knowledge about the severity of the situation. Being told she was essentially a pawn between two gangs was a lot to take in, and something that would seem quite unbelievable to most people. For whatever reason, Irina trusted Alfie. He wasn't sleazy like Luca, dark and mysterious with an inescapable charm. He also wasn't as unnerving as Thomas was, he didn't have an intimidating presence or a stare that made you question his motives.

Alfie was pure, she thought, at least the purest out of the three of them. Granted, she didn't know him too well, but at that moment in time, she wasn't exactly spoilt for choice.

"Thank you, Alfie. I really do appreciate it." She said, stuffing the piece of paper into her handbag.

"That's alright," he said, waving the bar man over to pour him some more ale, "How'd you find me, anyway? Luca's men following me as well?"

"What do you mean as well?" She asked, thanking the bar man who handed her a second glass of champagne without being asked.

"Well there's a gentleman in a black trilby hat that's been lurking in that window since you got he-"

"Fuck!"

Irina turned in her chair to peer outside, her heart rising into her mouth at the thought of Luca finding out she'd visited Alfie. Only as she looked past the window, she saw nothing but the dead darkness of the night.

Turning back to face Alfie, Irina's eyes were narrowed, her lips pulled into a thin, unimpressed line as opposed to his that were curved into a dark smirk.

"Too easy to wind up, aren't you, darling?"