𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗𝐈𝐈.
death was everywhere
❝ WELCOME TO THE SHELBY FAMILY ❞

BIRMINGHAM,
ENGLAND 1921

♜ ━━━━━ THE GRAND REOPENING OF THE GARRISON HAD GONE ROUGH.

True, the Garrison was looking in fine shape. It was certainly more... just more. Now that the Shelby family was flush with cash, it seemed everything'd been that way. The pub was covered in gold and red, and it looked so fancy, it didn't belong on Garrison Lane. But it wasn't the pub that was the problem but, it was her own d—mn family.

Arthur had come out of whatever slump he'd been in and was now in quite the state. He was shouting and yelling and singing as he bounced round the bar, serving everyone gleefully. He swept Della off her feet the moment he saw her, put her up on the bartop, and danced her in circles. He was high. That much was certainly clear. He must've been sniffing some of that white powder that Finn called Tokyo.

Della'd not touch the stuff. Never.

Pol was drunk off her face, dancing with young men and laughing uproariously. Quite the sight to behold. The days prior, she'd been drifting listlessly between being absolutely furious and a weeping mess. Alcohol did wonders. Her aunt was still avoiding her da, and he'd to call in reinforcements so. This was the main good thing in all of it.

Ada came home briefly, even if she brought the noisemaker that was Karl.

Del and Finn had even been able to sneak a few sips of whiskey with Uncle John 'fore Tommy noticed.

That being said, she'd had a fine enough time, but her da certainly hadn't.

Still, her da's quick scolding was well worth it if the trouble gave Finn back to her, even just for a time. A time that hadn't lasted long. The next morning, the two kids who were as close as siblings were back at each other's throats. She wasn't even sure what started the fight; maybe he'd just looked at her the wrong way as they passed each other by the bathroom. In any case, it had ended with Finn with a black eye and Della with a ripped sleeve.

Tommy had been out and about 'fore the girl woke up, and she decided not to think about the fact there was definitely more than one pair of footsteps when he'd exited number six. At least Polly was downstairs, already fixing her breakfast and ready for her clothing inspection. Del just hoped she wasn't too hungover.

She needed someone to deal with Finn, after all.

"Polly!" Del was running down the stairs fast as she could, hollering a storm, "Pol, I'm going to f—ckin' cut Finn's eyes out—,"

Della stopped.

There was a guest in the kitchen, one she didn't recognise. A boy a bit older than Finn was sitting at the table with a cuppa, wearing some proper suit and bowtie. He wasn't gyspy, least she didn't think so. Not from the looks of it, anyway. The more that she stared at him, but, she did think there was something familiar 'bout his eyes...

Pol was still in her party dress from the night 'fore, not hungover at all, practically gleaming with happiness. Her aunt hadn't looked this happy in... well, a long time at any rate. She wasn't even pissed Della'd been cursin'; her dark eyes absolutely lit up at the sight of her and she grinned from ear to ear. She rushed forward, took Del's little hand, and tugged her further into the kitchen.

"My Lamb?" Pol tucked Del's messy hair behind her ears and pushed her closer to the stranger, "My Lamb, this is my son... My Michael."

Del couldn't decide whether to be shocked or relieved and so she'd ended up just gaping at the boy in disbelief. So... her da had done it. He'd found Pol's kid.

"This is Thomas' daughter, our Adeline." Pol smiled wider, and when no one said anything, she nudged her grand—niece's shoulder, "Now, where're your manners, Adeline Shelby? Say hello."

Adeline Shelby didn't have any manners, she could put on a semi—decent show but.

"Uhm." The girl whispered shyly, "Hello...?"

"Pleased to meet you, Adeline."

"Yea. Uhm, you as well...?"

Del hoped she was doing this whole 'manners' thing right. Michael nodded his own hello back at her, an equally awkward smile on his face. There really wasn't anything to say. She was only a little girl, and he had likely had little interest in the likes of her. Fair enough, really. Polly was too happy to notice.

"You sit, Lamb, you sit and get to know my son."

Michael cleared his throat. Del crawled onto a chair at the table. Polly poured her a cuppa and got her some jam toast. And so they sat. Silently and not getting to know each other.

Eventually, Pol's son cleared his throat and said, "The man who came to the house, he was driving a posh car—,"

"That's me da," Del told him quickly, eager to be included.

"Really?" Michael looked at her now, "Well, he looks rich. What does he do?"

Ah. Oh. Face inscrutable, Del glanced sharply at Pol. Pol sharply glanced back at her.

Then, her aunt smoothly informed her newly found son, "He works with horses."

Well all right, then. So that was the cover story they'd be goin' with. He did work with horses, Della supposed, in a fashion. If running the tracks and gambling on them was what that meant.

"Really?" This Michael was gullible, and no mistake, "I love horses. I've got a bay mare."

Polly's eyes filled with shock and pride in equal measure, "No!"

"I ride it all the time."

"Then it's in the blood."

For a while, Del watched mother and son talk back and forth, trying to get to know each other so stiffly and cautiously, but she could see there was love there, too. She was happy for Polly, really happy, even if she had a funny tingly feeling in her stomach. The same feeling she always got when a whacking was on the horizon. This time, but, she wasn't sure who this whacking would be meant for.

"Run for the hills!" A familiar voice cried from outside, "It's the Digbeth Kid!"

The side door slammed open. Del grinned over her piece of toast as her uncles pranced round the kitchen, brandishing their guns and playing some kind of cowboy game.

Her eldest uncle took aim and jokingly threatened, "Get out of town, kid, or I will shoot your f—ckin' head off!"

John saw Michael 'fore Arthur did, and so he didn't react when his brother shot him dead.

"Time's up! You're dead, go down." Arthur was affronted to no end. He insisted, "John!"

Then, they saw what Del saw. Tommy stepped in behind them, sharing a knowing look with Polly, each with a small smile on their faces. The uncles froze for their part, looking caught and putting away their guns and then giggling like little kids. Polly was giving her best 'behave' glare. Del knew that one well. The uncles might be old now, she wouldn't put it past Pol to whack them both but.

"Orright then, Polly." Arthur managed through his laughter, "Who's this?"

Their aunt didn't dignify them with a response so Tommy smoothly stepped in to introduce, "Gentlemen, this is your cousin... Polly's son, Michael."

The seriousness of the moment settled in. Both Arthur and John straightened, their smiles slipping off their faces. Like a proper gentleman, Michael moved forward with a hand extended and another "Pleased to meet you" slipping from his lips. Holy h—ll. Della blinked. His manners were quite impressive, and each uncle was unsure of how to handle that, quietly introducing themselves right on back.

Then Arthur shrugged a little, murmuring, "You've already met me. I used to throw you out of the window, so John could catch ya."

"Yea," Uncle John puffed out a breathy chuckle, "I used to put you in a shoebox and kick you down Watery Lane."

"Bet you're glad to be back," Tommy mused from the kitchen.

Del and Polly laughed while Michael smiled graciously, "I don't remember any of it. All I remember is the day they took me away."

Their aunt went over to cup his face and then drew him close. Della and the uncles looked awkwardly away, unsure of how to deal with the frayed rawness of Polly's emotions. Her da didn't mind it, stepping forward to grasp his cousin's shoulder in greeting.

"Well, you're here now, son." Tommy told him, "Welcome to the Shelby family."

F—cking welcome, indeed.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Tommy sat across from Michael in the pub, these two men facing off for the first but not the last time. Tommy was smoking and drinking, and Michael had never done either of these things. Already, the younger was going against the elder's orders.

"D'you know what we do, Michael?" There was an almost cruel twist of his lips, one brow shifting upwards, "We... Shelby's?"

"Yes." His cousin shifted just a little, clearing his throat almost indignantly, "I think I know what you do."

Tommy stared at him for a long moment, studying him, analysing him. This was Polly's son, all right. No mistake. So much potential for success, so much potential for destruction; all in this one young man. Almost imperceptibly, the Shelby man slowly nodded to himself.

"Yea. You've got smart eyes... But you're young, so you think what we do is orright." Tommy shook his head, but his eyes never left him, "It's not orright. People get hurt."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Della was hanging at Charlie's yard, causing her usual ruckus, hovering round 'til she decided to approach him. Her great—uncle was in a mood, and she knew not many could put him in a mood like her Tommy could. Her da seemed to have that effect on people. Car machinery and the like were being hustled through the yard, going from shed to boat in semi—orderly fashion, as barges came and went down the Cut. Charlie stood on the bank, glaring down at it all.

He sighed as she arrived at his side, "Here to do some chores for me, are ya, Della—girl?"

"Yea. Chores in exchange for pears."

Uncle Charlie always had the best pears; he got them from the country up the Cut from the Strong relatives who still travelled. They were so sweet, they might as well be candy. They also had excellent buying power amongst her gang so she could trade 'em for treats and trinkets and things.

"Good." He passed her a rake, grousing, "Finally some real f—ckin' business."

Del took it and frowned up at him, little brow pinched, "You orright, Uncle Charlie?"

He was clearly not orright.

"Black Country boys and f—ckin' motorcars." The man heaved a sigh and shook his head, tossing the cig from his mouth to grind it beneath his shoe. "F—ckin' ridiculous. Eh, Della—girl?"

She didn't know what he meant, not really, but she understood enough. She sighed and got down to her chores.

"Yea. F—ckin' ridiculous, Uncle Charlie."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Tommy paused in Del's doorway that night, watching her little body bundled up in bed with her nose in yet another book. She was so distracted by the words on the page that she didn't even notice his presence. She'd been like this for months now; reading nonstop since he'd started providing her with the material.

Growing up, theirs had been a household without books. Couldn't afford them, what with five kids and a total arsehole for a father. Tommy was determined to change that but. He'd never been sure what sort of things his odd little girl would take an interest in; clothes, sweets, dolls, f—ckin' machine guns. But since they'd started moving up in the world, Tommy had started giving her the one thing he knew she liked.

Books.

Loads of bloody books.

Best reader in year two, she was. Top of her class, or so her teacher reported. He'd been shocked by how full of pride he'd felt when she told him that. Besides, it was a good trade off for her usual penchant for trouble in both the schoolyard and on the homefront.

Tommy cleared his throat, "About time for sleep, wouldn't you say?"

All he saw was a pair of blue eyes peek over the top of the book.

"Jus' another chapter? Please?"

Shockingly, Tommy smiled.

The man crossed over to her bed with one hand extended and one brow arched. She gave a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of the earth. Then, Del handed over her massive book so he could put it on the nightstand where a browning pear core sat. He carefully set himself on the edge of her cot as she nestled down into the quilt, black curls tangled on the pillow beneath her.

Del's look of disappointment was enough to make Tommy speak up, "D'you know what I'm up to tomorrow?"

Instantly, her eyes lit up with curiosity and she shook her head.

"I'm after gettin' ourselves a new horse."

He'd said it before he meant to, without really thinking about it. After all, it seemed a strange thing to tell her. He didn't really have any reason to. He just thought she'd like to know. And of course she did.

"Yea?"

"Yea, I am. Going to an auction to get a thoroughbred, quarter—Arab filly."

Del perked up even more, voice soft in agreement, "Quarter—Arab is better."

Amused as he was tired, Tommy smiled wider and scratched at her scalp in that way he knew she liked. He did this quite often now; after the copper incident, when she'd gotten real sick six months past, following any nasty run in when she'd had it out with Finn. His daughter's reaction was almost immediate. Her mouth formed a massive 'o' as she yawned, leaning further into his touch while her eyelids drooped.

But of course she forced them open so she could ask, "Can you take me with you, Da?"

Ah. There it was. The same question she'd been asking for the past year. Can you take me with you here? Can you take me with you there? She'd ask again and again no matter how many times she'd be turned away. Relentless, his daughter. Shelby through and through. He didn't roll his eyes, it was a near thing but. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, studying her in a way that made her want to squirm. She did her best to hold still and hold her breath too, hands clasped beneath the blanket.

If he could just give her this one thing...

Really, Tommy reasoned, it would be fine if Della went. Even with the threat hanging over his head, all the lads were going to make sure nothing happened. They'd get the horse and they'd go home. Simple as that. Besides, nothing was going to happen in broad daylight and at a fancy f—ckin' place like an auction house. It was like the lads said, horse auctions were respectable and all types of posh men went, along with their butlers and wives and mistresses. Why shouldn't he bring his daughter?

Finally, Tommy gave a miniscule nod, barely present, but it was enough to set the girl off.

Della leapt up onto her bed, bouncing the whole bloody mattress, "I can go? Really?"

He sighed to himself, "Don't make me change me mind."

She swallowed back a squeal and stopped jumping up and down, pressing her nails into her palms to keep from annoying him. He tugged on the hem of her shift and she obediently dropped back to the bed beside him, knees pressed into his thigh.

He wagged a finger in her face, trying at being stern now, "You best behave like you're in the f—ckin' army. You nod and you obey. You follow all of my orders with a simple 'yes sir'. No 'buts' to it. Is that f—cking understood?"

"Yea." Tommy's rules couldn't keep the twinkle from Del's eye, "It's f—cking understood."

Her da sighed.

This was going to be grand.

On the way to Doncaster Bloodstock, Del sat squeezed with Tommy and Uncle John in the front cab of the truck. There wasn't enough room for all of them to fit so she was on her da's lap, trying not to squirm, trying not to annoy him. Finn was infinitely jealous that she'd been allowed to go, which certainly made the whole trip that much sweeter. Still, she did think being in the back with the lads would've been loads more fun. Which was probably why Tommy kept her in the front; to keep her out of trouble and such.

Fair enough, as usual.

Halfway there, in the middle of bloody nowhere, the massive truck began overheating and they stopped to take a look at the smoking engine. Del skipped beside Tommy as he went to fetch Curly, and she happily let her da turn her away when Uncle Charlie went to take a piss. So, she was privy to the curious sight of Michael reaching into some satchel and pulling out a bag of food.

"Adeline, Polly wanted me to give you this." He passed the hungry girl one of the many sandwiches and looked up at Arthur, "She made loads. D'you want one?"

"What the bloody h—ll's that?"

Del was dropping crumbs everywhere, gladly munching as she looked round at the generally bemused expressions of her father and uncles. Polly never made food for anyone who wasn't Adeline, not since their voices changed anyway. Just 'cause she was a woman didn't mean she was their f—cking slave; Polly had made that quite clear to the entire Shelby family numerous times.

"Sandwiches." Michael replied dubiously, sorting through the sack lunch, "Ham, I think. And we've got shrimp paste, too. There's tea, but we'll have to take turns 'cause there's only one cup." He finally noticed how everybody stared, "What?"

"Sandwiches?" Even when the boy confusedly confirmed, Arthur still couldn't believe it, "Polly made bloody sandwiches?"

Tommy smirked to himself, blowing smoke through his nose. John grinned round his cigar. Del was still busy spilling crumbs and bits of meat everywhere.

"What's this?" Uncle Charlie groused in disbelief, peering down at the thermos, "Teddy bear's f—cking picnic?"

Del giggled along with the smirks of the rest of the men, though still more than happily stuffed her face with the ham sandwich.

"Orright." Tommy called 'em back to attention, clearing his throat and pointing with his cig, "We will drink the tea and we will eat the sandwiches and then we will drive on. Orright?"

As the uncles joked and jeered behind them, Tommy dropped a hand on Della's shoulder and directed her back to the cab, wagging a finger down at her again.

"No spilling crumbs in me truck, Del."

Like a good soldier, his daughter straightened and saluted, "Yes sir, Sergeant Major."

Tommy rolled his eyes and helped her climb in, "Cheeky little shite."

He'd never put up with this sort of attitude from anyone else, true.

But she was his cheeky little shite, and that made the difference, didn't it?

When they arrived at the auction house, Del was buzzing with excitement.

She was barely listening as her da handed out the list of rules, her big eyes taking in everything. She knew she'd better be paying attention, she didn't care but. They could stuff their rules and relegations. It was the first she'd been out with Tommy in an age, and she wasn't lookin' for trouble. Not right now, anyway.

Distantly, she heard Curly fretting, saying how he'd a bad feeling or somethin', and her Tommy was doing his level best to reassure him, but she blocked it all out once they got into the big room. They were up in a fancy awning like they were some posh b—stards, looking down on the auctioneer while he brought in the horses. Del hopped onto the bannister at Tommy's side, pushing her boots through the posts and putting her chin on the rail to get a better look below.

After a few horses, Uncle Charlie leaned close, "Orright, Tommy, this is her."

Her da put his hands on the railing and his brow furrowed thoughtfully so Del tried to match his expression. It was down to business, then. It was a beautiful horse, no doubt about it. A grey filly, mane braided back in some elegant twist, with a confident strut and a bowed neck — all signs of a top horse.

Or so Curly told her.

At some point, but, it seemed some posh lady 'cross from them seemed set on gettin' the horse as well. Del watched confusedly as her da and the lady went back and forth in a sort of bidding war. All the way, the price kept getting higher and higher 'til they were nearly up to 1,700 pounds. Del tsked to herself. Pol would not approve.

Uncle Charlie seemed to agree, leaning in to murmur, "That's it, Tom, you have to stop."

"You don't have it in your belt," Arthur murmured.

"Yes, I do. I'm havin' the horse." Tommy would not relent, he never did. His daughter was watching and he wasn't about be embarrassed in front of her. "Pay attention, Della. This is how business is done."

Della was definitely paying attention. What a strange business.

"She's a sweet beast, Tom. But, stop, I tell you." Curly was fretting again, "I feel something bad!"

Charlie sighed, "Shut up, Curly,"

Del reached back and took Curly's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

This horse was f—ckin' expensive, and getting more so with each passing second, 'til finally the woman gave in.

"Do I hear 2,050? Last time: 2,050?" The auctioneer called out to them all, "Sold! To Mister..."

"Thomas Shelby."

Her da's voice echoed through the entire room, powerful in name alone.

Del liked that. She liked it a lot.

When she looked up at him with something that felt a lot like pride, Tommy did something shockin'.

He winked at her.

She couldn't believe it.

While her Tommy went to give payment for the horse, Del hung round with Charlie and Curly to make sure the horse got where she needed to go. When her da and the uncles (along with Michael) finally remerged, they were joking 'bout something she didn't really understand.

"It's the f—cking truth, John boy." Arthur was crooning all too happily, "Rich women these days, all they want is working—class c—ck."

At least she knew that word. Del rolled her eyes. Bloody men.

Tommy ignored them. He simply reached round her back and put his hand on Della's shoulder to guide her onto the track of the big auction room. The girl peered up at him, nose scrunched questioningly, but her da didn't bother giving her an explanation. She wasn't sure if she wanted one.

Curly hurried forward, gasping, "Tommy, maybe she was the something bad I had the feeling about!"

"Ah! She looks orright to me, Curly!" John sang back.

They meant the posh lady, or at least Del thought so.

"All their men are dead, see." Arthur grinned, acting like he was givin' Michael insider information, "Officers, all shot."

"Yea, by us."

"All I'll say is, she has good contacts in the racing world." Avoiding Del's eye, Tommy nonchalantly spun round and tossed his cousin the truck keys, "Here, Michael, you drive."

The girl watched them sail over her head into Michael's hands, and then she tugged on her da's sleeve, "Or I could drive, yea?"

She'd been trying to get her hands on the keys to the motor for bloody ages. Yet Pol always put them just out of reach. Like she didn't trust her or something. F—ckin' insulting.

"You could drive, eh?" Tommy glanced down at her with a thin smirk, callin' over his shoulder, "Hear that, lads, little Della wants to drive."

"I could!"

"Yea, you could..." John teased, "If we wanted to end up face down in a ditch."

The girl groaned in frustration, kicking at the sand. Tommy simply smirked wider and squeezed her shoulder, pushing her onward. Immediately, Del's disappointment ebbed and she found she didn't even care that she couldn't drive the bloody truck. As long as he kept giving her that smile, she wouldn't want a single other thing in the whole f—ckin' world.

Only then did Del notice the man sat at the desk in the middle of the track, wearing a hat and coat, his collar pulled up over his face.

Del noticed him first and she noticed him too late.

Suddenly the man wheeled round, stretched out a hand, and yelled, "Thomas Shelby?!"

There was a gun in his hand.

Del didn't even have time to scream before Tommy fairly tackled her, instinctively yanking her into his chest and covering her body with his. Arthur threw himself at the gunman, grabbing his wrist and aiming the weapon to the ceiling.

The gun went off, the blast of the bullet echoing in her ears.

Tommy's arms were locked so tight round her it was hard to breathe. He moved up a hand and covered her eyes from the violence as she clung to him, digging her fingers in his shirt. He pulled them both down onto the sand, his own eyes darting up when he saw a second attacker coming round the corner.

"Tommy!" John yelled a warning, "Keep her down!"

Another sound of a gunshot, and the second man fell dead. Tommy swept back up to his feet, pulling free his gun while he pushed Del over to Uncle Charlie. The little girl tripped and fell into their uncle, hiding her face in his vest to block out the carnage all round them. Behind her, Arthur was goin' spare on the first man, pummeling him over and over with his fists.

"Tommy Shelby? How about f—cking Arthur?!" Her uncle was roaring, knuckles meeting mangled flesh again and again, "F—cking good to meet you!"

"Get him off him!" Tommy ordered as he spun in a circle, searching the awning for more attackers, "Get him off—!"

All the Blinders had to jump in to save the first man from Arthur, even Curly and Uncle Charlie who pushed Del away from the butcherin'. All the men except Michael who just stood and stared wide—eyed. Della stood back with him, but she didn't stare like he did. Del knew better than to look. She kept her back turned and her hands over her ears to block out the screams and the demands and the sound of broken flesh.

She didn't see it. She didn't hear it. It wasn't real.

Finally, it passed.

With Arthur restrained and comin' back to himself, Tommy fell onto the man's chest and listened for his breathing. Once he was sure the man was still alive, her da got back to his feet and lurched over to where Michael and Del still stood — untouched and unbloodied.

"Michael, you didn't see a thing." Tommy briefly spoke to his cousin before he dropped to a knee and gripped Del's shoulders so hard that it hurt, "This didn't happen, Della, orright?"

The eight year old nodded dazedly, hands still hovering over her ears.

"Say it," he insisted.

"Didn't see it, didn't happen," she rushed back.

"That's my girl, orright. Good." He exhaled sharply, checking over her body, cupping her cheek, "You bleeding? Anything hurt?"

Numbly, she shook her head.

Tommy grit his teeth and had to move on.

"Give me the keys." Eyes darting back to his cousin, the man got back to his feet and pushed a finger into the younger man's chest, "Michael, give me the keys."

The young man looked him directly in the eyes, steady as anythin', "I'm all right to drive."

Del blinked in shock.

Tommy stared back, just as shocked while he studied him. There was something in those pale eyes; something that wasn't bothered by this show of violence. So, finally, he agreed, "Orright. Take Del, get 'er out of here. Go on." He waved them quickly towards the door, "Go, go on!"

Michael sturdily nodded and took Della's hand in his, dragging her swiftly towards the exit. She tripped and stumbled on her own feet, craning her neck to look over her shoulder. John was watching for more danger. Arthur was hauled to his feet, held between Charlie and Curly. He was totally soaked in blood. Their attackers laid dead and mangled.

Del's eyes briefly caught on Tommy's, blue on blue.

Horrifyingly, she found he looked f—cking terrified.

Not for himself. But for her.

"Tommy, he's f—cking scarpered!" John shouted roughly, pushing his elder brother forward, "Right, let's get out of here, sharpish."

Tommy waited 'til everyone had left 'fore he gave one last sweep of the room and ran out after them.

It rained on the way back to Small Heath.

Del sat on her father's lap and tucked her head under his chin, and after a moment of hesitance, she felt him put his arms round her. She wondered if she was just imagining him rocking her gently. It might've been the bumps on the road, or just the sway of the truck. Must've been. The girl willed herself to stay awake, but the rain was so soft and the cab was so quiet and his voice was so deep and his chest was so warm that she slept. Seconds later, it seemed, he was gently nudging her ribs to wrap his arms tighter round her. As all the other men dispersed, Tommy'd lifted her from the truck and carried her inside number six.

"Heard every word youse said..." Della sleepily murmured into his shoulder, "Wasn't sleepin' at all, promise."

"Mmhm."

The familiar stairs creaked beneath his feet as he climbed up, up, up. In her room, Tommy unbuttoned her coat, leaned her against him, and pulled the thick sleeves off her arms. He held her up with one hand and reached for her pajamas with the other. Del helped him as best she could, dazedly raising her arms and wriggling when he threw aside her dirty dress and tugged her nightgown over her camisole and shorts.

Del watched Tommy's face as he worked, purposefully not meeting her eyes, face blank and impossible to read.

Today had been good. It'd been going well, hadn't it? They'd been having fun, hadn't they? But then those f—ckin' men ruined. Italians, John had growled, Sabini and his London crew. Whoever they were, they'd ruined everything. And yea, everytime she closed her eyes, Del could still see it. The man with the gun. Arthur beatin' on him. It would fade. It would all fade; just as memories of Danny Whizz—Bang and Billy Kimber had faded. She'd just need time. What she didn't need was Tommy pushing her away 'cause of this sh—t.

"I didn't see much, Da... promise."

Ignoring her, her da walked her to the bed, lifted her legs, and then slipped her under the old quilt her grandmother made. His hands were under her chin, pulling up the blanket, tucking it round her. It was all so tender, so sweet, but he couldn't say a word to her. He didn't know what to say. Tommy got up and went for the hall 'fore she could say anything else. She watched him go with huge eyes, unsure how to make his stay.

Then, right at the door, her da turned back and told her with a low flat voice, "Don't think about it, Adeline. Shut the door on it. You just shut the door on it, like I did."

Then, Tommy shut the door on her.

━━━━━━ annie speaks ━━━━━━

ahhh so much happened in this chapter! Literally SO MUCH. let's recap: everyone is drinking or doing drugs, michael is being welcomed to the family which is bad news for the future, del seems to be having some sixth sense or something, polly wants everyone to go on a picnic, uncle charlie doesn't approve, del is getting prematurely exposed to intense violence, tommy is giving bad mental health advice.

all in all, pretty typical.

side note: it's important for y'all to remember the whole 'can i come with you?' question, it remains a theme throughout this entire story. always del chasing after tommy, begging to go places she has no business being. also, did anyone pick up on any other foreshadowing that i sprinkled in? anyone? what do you think it was??

anyway, anyway, what did y'all think about this one? thoughts, feelings, fears? can't wait to hear it!