Irina had never visited Birmingham before, and upon her arrival, she decided she'd never set foot there again.

Another, shorter train journey took her from the city centre to Small Heath, an industrial suburb of Birmingham with terraced houses shadowed by loud, grey factories that puffed out smoke blacker than the lungs of the men working inside them.

The streets were dull, the people pale and lifeless. The entire place seemed like it was inhabited by soulless ghosts that walked the streets not knowing they were still alive. It was a sad place, at least that was Irina's first impression when she stepped off the train.

She had caught a train straight up north as early as she could the day after speaking to Alfie. She had faith that Luca would still be alive by the time she reached Small Heath, though despite an entire journey giving her time to think, she still had no idea what she was going to do once she arrived.

A group of young boys were playing football in the street, one of them kicking it too far past his friend, the ball ending up at Irina's feet as she stood a short distance away from them.

"Pass us the ball back please, Miss!"

She picked up the ball in her hands and walked over to them. The town was lively for a Sunday, at least livelier than London seemed when she looked out of her front window at the same time of early morning.

"Do you boys know where I could find Thomas Shelby?"

Irina handed the ball back to the child who immediately kicked it to one of the others before turning his attention back to Irina, looking up at her with his hand covering his eyes from the sun.

"If he isn't in the pub, he'll be in the warehouse over there," he pointed over the tops of the houses, "My brother washes his car on a Sunday so he doesn't go anywhere far."

Smiling at the boy, she handed him two coins in thanks before heading off in the direction of the pub. It was far too early for anybody to be drinking, or so she thought. As she pushed open the doors to The Garrison, she was surprised to see handfuls of men gathered around tables with jugs of ale in their hands, talking amongst themselves.

A huge mirror was hung behind the bar, shelves of liquor beneath it, the words Shelby Dry Gin had been etched onto the glass.

"No unaccompanied female drinkers I'm afraid, Miss."

Irina scoffed as she stood at the bar, the bartender slinging a towel over his shoulder once he'd finished wiping up spilled alcohol.

"I'm not here to drink. I'm looking for Thomas Shelby."

The bartender laughed quietly, then gulped when he met Irina's cold gaze.

"He isn't here, none of them are. Can I ask why? Or your name, perhaps?"

"No."

Irina turned on her heels and left the pub, frustrated and worried that she might've run out of time.

She walked in the vague direction that the child had pointed in, following streets of terraced houses until she finally reached a frighteningly large factory, huge metal doors were pushed open revealing whirring machinery and loud voices from inside.

Black dust had already settled on her fur coat and so with gritted teeth, she headed inside, walking over to the first man she saw.

"Excuse me," she tapped him on the shoulder, interrupting his work, "Could you tell me where I can find Thomas Shelby, please?"

The man laughed, "Has he been sleeping with someone else behind your back, too? I get a lot of angry women asking where they can find him."

Irina scowled at him, not finding his joke funny, "He'd have to have slept with me for that to be true, Sir. Have you seen him?"

His laugh softened and he nodded, "Yeah, went downstairs to the distillery about an hour ago. I'd stay clear if I were you, though. I'll buy you a drink in The Garrison while you wait if you like?"

Somewhat flattered by the charming interest from the man with cheeks covered in soot and sweat in his dark hair, Irina allowed a small smile onto her lips.

"Thank you," she said, "You've been most helpful."

"Can't blame a man for trying." He shrugged and smiled at her before returning to his work.

Irina walked down the staircase and along a dark corridor before noticing a scent she was all too familiar with. Distilling alcohol filled her senses and the further she walked, the quieter the sound of machinery above her became.

Upon hearing voices, she paused. The sound of her heels echoing made it difficult for her to listen, and so she softened her steps as she made her way closer to the large wooden doors that the sound was coming from behind.

She cautiously pressed her ear against the wood, her heart thumping as she heard Luca's voice on the other side of the door.

"Get on your fuckin' knees and sign."

Irina winced, squeezing her eyes shut as she continued to listen. She knew all about the vendetta, but was now beginning to realise that there was much more at stake than justice for a family member.

"A friend of mine once said, big fucks small, so I had to find someone bigger than you."

Her hand hovered over the latch on the door, shaking as her fingers grazed the cold metal. Her heart was telling her to push open the door and say something, to stop the inevitable that was being unraveled as Tommy continued to speak, but her head was telling her the opposite.

"What about the woman?" Thomas said, making Irina's eyes widen.

"Woman?" Luca countered.

"Irina Zakharov."

"You leave her the fuck out of this, you stay away from her, you hear me?"

Irina's heart felt like it was being wrapped in barbed wire a thousand times as she listened to Luca speak.

"Don't worry, I won't hurt her," Thomas laughed lightly, "I just want to know whether to send some flowers to her house, that's all. A card giving her my condolences. Unless you don't think she cares about your death?"

Luca scoffed, "Leave her the fuck alone, she has nothing to do with this."

"Does she know you were using her? Manipulating her and getting close to her with the pretence of forcing her to sign over her business to you so you can profit off it back in New York? Does she know you meant nothing to her? Or should I put that in the card with the flowers as well?"

"Shut the hell up," Luca said quietly, "You don't know what you're talking about."

Irina felt the sickness in her stomach fade away, turning into a throbbing pain in her gut that she'd never felt before. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. She felt humiliated and betrayed, angry at herself for not being able to see Luca's true intentions before letting herself start to feel things she had never wanted to feel for him when they first met.

"Really? Because these men here with you, they all work for the highest bidder, and that's no longer you. They've told us everything, Mr Changretta, and I'll make sure Irina Zakharov knows exactly who she was fucking after your body gets shipped out of the country."

"She'll never believe you."

"Oh, I think she will, Luca."

Irina grabbed hold of the latch, the door rattling as she lifted the metal and pushed it open. The first person she locked eyes with was Thomas, who's face turned white as a ghost when he saw the men stood behind Luca turn their guns on her.

"No!" Tommy shouted, only the men had already pulled their triggers, sending four bullets in the direction of the woman in the doorway, obeying orders to shoot anyone that wasn't Arthur who came through the door.

Irina felt as though her soul was drained from her body as she saw a flash of Luca's face before she was lifted off her feet and thrown to the side, landing on the ground with a thud, an arm around her torso and a loud groan echoing in her mind that hadn't come from her.

A purple haze flickered before her as she blinked, watching the man she recognised as Arthur Shelby walk through the door and fire a single bullet, one she knew that was for Luca.

Irina struggled to catch her breath, the weight of her impact on the ground knocking the wind from her chest. She pushed herself up, rubbing her eyes as she eventually looked at the man beside her who was writing around in pain on the ground, his hand squeezing his upper arm.

"Alfie?" Irina gasped, her eyes wide as she quickly rolled him onto his back, peering over his body to look at the bullet wound to his arm.

"See?" He said weakly, "I told you I'd protect you, didn't I? That good enough for you? Fuckin' Hell that hurt."