trigger warning: brief mentions/inferences to historic child abuse

23rd December 1925
The cold chill of the December air grazed Florence's skin as she stepped out of the car and onto one of Soho's many busy backstreets, the sound of carol singers muffled in the distance.

"Will you be needing me to pick you up at the same time, Mrs Harrington?" Her driver asked as she stood on the pavement which was the quietest it would be that night.

"Come by earlier, I want to spend tomorrow with the children so I'll be getting an early night," Florence told him, "Midnight should be fine."

"Very good, Mrs Harrington," He smiled, "Have a good evening."

"You too, Raymond," She replied before turning on her heel and walking towards the entrance to the all too familiar nightclub.

A lot can change in six years, as can a person. When Florence Harrington, once Dawson, left behind the smokey streets of Small Heath she vowed that she would never let herself be hurt again. She had felt more pain in the year of 1919 than some people experience in an entire lifetime, and she knew that was something she didn't want to feel again.

When she left Birmingham she knew that she could either let the grief and anger from losing her mother consume her, or she could allow it to be the making of her.

A year after arriving in London, Florence and Elijah opened their club, Daisy Lou's, something that their daughter could one day inherit. As Elijah continued to lead operations at Harrington's brewery, Florence proceeded to run the club herself, turning it into what some would call a business masterpiece, creating a venue that became a cornerstone of Soho nightlife.

Florence looked every part the gangster's wife, a fur coat resting on her shoulders, her hair was neatly styled, with red lipstick painted on her lips, dark makeup on her eyes and a deeper shade of red on her fingernails, all that was missing was the gangster husband.

"Evening, boss," Henry, one of the bartenders, nodded as she entered the premises, ready for another night of work.

"Evening, Henry," Florence smiled, leaning against the bar, placing her bag on the counter as he prepared her usual drink, Irish whiskey, "Will you be heading home for Christmas?"

"Yes, boss, I'll be on the train down to Suffolk first thing," He nodded with a grin, "What about you?"

"My husband will be back from America tomorrow," Florence explained, "Then it'll be a quiet Christmas here in London, just us and the children."

Richard had died four years earlier, leaving the entire Harrington Ale company in Elijah's capable hands. Elijah had offered George a job as head of operations, but George had succeeded in finding employment elsewhere.

"That sounds lovely," Henry smiled as he placed the glass in front of her, "Will there be any business meetings here tonight?"

"Just one," Florence replied, taking a large gulp of her whiskey, "But I'll need Vinnie level headed, so when he gets here, keep him on beer, no whiskey."

"Of course, boss," Henry nodded, "And will you be requiring a clean up of the office once the meeting is complete?"

"No, this will be a slick operation, after what happened last time I've made some alterations to how we do things," Florence replied, aware of what Henry was alluding to, "And we won't be meeting in the office, we'll be sitting over there, at the best seat in the house."

"I'll be sure to keep the table free," Henry muttered as several waiters entered the club.

"Good," Florence smirked, picking up her glass, "I'll be up in my office, send Vinnie up when he arrives."

"Of course," Henry answered as she walked away from the bar, making her way up the spiral staircase, the heels of her stilettos tapping against the dark wooden steps.

Florence's office was through a set of double doors off of the balcony floor, overlooking the main floor of the club. She felt that it was a vantage point, allowing her to keep one eye on business in the office and one eye on the floor. On her desk were various contracts and documents that required her approval, along with several framed pictures of her family.

She hung her coat up on the hook, placing her glass on the desk, flicking through the documents on her desk. They were mainly suppliers' agreements and logs from the club's accounts. In most business set ups, the owner wouldn't necessarily be so involved in the accounts of their business, but Florence was particularly meticulous when it came to cleaning up the books.

Retrieving a pack of cigarettes from her desk drawer, placing one between her lips and lighting it before sitting back down at the desk. She looked down at the open drawer, the cigarette box lying beside her gun. They were both a reminder of the aspects of her life that she never left behind; in the six years that had passed since she left Small Heath, they had become the foundations of her work.

"Hi, sis," The all too familiar voice rang through Florence's office as she slammed the desk drawer shut, looking up to see Vinnie, closing the door.

"Vinnie, on time for once? Is it a Christmas miracle?" Florence muttered.

"I'm always on time, you're just early." He answered.

When Florence left Birmingham her priority was to locate her brother, but she decided that she wouldn't tell Elijah about him until she knew that she had found him. It took her six months, but half way through 1920, she found Vinnie, drinking cheap beer in a pub in the West End of London. When he was first adopted his new family changed his name to Vincent, but he preferred to call himself Vinnie.

London, 1920
"I'm sorry, Ma'am," The bartender of the dimly lit pub smiled awkwardly as Florence approached the bar, "Women aren't allowed at the bar unaccompanied."

Florence eyed three of the beer pumps, recognising the Harrington name before retrieving her business card from her pocket which read: Florence Harrington, Operations Advisor. She knew that the name itself would be enough to unsettle the man who stood before him.

"That won't be a problem, will it?" Florence asked, placing the card on the bar and sliding it towards him, watching his skin go pale as he realised that she was married to the man who would one day inherit the brewery who provided most of the ale that he stocked.

"Not at all, Mrs Harrington," He gulped, "What would you like to drink, on the house of course?"

"Irish whiskey," Florence remarked, scanning the room for a man who might match the description of her brother that she had been given. In the corner of the room she spotted a young man with dark hair sitting alone in a booth, several empty beer glasses in front of him.

"Your whiskey, ma'am," The bartender spoke as he placed the drink in front of her.

"That man over there," She pointed over her shoulder, "Is he a regular?"

"He's been coming here since he moved to the area," The bartender explained, "I gave him a drink on the house because I felt sorry for him, then he'd tell me about his troubles, it's no life for a teenager what he's been through."

"What do you mean?" Florence frowned.

"He's been living in orphanages since he was eight, he was let down by the people who adopted him once they conceived their own child," The bartender explained, "He got moved to the orphanage just down the road when he was thirteen, he left the home at eighteen, but he continued to live in the area."

"How does he seem?" Florence asked, wondering whether she would be making the boy's life better or worse by introducing herself.

"Lonely," The bartender answered, "He sits in here most days, then in the evenings he works, he doesn't talk about his work, but from what he does say about it, it doesn't sound nice."

"How's tricks?" Vinnie asked.

"Same shit, new day," Florence sighed, taking a drag from her cigarette, "Do you have the file?"

"Of course," Vinnie replied, handing her the sealed envelope before sitting in the seat on the other side of the desk, "Do you intend on doing this this easy way or the hard way tonight?"

"That depends," Florence answered, placing the cigarette in the ashtray on her desk before opening the envelope, "Did you give the product to Henry?"

"I did," Vinnie nodded, kicking his feet up onto the desk, "The vendor informed me it would be a slow release."

"That sounds ideal," Florence muttered, briefly skimming the file, spotting the usual words that turned her stomach, "Do you want to read this?"

"No," Vinnie gave the same answer that he always had, "You want this to be a clean deal, I won't jeopardise that."

"Very well," Florence answered, pulling her necklace out from where it had been tucked into her shirt, using the small key on it to unlock her bottom drawer before tossing the file into it and locking it again, "Will you be joining us for Christmas this year?"

"Of course," Vinnie grinned, "I wouldn't miss the chance to play my best role of favourite uncle."

"Don't let George hear you say that," Florence sighed, leaning back in her chair as she tucked the necklace into her shirt, "And no business talk at the dinner table."

"How could I forget that your darling husband still doesn't know the true depth of your work here," Vinnie smirked.

"Firstly, it's our work," Florence reminded him, "Secondly, you and I both know that our work and the work of Elijah and his family can never intersect, I won't risk his career despite how important this is."

"Spoken like a true Harrington," Vinnie sighed.

Several hours passed and the night grew longer, Florence spent the hours working through paperwork and chasing up clients over the phone before businesses closed for the winter break. Vinnie had spent the duration of the evening sitting across from her, making smart comments and asking annoying questions that Florence had grown to love.

The phone began to ring and Florence quickly picked it up, "Florence Harrington speaking."

"He's here," Henry answered calmly.

"Is it ready?" Florence replied, watching the way her brother clenched his jaw.

"Just as you like it," Henry muttered.

"Very good, we're on our way," Florence answered, placing the phone back on the hook, and standing up from her desk, "It's showtime."

"Good, I was getting impatient," Vinnie smirked, standing up from his chair and letting Florence lead the way out of the office onto the balcony that overlooked the club.

The pair made their way down the stairs, the club was as busy as it always was, drinks were flowing and the bass of the music vibrated through the room. It was like something out of a movie scene, and it was all of Florence's making.

"There he is," Florence muttered to her brother as they walked around the edge of the club towards the best table in the house, which was tucked away in the corner of the room, "How do you want to handle this?"

"You lead and I'll follow," Vinnie answered, gesturing to Henry at the bar to bring over the drinks.

"Mr Chapman, it is a delight to meet you," Florence held out her hand for the man to shake, "Thank you for joining us."

"Thank you for having me, Mrs Harrington," Mr Chapman smiled, shaking her hand before the two siblings took their seats opposite him, "And we're so delighted that a company as notable as yours wants to endorse our work."

"We are incredibly passionate about nurturing the young people of our world," Florence smiled as Henry approached the table with a tray of drinks, "My husband is away on business, but he is just as passionate as my brother and I."

"Your gin, sir," Henry smiled as he placed the glass in front of Mr Chapman before placing a whiskey in front of Florence and a beer in front of Vinnie.

"Thank you, Henry," Florence nodded at him.

"You have such a fine establishment here," Mr Chapman stated, admiring the architecture of the building before taking a sip of his gin, "How long have you owned the club?"

"Five years, my husband and I bought it and it's now the most profitable club in Soho," Florence answered.

"Impressive," Mr Chapman remarked, taking a larger sip of his drink, "How much will you be willing to donate?"

"Well, that'd depend on how many young people are in your care at present," Florence replied, "You're based in Richmond, correct?"

"That's right," Mr Chapman nodded, finishing his drink, "We're currently looking after twelve boys and sixteen girls."

"And tell me, Mr Chapman," Vinnie spoke up, "How many of those children have suffered at your hands?"

Mr Chapman looked at the two siblings with fear in his eyes, as though he knew he had been caught out, "I don't have to listen to this," He mumbled as he stood up from his seat.

"Sit," Florence ordered him as Vinnie placed his gun on the table, "Down."

Mr Chapman looked at the two siblings, his heart racing as he realised that they knew exactly what he had done.

"There's no use running, Mr Chapman," Florence told him as the man sat down in his seat, "The deed has already been done."

"What?" Mr Chapman muttered.

"See, my brother here, he enjoys his gin sweetened," Florence remarked, interlocking her hands as she rested her elbows on the table, "As do I, because the sweeter the gin, the simpler it is to hide its contents."

"What do you mean?" Mr Chapman asked, resting his hand against his chest as his breathing became erratic.

"You don't remember me, do you, Mr Chapman?" Vinnie sighed.

December 1920
"Goodnight, sweet girl," Florence smiled, kissing her daughter's cheek as Elijah carried her out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"Florence," Vinnie looked up at his sister as she returned to her seat beside him on the sofa, "There's something I need to tell you."

"What is it?" She asked, expecting that he was about to confess to getting a girl pregnant or something flippant.

"About the time I spent in the orphanages," Vinnie whispered.

"You never talk about those places," Florence replied, taking a sip of her whiskey.

"For good reason," Vinnie sighed, reminded of the terrified little boy he was back then, "No child should have to live through that, talking about it is like reliving it."

"You don't have to talk about it," Florence replied, fearing what Vinnie was about to tell her, "If it'll make you uncomfortable."

"I want to tell you," Vinnie assured her, "I need to tell you."

"Okay," Florence smiled reassuringly, squeezing his hand.

"When I arrived at the first orphanage I was eight after my adoptive parents discarded me for something better, that one was fine, it was nice, they looked after us," Vinnie explained, "But in the end it didn't have enough funding and it got shut down, so they sent us to different orphanages across London. They sent me and a few other boys to this home in Richmond."

"It was horrible, Flo," Vinnie whispered, feeling a lump form in his throat, "They didn't treat us like children, we were vulnerable and they preyed on that because they knew they could, because nobody would've believed us. There was this man called Mr Chapman, who let us all think we could trust him, but we couldn't."

"It went on like that until I was old enough to leave once I'd turned eighteen," Vinnie explained, watching tears form in his sister's eyes, "But because I didn't know any different and I didn't know what else I was worth I started to sell myself, which is how I kept a roof over my head."

"Oh, Vinnie," Florence whispered, squeezing her brother's hand.

"I just didn't think there was anything else that I had to offer the world," Vinnie replied, breaking his sister's heart, because even though she had only known her brother for six months, she knew that there was so much to love about his soul, heart and personality.

"Are you still doing that work, Vin?" Florence whispered.

"Occasionally," Vinnie nodded.

"It stops now, okay?" Florence assured him, "You'll live with us, you can work at the company, and I will never let anyone hurt you like that again, alright?"

The two siblings watched as Mr Chapman clung to the table, wheezing as he gasped for air.

"It's not nice to not be in control of your own faculties, is it, Mr Chapman?" Vinnie remarked.

"Why?" Mr Chapman wheezed.

"Why?" Vinnie scoffed, "You want to know why? I think it's glaringly obvious, don't you?"

"The thing about lacing a drink the way we have, Mr Chapman, is it's unexpected," Florence explained, "You came here tonight trusting that we would take good care of you, just as the children you care for expect you to care for them."

"My sister and I have managed to finesse this art over the last few years," Vinnie sighed as Mr Chapman continued to gasp for air, "We toyed with a few options, but they were far too messy."

"So we resorted to a slow and lethal poison, knowing that no one here can or will help you," Vinnie told him, "And once you're gone those children will be placed in far more appropriate care in an establishment that matches our standards, and those children will never have to fear the creaking floorboards at night ever again."

As Mr Chapman took his final breaths Florence gestured to one of the security officers to approach the table.

"Yes, Mrs Harrington?" He muttered as he reached the table.

"Tony, our friend here has had a bit too much to drink," She told him before whispering in his ear, "The canal, make it look like an accident."

"Yes boss." Tony nodded before escorting Mr Chapman's lifeless body from the booth and dragging him out of the nearest exit, not one person batting an eyelid, given that he looked like any other customer who'd had one too many drinks. That was why that table was the best in the house, it was closest to the back exit, allowing for discreet extractions.

Florence knew that the darkness she had come to involve herself in didn't heal her or Vinnie's wounds, they were both still coping with their own pain. But she knew that to get by in that world you had to make deals with the devil, and she knew that the years growing up in Small Heath had prepared her for that.

She embodied everything that being surrounded by Peaky Blinders had taught her, she just never expected to get such a taste for it. Her blood ran colder than it ever had, and she only allowed space for a few people in her heart. She felt that this was the only way to avoid being hurt again, to become the thing that had hurt her in the first instance.

Finally, the saint had become the sinner.

author's note: I bet you weren't expecting that...