Her body was cold, but it was not lifeless.

At the muffled sound of laughter her eyes slowly opened, met with the darkness of a bedroom that she knew was not her own. In fact upon closer inspection she noted that it was in fact not a bedroom, but one of the living rooms in the Shelby's Watery Lane home with a bed replacing the usual armchairs.

Her body ached as she attempted to sit up, wincing as she pushed herself up on her elbows. Her memories were foggy and her head weighed heavy, she remembered Tommy's voice as she'd slipped into unconsciousness, how he continued to utter the same words, how he shouted for help until his voice was hoarse.

It was her stomach that ached the most as she sat up in the bed, so she tugged at her nightgown, her eyes widening at the sight of the stitches in her abdomen, and it was as though she was there again. She feared what she could have lost if the wound had been fatal, and as she ran her fingers over the sensitive wound she wondered what her odds had been, how close had she been to death? And what does a person do when they've been so close to not coming back.

The sound of her children laughing was what drew her from her bed, like a magnetic force. With every ounce of energy she could muster she hauled her body from her bed, collecting a discarded woollen cardigan from the sofa and pulling it on over her shoulders, the floorboards cool beneath her feet as she tiptoed into the kitchen, which was empty. The doors to the betting shop were closed but she could hear the laughter through the doors, so she gently pushed against the door, slipping into the room.

As she crossed the threshold she was met with a sight that could probably heal any heart broken by tragedy. Tommy was sat at one of the desks, Oliver on his knee while Daisy and Charles stood opposite him, coins in hand.

"I want to put a shilling on Rascal to win the derby," Daisy declared as Florence observed the wholesome interaction from afar.

"What do we think, eh, Ollie?" Tommy bounced the young Harrington boy on his knee, "Is that a satisfactory wager?"

"Three shillings!" Oliver exclaimed in delight.

"You heard the man," Tommy glanced between Daisy and Charlie.

"Deal," Daisy nodded as Charlie placed two more coins on the table.

"I hope you're not teaching my children how to gamble, Mr Shelby," Florence smiled, each of the people she loved turning to face her as she leant comfortable against the door frame.

"You're awake," Tommy muttered with a smile, having feared that the cruel world might rob him of the chance to finally be happy.

"It would seem so," Florence mused with a fond smile.

"Hey," Tommy turned his attention to Oliver and Daisy, who seemed hesitant to approach their mother who they'd only seen for brief moments over the last couple of days as she lay in bed, "Why don't you go give your mum a cuddle? Gentle though, eh?"

Daisy took her brother's hand and guided him towards Florence who welcomed them both with open arms, her body wincing at the touch before she promptly eased in the comfort of her children's unconditional love.

"I missed you two," She whispered, "But I wasn't gone for too long."

"You were sleeping, Mummy," Oliver told her, "Did you have any dreams?"

"I had lots of dreams, beautiful boy," Florence smiled down at her son, "Of all the places we're going to go one day."

"Will Dad come with us?" Daisy looked up at her with eager eyes.

"We don't know where your Daddy is, sweetheart," Florence told her honestly.

"We do," Daisy answered, "He's there," She pointed at Tommy, startling both Florence and Tommy, yet filling them with comfort and something that could be compared to delight.

"That's right, my girl," Florence whispered.

"Flo?"

Florence looked over her shoulder to see Vinnie stood in front of her and before she could utter a word, he'd wrapped his arms around her shoulders, his head buried against her neck like an infant who'd woken from a nightmare, like the man who had spent four sleepless nights fearing that he might lose the only real family he had left.

"I thought I'd lost you," He muttered, his voice cracking, "When Tommy told me I thought of what you told me about how Mum had died and I just, I thought it was happening again."

"Hey," She soothed, resting her hands on her brother's cheeks, wiping away the tears that had escaped his eyes, "We're going to be okay."

"You should be resting, Flo," Vinnie insisted as he stepped back, staring at his sister with glossy eyes, "It's not even been a week."

"He's right," Tommy added, "The doctor ordered that you rest for at least three weeks."

"Well, Tommy, we both know I've never been the best at following orders," Florence quipped with a slight smile before turning to her brother, "Would you take the children next door, Vinnie?"

"Of course," Vinnie nodded, "Come on you three," He gestured to Daisy and her two brothers, "Let's see if any of that cake that Auntie Linda made is left."

"Okay," The children nodded before being ushered out of the room.

"What happened?" Florence asked as she approached Tommy, "I want the full truth."

"One of Changretta's men shot you, after he strangled Arthur," Tommy answered as Florence stood in front of him, leaning against his desk.

"Arthur? Is he okay?" Florence muttered, her voice wavering.

"The world believes that he's dead, just like you suggested," Tommy took her hand in his, squeezing it gently, "He's our ace whichever way this vendetta goes."

"And me? What happened to me?" She asked with trepidation.

"Come here," Tommy soothed, pulling her onto his lap, his hands intertwined with hers, "You lost a lot of blood, they wanted to get Jeremiah to fix you up, but I didn't dare risk it, I took you to the hospital myself, they operated on you, made it all alright."

"So there's nothing wrong with me?" Florence replied.

"Doctor says you should make a full recovery," Tommy assured her, and as she gazed into his eyes she knew that he was holding back on something.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"I've never been scared of looking death in the eye, until you," Tommy whispered as she squeezed his hand, "You've given me something that I can't bear to lose."

"Tommy Shelby," Florence exhaled with a gentle smile as she ran her hands through his hair, "I have no intention of being anywhere except by your side."

"We've got a meeting with Michael, and then a funeral for Arthur, makes it look legit," Tommy told her, "I want you there for both, but only if you feel ready."

"I'll be there," Florence assured him, resting her forehead against his, "I'd follow you anywhere."

"I'm glad to see you closer to your old self, Flo," Ada smiled as she reached across the table, gently squeezing her hand, glancing at Tommy who was in a quiet discussion with Polly, "He's barely left your bedside these past few days."

"Sounds like Tommy," Florence sighed as she looked up to see Michael walking through the betting shop towards the kitchen.

Tommy took a seat beside Florence, placing a glass of whiskey in front of the both of them as Polly greeted her son with a warm embrace.

"Tommy, I've been trying to think of words," Michael muttered as Florence placed a hand on Tommy's knee that bounced nervously.

"Don't, words don't work," Florence replied, reminded that Michael was of the belief that Arthur was actually dead.

"Michael, we're in a grave situation, but Tommy has a plan," Polly told her son, "Instead of going to Australia, you're going to New York."

"Why?"

"Because the company has business to attend to in America," Ada answered.

"Will I be coming back?" He asked nervously.

"Your train leaves in an hour, Michael," Tommy sighed, "You made a choice, you knew I was going to be shot and you chose not to tell me."

"I chose my mum," Michael declared.

"When all this business is over we'll all be free to make our own choices," Polly said as Florence held her tongue.

"So is that it?" Michael glanced between the four family members around him.

"You get the train to Liverpool then the SS Monroe," Tommy reiterated his previous statement, "The boat sails tomorrow, now you can go."

Florence saw the hesitance in Polly's eyes as she watched Michael leave the room. They were both mothers who understood that a son's duty to his mother did not outweigh the duty to one's family. Both women knew how the Shelby family operated and that there would've been a way to spare both Polly and Tommy, the Changretta's blood was richer, but Shelby blood was richer.

Florence had grown unwillingly accustomed to gypsy funerals. The first she had attended was the funeral of Tommy's mother when she was just thirteen, standing between her mother and Polly. It was much the same almost two decades later, except she was older, her mother was gone and there was no Shelby body in the carriage as family members laid tributes before they lit the fire.

As Florence's gaze shifted from the carriage to the field she laid eyes on someone who she supposed she was meant to consider family, the woman who had raised her father.

"Tommy," Florence whispered as she stared at the woman carrying a white flag of surrender, "What's she doing here?"

"It's alright, let her come," Tommy stepped forward, letting go of Florence's hand as he walked towards Mrs Changretta.

Florence watched as he spoke to her, unable to make out what he was saying, but it was quick, and she presumed he had asked her to respect the nature of the occasion. The Shelbys had to be seen to be grieving to create the facade that would give them their lifeline.

The family had returned to the family home, and within minutes Mrs Changretta had appeared on the doorstep, receiving a less than warm welcome from Tommy, Finn, Polly and Florence who had convened in the living room.

"I always thought you were one of us," Mrs Changretta kept her gaze on her granddaughter who was sitting opposite her, "My son was completely smitten with your mother, and then nine months later you arrived...We never got a look in, mind."

"I'd say that was for the best," Florence scoffed.

"Your father cares for you greatly, which is why you have been spared in this vendetta, your blood is sacred to us," She told Florence, earning an eye roll not dissimilar to similar reactions Imelda Dawson would elicit when taught by Mrs Changretta at school.

"You can call me whatever name you like but don't insult me by calling that man my father," Florence told her firmly, "Now what is it that you truly want from us?"

"Your note talked about making terms for peace, but my son says there are no terms," Mrs Changretta turned her attention to Tommy, "You took my husband and my son, we took two of your brothers."

"The vendetta is done," Tommy told her with little energy or fight left in him.

"We say the vendetta is won," Mrs Changretta declared, "We will take everything you have, all your businesses, signed over to us, you agree to this or my son will kill you all, one by one."

"Do you have any further terms?" Florence exhaled, expecting for the woman to reel off a list of properties her family would wish to acquire.

"We have one for you, Florence," Mrs Changretta turned her attention to her granddaughter, "You will renounce the Shelby name, and your children will join us, making Oliver Harrington heir to our entire empire."

"No," Tommy was quick to interject, "That won't happen."

"Agree to our terms, or you'll all be dead before the sunrises on Small Heath," Mrs Changretta declared.

Florence glanced at Tommy, and deep down she knew that he would have a plan in place, she knew that he had many an ace up his sleeve, she knew that he could be trusted, "It's alright, I'll go," She looked back at her grandmother, "But I ask that you give the children tonight to say goodbye, they consider these people family, neither of us would want for them to think of you as the person who robbed them of that."

"As you wish," She nodded, "Once Mr Shelby has signed every business over to us, we will take you and the children too."

"The vendetta is won, that's it," Tommy glanced at Florence and then back at the Changretta matriarch, "No more killing."

"Who did you think you were, Mr Shelby?" She remarked.

Florence needed air, and there were few places she believed that she could be without fearing the presence of others. She knew that she could trust Tommy to keep her from the clutches of the Changrettas. But she also knew that there was nothing she wouldn't do to protect the lives of Tommy and his family, she would lay her own life down to protect any Shelby, because they were more than just her family, she considered their blood more sacred than her own.

She had found herself in a place she had not returned to in the six years she had been in London. The sun was setting and the sky was a perfect blend of watercolour as she sat on the very same bench where she had told Polly of her plans to travel to London in the wake of her mother's death.

It dawned on her as she sat there, six years on from her darkest hours that she had been far too young to carry that weight and emotional burden in the wake of her mother's death. She may have resented Elijah for his brutal betrayal, but she would always be grateful for every storm he helped her weather in those years.

With the little energy she had in her body she lifted herself from the bench, shuffling towards her mother's grave, a crisp white marble headstone, inscribed with gold text.

'HERE LIES IMELDA DAWSON, A BENEVOLENT MOTHER, A PROUD GRANDMOTHER, A COMPASSIONATE BEST FRIEND, A FEARLESS WOMAN.'

Her glossy eyes wandered from the inscription that she knew Polly had been instrumental in crafting to the fresh bunch of daisies that lay on her mother. She knew that they must've been placed there recently, knowing that such flowers would fail to survive the harsh conditions of a Birmingham winter.

"She adored you."

The voice came from behind her, and it was painfully familiar, a voice that had once provided her with comfort now filled her with dread as she kept her eyes on her mother's headstone, her fur coat wrapped around her body as the wind tangled itself .

"She adored Daisy," The voice continued, "And she would've adored Oliver."

"But she never had the chance," Florence turned to face him, "Because she's gone, and I fear that you should be too."

"You never were one for unnecessary niceties, were you, Florence?" He sighed, a brown envelope in his hand.

"Not when they're a waste of breath, Elijah," She quipped, "What's your purpose here? You know that Tommy would kill you if he saw you."

"But he's not here," Elijah remarked as he stepped closer to her, "And you're here, alone in the open during a vendetta, I can't believe he'd be stupid enough to let you do that."

"He's not my keeper," Florence sighed, "And you never were either."

"And if he knew you were here with me, how'd you think he'd react?" Elijah muttered, taking another step closer.

"I doubt he'd waste a bullet on you," Florence remarked, as she looked up at his darkened eyes, "How did you know to find me here?"

"I followed you, because I wanted to give this to you personally, away from prying eyes," Elijah told her, as he held the brown envelope out in front of her, "You are free to be Florence Dawson again."

"You came all this way to hand me completed divorce papers?" Florence frowned, despite her relief.

He took another step closer to her, whispering in her ear in a way that once caused goosebumps to erupt across her skin in delight rather than fear, "I also wanted to see the look on your face when I tell you that I know what you were using the club for."

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about," Florence muttered.

"It sure is remarkable how quickly your men will shift their loyalty for a spot of cash," Elijah told her, "A body in the canal, one hanging from a tree in the woods, one in his bath having overdosed on god knows what."

"I don't know what this has to do with me, but I won't waste my time in your presence listening to fruitless nonsense," Florence attempted to step aside as Elijah gripped her wrist.

"You're not in a position to play the fool, Florence," Elijah warned her, "Because it'd be an awful shame if the police were to discover that all these tragic deaths took place not long after these men frequented your bar."

"What do you want?" Florence asked.

"I want my son back," Elijah told her, "I know that Tommy won't acknowledge that I spent the best part of six years fathering Daisy, but I want to raise my son."

"And if I say no?"

"Tommy Shelby won't be able to save you from the noose the way he saved his brothers."

Florence knew that it was an ultimatum she couldn't ignore, she knew that Elijah would take good care of Oliver, but she couldn't lose her little boy, she would die fighting for either of her children if she had to.

But before she could contemplate his ultimatum a harsh yet familiar sound rang through her ears, and she feared that it was happening all over again.

Her eyes widened in shock as she watched Elijah fall to his knees, his crisp white shirt slowly soaking with blood.

She looked up with slow and erratic breaths to see who had fired the gun, gasping in shock as she covered her mouth with her hands, realising she had been witness to the ultimate betrayal.

"George?" Her voice trembled as her gaze lingered on her once brother-in-law as he gripped his gun in his right hand.

"He came to me this morning, told me what he knew, what he had planned," George replied, keeping his eyes on Florence, choosing to ignore his brother's dying body, "My brother is a lot of things, but he has never been loyal, not in the way a man should be...He is no brother of mine."

"George-"

"My loyalty is to you, to Tommy, and the Shelbys," George told her as he stepped closer, "I won't see him ruin your family too."

Florence watched as George raised his gun, pointing at Elijah as he lay on the ground, wheezing, "George, No!" She shouted.

But it was too late, the sound of a gunshot rang through her ears and as she glanced down at Elijah his gaze was lifeless.

"Go back to your family, Florence," George told her, "I'll deal with this."

author's note: what if i said the chaos has just begun...