𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗𝐗𝐈.
inside the loop
❝ WELCOME HOME, ADELINE. ❞

WARWICKSHIRE,
ENGLAND 1925

♜ ━━━━━ DELLA'S WORLD had ended.

When the year finished and she came back, nothing in the world was as she left it.

He'd been there to welcome her into this unfamiliar world, Tommy was, when Johnny Dogs finally delivered her home. He'd stood waiting on the front steps, hands in his pockets like he didn't know what to do with them. Her da looked much the same, if not tireder, emptier, thinner. As Del slowly hopped the vardo and stopped just before him, he did nothing but stare at her, as if frozen solid, as if cemented to the ground.

She wasn't sure what she expected. A tight embrace. A tearful explanation. An apology, maybe. There was nothing but. Absolutely nothing. He didn't seem sure what he expected either. Maybe he expected her to run to him. To throw her arms round him. To hold and be held.

Did he feel angry? Was he disappointed? Did he regret bringing her home?

Neither of them moved.

Then, "Welcome home, Adeline."

The b—stard. The absolute b—stard.

Della gave a look that could kill, brushed by him, gone upstairs, and they never said another word about it. Everything changed. Every f—cking thing. She did not come down for meals, and he did not force her. She didn't cause chaos round his office and she did not follow him round everywhere he went. She did not tease him over the fact that he was now so old to wear glasses nor did she beg him for story after story. She did not pester him with her usual questions and she did not fight him on curfew or bedtimes.

She abandoned him like he abandoned her.

She'd come home, home wasn't there but. At least the people who made it a home weren't.

This was the first change.

Michael came round for business occasionally, as did Lizzie and sometimes Johnny Dogs too. Everyone else — Polly, Ada, Finn, Arthur, John, Esme, everybody — was gone. Just gone, was all her da ever said. Not that Tommy ever said much, not that they ever spoke much. That b—stard.

How many times had Tommy come into her room in the night, paused in her doorway, and sat in the chair by the window? All the f—cking time, it felt like. She knew adults sometimes did that, just stood over their child's bed in the night, fawning over them. Grace did it with Charlie. It seemed an absurd thing to Della then, and it was absurd now. Tommy knew she was awake, and Del could tell that he wanted to say something. He always thought better of it.

She started locking her door.

This led her to the second change.

Del stopped calling him 'Da'; not because she didn't know any better, not because she forgot, but because she didn't consider him her da anymore. Because she felt terrible for having missed him, for missing his presence and his voice and his hand on her head. Because he'd abandoned her and sent her away and he'd never told her what she'd done to deserve any of it.

He was Tommy, simply Tommy, the one whose bedroom was down the hall, the one who no longer had any control of her every move, the one whose help she refused when she fell off the stable roof and bled like part of a massacre.

No one tried to remind her; there was no left to. There was nothing for it. She refused to accept the information as truth. She'd spent nearly her whole life just waiting for her da to share his love with her, and she became sure of what to do now that she wasn't waiting anymore.

She would hate him 'til the day she died.

The third change was Charlie. Charlie who could walk and talk and do all sorts of child—like things that he couldn't when he was just a baby and she saw him last. She missed quite a bit; it hurt in a way she didn't expect. She hadn't thought he'd remember her, not really, she was shocked by the relief she felt when he did but.

Del and Charlie had an odd relationship.

The moment he was born, Del thought it her lifelong mission to hate the little b—stard. To her absolute shock, Charlie continually thought the sun shone out of her arse. Hung on her every word, mimicked her every action. If he weren't such a posh little prince, it might almost be cute. But he was a posh little prince, and alas, it was not cute. Still, she would protect him. She would love him.

She was his big sister, and that was her job now, wasn't it?

'Fore Tommy grew bored of her again.

The fourth and final change was about Adeline herself.

For Tommy, Del looked more like a little woman than she ever had.

When he checked in with Zilpha Lee whenever the caravan passed a phone booth, she'd shared a litany of things about his Della. She's doing well. She's fluent in Rokka now. She's taken to singing at every fair. She's a knack for helping our healer. But she'd never shared how much his daughter had grown, how tall and beautiful. How angry and sad. When he sent her away, he thought she was his weakness, he was wrong but. She was his strength. He was better with her near, better just to be in her company, even if she hated him, even if that tore his guts out.

For her part, Del did not notice any physical difference. It had happened so gradually, she did not notice. But what had happened so suddenly, so viscerally, was the brutal change she felt inside. In the year since she returned, Della had almost adjusted herself to the fact that her family no longer existed, and she had decided that she would no longer be a Shelby.

In fact, she would be leaving quite soon. The world could still be hers. Not because she was a Shelby, but because she was an abandoned wild girl desperate for an adventure. So she would leave, any day now. She wasn't sure where to, exactly, she would leave but. Set fire to Arrow House, find Polly, live with her gang, live a life away from the man who had never wanted her. The Shelby's could hold a grudge, there was no lie in that. Del could resent and hate and fume with the best of them.

Adeline Shelby would remember everything, and forget nothing.

It was ironic, really. Tragic, actually. They were trapped in a vicious cycle, Tommy and Del, stuck inside the loop.

Her needing him.

Him needing her.

Neither of them willing nor able to do a d—mn thing about it.

Four simple changes, and it had torn Adeline Shelby's world apart.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

In London on OBE business, Lizzie was trying to get Tommy to make amends. Some New Year's resolution or so much shite. He paid her to do a lot of duties from managing his legal and illegal business to buying gifts for his children. But he didn't pay her for unsolicited advice. Apparently, there was a big party at his brother's house, everyone invited but Tommy Shelby. His secretary was trying to convince him to just turn up, bringing his children and a lump of coal, seeming to believe that this would just bring peace to all.

They'd never seen Arthur's son, or John and Esme's new baby.

It'd been a long year for Tommy, without his family, without his daughter.

"Do it for Della and Charlie." Lizzie insisted firmly, "Della and Charlie should know their cousins."

Tommy ignored her, just exhaling a trail of smoke, "I'll get Charlie a real horse, Lizzie. Not a toy, a thoroughbred."

She scoffed, "And what will you get Della, hm? What does she want that you can give her?"

He had nothing to say to that, dragging in another tight drag of his cig.

"And on Christmas Day, it'll be just you, Della, and Charlie," the brunette sighed.

"And the horse. And Della's new library."

Tommy looked away from her, and Lizzie slowly shook her head to herself, peering 'cross the table at him.

Finally, she murmured, "Can't live like this another year."

"Sex, freedom, whiskey sours." Tommy shrugged, "Which one should I give up first, Lizzie, eh?"

Lizzie took a final sip of her vodka tonic and stood to leave him to it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A tall man with a dusty black coat stepped before the customs agent at the dock.

Seagulls culled in the distance, and the air was chilled with tension and danger. The man removed his hat when instructed, revealing his slicked black hair and his long tan face. He'd a scar above his brow and a tattoo on the side of his neck and eyes that were dark with intent.

The customs agent cocked his head halfway suspiciously, "Are you with those other Italians?"

"We're Americans." The man pointed his pinky towards his passport, his rings catching and scattering the light, "Says it right there on the paper: USA."

"And what's the purpose of your visit?"

Slowly, Luca Changretta smiled, "Pleasure."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Della was nearly at peace with her decision of running away, but then Christmas came and disaster struck.

The house was decorated for the season, covered in holly, mistletoe, and a big tree with red ribbons, dried oranges, and candles. Fires blazed in every room. Del viewed Christmas with mixed feelings. The good side was the tree and Johnny Dogs and his kin coming for dinner tomorrow, along with the hordes of food that their new cook was making. He was the best they'd ever had at the big house. A flip of the coin revealed the unfortunate situation of being with just Tommy and Charlie.

Knowing Tommy was away doing OBE shite, Del did business as usual. To keep up with the 'family business' he wanted her to have no part in, the girl secretly sorted through the mail like she always did. She was smart about it, 'course she was; she steamed the seal so he wouldn't see she'd torn it open and read its contents 'fore it even made it to his desk. Most were what she expected, all letters from people she'd read of before, except one.

It was marked airmail with postage all the way from America. Who the f—ck was sending letters from America to the house? Curious, she slipped her nail under the fold and ripped open the seal so the card fell from the envelope onto the floor. There was a black handprint on one side and on the other was cursive that read:

Merry Christmas to you and your family.
From Luca Changretta & family.

Season's greetings, then. All it was. F—ckin' boring. She had no idea what it meant. She had no idea the storm coming for them.

But she'd learn.

On the night of Christmas Eve, Tommy came home from London. The world outside was dark and frigid, and a heavy blanket of snow stretched out 'cross the field and the front drive.

Twelve year old Del sat on the chair in the corner of the office, arms folded loosely 'cross her chest, watching the proceedings with dull eyes. Before her, her brother and father were talking in front of the big green tree. Charlie was in his posh little uniform, crisp pants, sweater, and socks that went to his knees. Tommy was of course in his suit, looking like he might leave for a business meeting at any moment.

"Right. Now, this is your job, Charlie." Their da passed the little boy a plate with a biscuit and a carrot, "Wanna give those to Santa, and Rudolf? Good boy."

They crouched 'fore the fire to set the plate by the tree, supposedly for some imaginary figure to come from down the chimney and deposit the presents Del knew for a fact Lizzie had purchased earlier.

"Adeline." Tommy turned towards her, hand extended, face tense, "Wanna leave this glass of whiskey out for Santa?"

Del stared at him blankly, her heart was thudding in her chest but. His attention stung her, as did his question. They both knew that it was him who was going to drink the whiskey the moment the kids left the room. So what was the point in pretending? Tommy just wanted to pull her into this little game, this stupid f—ckin' fantasy, like they two were the sort to actually do something like that. For Charles' shake. Nor for her. Never for her. Tommy was mocking her, Del was sure of it. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of playing along so she responded as sharply as she could.

"Santa's not real."

Her words rang through the air like the chime of a bell. Tommy recoiled. Charles' eyes went huge and started swimming with confused tears. Ah, f—ck. She felt a flash of regret that came and went as soon as she smothered it beneath her anger.

Tommy warned, "Adeline."

"He's not, Tommy," she insisted, standing and leaving the room 'fore anyone could say another word.

The flinch struck his body harder than he'd expected. Tommy. Tommy. It was the sort of thing you'd never want to hear comin' from your own child's mouth, like being disowned, like being cast aside. It was enough to make a man fill his pockets with rocks and jump straight into the Cut.

The thing was: he deserved it.

Del felt Tommy's piercing stare on her back as she passed through the office door and made her way to the staircase. Only once she'd reached the fifth step did her hands start regaining feeling. There was no use believing in fairytales. Not when they'd never come true.

What a Christmas. Peace on bloody earth. F—cking goodwill to all men.

The snow continued through the night, the temperature dropped, and by nightfall, every fireplace in the house kept blazing, but she was still cold as she fell asleep. It was like a d—mn omen. Minutes later, it seemed, Del was awakened by someone shaking her. It was Tommy. For a terrifying moment, she thought he was here to whack her for spoiling Santa's secret for Charles, but the thought was gone as quickly as it came.

An overcoat was spread 'cross her, and Tommy's eyes looked deep and dark. His lips were shaped in a thin line.

"'S morning already?"

"Adeline, get up." His voice was sharp and it scared her 'fore he held out her shoes and coat, "Put your robe on first, eh?"

Charlie was standing beside Tommy, groggy and tousled. He was holding his own robe closed at the neck, his lids hanging low, hands jammed into his pockets. Her little brother looked strangely overweight.

"Hurry, chavi," Tommy murmured, "Here're your shoes and socks."

Shivering, she put them on, "Is it morning so?"

"No, 's a little after one. Quickly now."

That something was seriously, seriously wrong finally got through to her, "What's happenin', Tommy?"

By then, he didn't have to tell her. Just as the birds know when there was bad weather, Del knew when there was trouble. Tommy's harried movements and Charlie's quiet sniffles filled her with helpless dread.

Without a word passed between them, their shoes clapped swiftly down the side staircase. Striding quickly through the library and towards the front door, Tommy had Charlie hoisted in one arm and took Del's hand in the other. She didn't herself pull away, like she had every time he tried to hold her since she'd come back. She couldn't feel her hand, just registered his calluses and his warmth. The girl peered down the long length of her arm and her eyes widened at what she saw splattered on his shirt cuff.

"Tommy... You've blood on you."

"Do I?"

He didn't look at all surprised or concerned. Her heart crept up into her throat. There was blood near his ear, too. Against her wishes, despite her demands, her hand tightened just slightly round his. As if responding, his hand gripped hers even harder, to the point where it hurt and she was glad for it. The front doors were already open, the early morning air bustling through and cutting into her. The motorcar waited, warm and humming and waiting for use.

Del was breathless, "Where are we goin'?"

"Home." Tommy pulled her closer when he murmured, "We're going home, Adeline."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

By dawn, the Shelby's were home.

In the frosty December morning, the houses on Watery Lane looked dark and snug with pale blue smoke rising from the chimneys and doorways glowing amber from the fires inside. She was back in her old room, the one she used to share with Finn. It was smaller than she remembered, maybe it was 'cause she was now sharing with Charlie but. Della had missed it; the smell of Small Heath, of Birmingham — the same sh—t and smoke it always was. Tommy didn't get it, nor did Pol or anybody really. Maybe her uncle Arthur did.

It wasn't the grand reunion she might've hoped for.

Everyone was all f—cked.

There'd been embraces. Some shouting. But mostly... just nothing. Pol needed her pills, Del could see. Tablets and séances. Arthur was all emotional and that, and Linda was f—ckin' furious to be back. Finn had been distracted with making a name for himself. It was nice to have Ada back from America, even she had jobs to do but. Apparently, whatever war the family had with Tommy had been voted upon. They had chosen peace. But for the Shelby's, peace didn't mean the absence of violence. 

They were missing someone, and they were home for a reason.

The reason was: the Shelby's were under attack.

Michael had taken four bullets to the chest and stomach. Polly had spoken to someone, she said, he would live. Del was glad for her sake.

But Uncle John, her uncle John, was dead. Murdered. Shot through on his own doorstep. Del weeped. She hadn't seen him for nearly two years now, she remembered him very clearly but. No more dirty jokes. No more shared smiles. She felt her uncle's loss just as deep as the rest of them. They burned him in a vardo, covered in roses and letters and trinkets for him in the afterlife. John Shelby — gone forever.

Another change to add to the many.

Esme and the cousins left for the road, which was good enough, Della supposed. She'd miss them. Miss them all. It was safer for them far away from the curses of their family but. They were done with the Shelby's, and that was fair enough. Del was nearly done with them, too.

After so much death, an endless supply of it, she didn't have it in her to mourn anymore.

She was tired. She was so d—mn tired.

Tommy gave a speech at the funeral, just as he had for her godfather, Freddie. He spoke of her uncle John and the war where they almost died together. While their bodies may have survived, it was true enough that a piece of each of them had died amidst all that blood and mud. Singing 'In the Bleak Midwinter', the men agreed later that everything after that was extra, and when their time came, they'd all remember that God had spared them.

It was Polly who asked the most important question, "But what did you do with that extra time that He gave you, eh, Thomas?"

Tommy had no answer for her.

Del didn't expect him to.

He never had an answer for anything these days.

The girl jumped along with the rest of the family when the guns went off, ducking to the ground and covering Charles with her own body purely out of instinct. Polly had a hand fisted into her sleeve and Finn was somehow holding onto her ankle. It wasn't their enemies, but, they'd hired gyspy soldiers now, apparently, to help protect them from whatever the f—ck was out there. Tommy'd used the funeral as a beacon, as a signal that the war would be waged with equal violence on both sides.

One of ours, two of theirs.

Still, no one would tell her what f—ck was going on.

Bloody adults.

The excitement ended quickly enough.

Grief made people hungry, and Del was f—ckin' starving with it. They might not've celebrated Christmas at the big house, she didn't care but. What they did instead was much better. They moved from the burning field and had a great big Christmas meal all together in Charlie's yard. Del was sat at the main table just as she used to be, as she always belonged.

Their chef, Johnny Dogs, was after having a conniption 'bout getting shown up in front of the likes of their new gyspy soldiers. He was going on and on about diddycoys and proper ways and potatoes and such like. Uncle Charlie looked as confused as Del felt, and Tommy ignored it all as he always did. Sitting on the other end of the table, brooding, scowling, ignoring her just as much as she ignored him. At least they got a delicious meal out of it and no mistake.

Had to take the shite with the sugar, Del supposed.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Tommy and Polly made peace. A truce, more like.

Sitting side—by—side in the yard, they were finally talking like they used to. But neither of them were the same, both twisted and crooked and wrong. She was f—ckin' scaring him, with her talk of spirits and voices and dreams. Like his mother. Like... his daughter. That thought alone churned up enough anger that he jolted upward to glare down at her.

"You know, our mother went this way." Tommy was on his feet, jabbing his finger down at his aunt, "Spirits and ghosts, tablets, f—cking... f—cking séances, scaring us kids halfway to f—ckin' death!"

Polly didn't even bother to look at him, not bothered by his anger, by his terror, by his peace offering of whiskey, by everything.

"Yea, well. I'm not going that way." Polly stood and tossed the expensive whiskey into the dirt, "'Cause in the smoke, I realised something: I'm just like you now. You and Arthur. I was dead in that noose and then I was saved, so everything from now on is extra." She kept her cigarette to her lips and her dark eyes on the sky, "But what I didn't understand until today is when you're dead already... you're free."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The beginning of holiday boded fine enough, Della supposed, apart from the death and destruction and trauma. Being back in Small Heath meant freedom and Charlie's yard and her gang and everything good she had missed. Then, but, Tommy and Polly captured her on the way out the door. The girl was wearing only one shoe and had her coat half on, when suddenly Pol appeared before her with that strict brow that meant a whacking was imminent.

'Fore she could even protest or think of fleeing, Del had been imprisoned in the parlour by her father and aunt. Trapped on the old sofa, she was pinned down by two furious stares and then given a whole new set of rules she hadn't seen coming. Like most of her father's instructions, there was no sentimentality in how he delivered them.

"Now, you listen t' me." Tommy cleared his throat as he stood before the girl who stared blankly up at him, "The rules are different now. We're back home, but it's not like it was before. There will be no fights, there will be no fires, and I won't hear of you causing trouble."

Del looked at her father as if she couldn't believe what she had just heard.

Tommy saw the fiery indignance on her face and only narrowed those matching blue eyes at her. "You're to speak only to people you recognise or those I approve of. You're not to spit at coppers nor throw rocks at their wagons." His voice was harsh, his expression made of steel, "Your days of roaming are over. You stay in Small Heath, Bordesley, Hay Mills down to Greet."

Della glanced sharply at Polly, desperate for some sort of interference or assistance. Her aunt Polly did nothing but. Her eyes were red—rimmed and lips pursed, hands clasped and shaking in front of her face. And shockingly, Pol said nothing. F—ck's sake. Truthfully, Del seriously doubted she would be able to follow any of these rules, even if she wanted to.

After all, she seldom pleased her father and he seldom rewarded her.

"Why?"

There it was. Her favourite question.

His jaw tightened, he answered all the same but, "'Cause we know every face, every man you see is a soldier in this army."

"Your army?" Del sneered.

Tommy sneered right on back, "Yes, Adeline. Our army." 

Polly scoffed in agreement with her niece as Della folded her arms tightly across her chest, the infamous brow arching just like her mother's did. Tommy could nearly hear Greta goading him even now, 'Tommy Shelby and his army of one?'

Del glared up at him 'fore regaining control of herself, falling back into blankness, "How long do I have t' follow these rules, Tommy?"

"Forever, Adeline."

"Forever?"

Firmly, he said, "Yea. Forever."

Pol snapped an addition at her niece, "And you'll listen if you know what's good for you."

Only then did Della concede.

Tommy peered at his daughter for a long moment, just daring her to challenge him. She wouldn't. They both knew she wouldn't. He didn't need a belt or his hands; his words and silences were dangerous enough. He looked at her for a moment more and then trudged out the house without another word.

As soon as he was out of sight, Polly sighed, bent, and kissed her. Del sat there in confusion, wondering what had come over her aunt. She had wanted to make up with her, that was it. Polly recognised they'd been too hard on her, she had at last seen the error of their ways, and she was sorry, just too stubborn to say so. Della was already weary from the day's grievances.

She missed Uncle John. She missed her life before. She missed everything.

"He's a b—stard, Lamb. A right b—stard." Polly was full of nervous energy in a way she wasn't accustomed to, standing and pacing somewhat, "But he's right in this instance."

Del peered at her for a moment, "Where were you, Pol?"

The family disappeared on her, and she was angry, true, mostly she was hurt but. And sad. At this point, she expected such abandonment from Tommy and she could almost forgive the other family for being so f—cked up that they couldn't speak to her. Polly was her everything but. She'd raised her, caretaker and disciplinarian both. She'd been there when no one else was and not speaking to her had hurt the most, even if it was only for a while.

Polly's entire body tensed when she glanced over. Her red—rimmed eyes were deep and tired, but also intensely safe and warm, as they always were when it came to Del. She tsked and took the girl's hand in both of her own, looking like she might cry. It scared her.

"You were gone, Lamb, gone for a long time." She told her gently, hands still shaking — she needed her pills, "He wouldn't tell me... I hadn't an idea where you were and I didn't think he'd bring you home. Until yesterday, I'd no idea you were back."

Del's chest loosened with relief, lashes fluttering briefly. Polly didn't know she was back from the road, none of the family did. Tommy kept it secret; after all, it made sense. Her da wasn't talking to the family at all, why would he tell them she was back? It meant that Polly still loved her. At least Pol still loved her. She would break if she ever had to lose Polly.

"Thomas Shelby." Polly cleared her throat, straightened up, and wiped her face, "F—cking b—stard."

True.

Slouching back on the sofa, Del sighed and quietly asked, "What'd he do, Polly?"

Her aunt seemed trying desperately to hide that anything was wrong, it was impossible but. The girl smirked half—heartedly. She was always too smart for her own good.

"Obviously, he did something. Or youse lot wouldn't hate him so much."

"We don't hate him..." Her aunt sighed and then changed the subject entirely, "Lamb, how d'you like Australia?"

"What?" Del paused to frown at her, "I've... not been."

"No, 'course not, but from what you've heard, d'you like it?"

She had no clue, still she said, "Sure..."

"Grand." Polly's expression brightened for the first time since they'd seen each other again. She quickly moved 'cross the parlour and sat beside her on the couch, holding her hands tight, "Because you and I, Lamb, are going to Australia as soon as this is all over." 

The girl cocked her head, "With me da and Charlie?"

"No, no. Just you, and me, and Michael."

Del was beyond confused, "You said but... You said I couldn't live with you 'cause it would hurt me da. How's this different, Pol?"

Polly Gray had always been a predator, protective of her young, deadly to her prey. And anyone else but Della would have cowered at the expression on her face when she hissed, "To hell with your father, Adeline."

Well sh—t. All right then. To hell with Tommy.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The Shelby's recent change in stations meant a change for Della in nearly every category, namely — school.

Del hadn't thoroughly enjoyed her school back in Small Heath but she trudged through its monotony as best she could. She'd always been a smart girl, too smart for her own good really. She often found herself bored and impatient during her classes in that three room schoolhouse; her fellow students learning about concepts she'd known about for years and her teachers unable to provide her with any advanced resources.

None of that had mattered but, not really, because her gang was there. She might have been trapped within four walls but she always had Margo, Ruthie, Henry, and Georgie for company. She suffered when they suffered. They laughed when she laughed. They were inseparable; they were her best mates.

At her new school, she didn't have any of that.

Far away in Warwickshire, unallowed to return to Small Heath, and hidden away at that posh Catholic school, Del had no friends anywhere. Now was her chance to make up for lost time. So, with only Charlie and Frances for company, Del decided to seek her own diversions.

She even planned to follow Tommy's new rules.

No one was available but.

It seemed while she was away, Del's gang had grown up without her. For months now, she'd been at an awkward age where she was too old for some things and too young for most others. Her childhood was almost over, her mates' already was but. They'd chores and responsibilities and some had even taken on jobs as apprentices and such. Their precious daylight hours together were cut short by these boring adult duties. Del waited for them, outside homes or shops or factories. They were all too busy for her, but.

She'd tried to look for Finn, then, but he also was too busy. With John dead, her childhood best friend had been promoted, as sick and sad as it was. He was now permanently occupied with an entire range of Peaky business; business that her father forbade him to talk about with her.

So, Del went to where she belonged most.

"Mornin' Curly..."

The bald gyspy looked up from his rake and hay, buzzing and grinning, "Hello bug! How's Della?"

"She's surviving." She murmured quietly, "How's Curly?"

"Orright, Della—girl, he's orright, Della—girl."

Del smiled softly up at him, tugging on his coat sleeve so she could kiss his cheek. Then, she stuck her hands in her pockets and carried on. Charlie's yard was bustling with activity, not the empty and quiet place she was used to. There were weapons in the yard, an endless supply of them from rifles to bullets to f—ckin' hand grenades. Whatever was going on, the Shelby's were going to war.

Della didn't say anything as she approached her uncle Charlie, and he didn't say anything either. Standing side—by—side, she thought she caught him maybe smiling at her but. Perhaps Uncle Charlie'd sensed that her day had been a grim one: he let her hang round his side without any explanation or chores.

Eventually, he ordered, "Shut your eyes and hold out your hands and maybe I'll give ya a surprise."

With one arched brow, Del did as instructed. Then, within the next moment, she felt the cool smooth shape of a pear. Her eyes eagerly shot open and she gasped in delight 'fore he ruffled her curls as he'd always done. He knew how much she loved his pears. She'd lost the taste for them on the road, when they did nothing but remind her of abandonment, but now that she bit into it, it tasted of sweets and home. 

Del's cheeks split with a grin, pear juice already spilling down her lips and chin.

"You were missed 'round here, Della—girl," Uncle Charlie groused, wiping her face with his scratchy sleeve. "The yard got so quiet, I had to rely upon just Curly for conversation, if you can imagine. Didn't know what to f—ckin' do with meself."

"Why?" The girl cocked her head, "I wasn't ever round 'less I was causing you trouble."

"True..." Her uncle grumbled back, "But youse always kept things interesting. I wonder how much of the day I spent just f—ckin' chasing after ya. Enough for me to notice when you were gone, anyway..."

Del smiled at him and Charlie cleared his throat, looking away. Neither of them were very good about this whole... expressing one's emotions bullsh—t. The feelings were there, that was all they needed to know. She decided to have mercy and change the subject for him.

"What's happening, Uncle Charlie?"

"Too much, little trouble, too d—mn much." Charlie sighed, raking through the muck, "Italians north, Italians south. What a f—ckin' mess, eh, Della—girl?"

"A f—ckin' mess," she repeated his words in agreement, as was their custom.

After a moment, he said, "Tommy feels imprisoned here. You feel free."

That was the truth, Del knew it was. She felt free in Small Heath, in Birmingham, at home. And if Australia was waiting for her, she might never feel free again. But there was Tommy who suddenly wanted her at home again, who suddenly set restrictions on where she could go and who she could meet. It didn't matter if she didn't feel free, it didn't matter if she was never happy again...

It would be enough to punish Tommy with her suffering.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Tommy met with Luca Changretta for the first time.

In one of his warehouses, across a long wooden table, the Italian mobster so smoothly lied his way inside. Tommy always kept a gun on him, but it had already been unloaded by Changretta's own men. Right from his coat. Right under his own nose. One bullet at a time, Luca named the members of his family. One bullet already spent — John Shelby.

"None of you will survive."

Tommy's eyes rolled closed.

Changretta slowly stood from his chair and paced across the board office, peering out the window, "Your level of security is pitiful and we are an organisation of a different dimension. I coulda killed you when I walked through the door. But you see..." The floorboards creaked under his feet as he slowly stepped closer, "I want you to be the last. I want you to be alive after your entire family is dead."

Tommy's jaw clenched, unarmed and uncertain.

"'Cause my mother says that is what will hurt you the most." Luca shook a finger at him, those dark eyes narrowed, "You people have traditions of honour, as do we. Instead of sending you a black hand, I coulda had you killed in the night. Without knowing why... But I want you to know why and I wanna suggest to you that we fight this vendetta with honour."

Tommy agreed to that. He set down his empty pistol. He straightened his shoulders and he laid out his terms for their deal.

"No civilians. No children."

"No police," the Italian added.

A bitter smirk ever so briefly flickered across Tommy's face as he tipped his head, "Welcome to Birmingham, Mister Changretta."

Deal made, Changretta nodded back, "Grazie."

Deals between liars were destined to be broken.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

After a day out on the streets, Della climbed in through the upstairs window. It was long past dark and her fingers were numb from the cold, no one was there to yell at her but. Especially since she'd made such a show of feeling sick and then formed a body under the blanket with pillows. Del briefly checked that Charlie was already asleep, tucked into bed and snoring soundly. Not even her nosy little shadow noticed her absence. Grand.

All was right with the Shelby household.

Except the fact that Del was f—cking starving.

That was the one good thing about the big house; there was always something to eat. Even if it was f—cking atrocious like glazed kangaroo or candied turnips. Was it so much to ask for a d—mn sandwich? She tip—toed downstairs in hopes of filling her belly so, hesitating at the last step because of the warm orange glow in the parlour. Someone was still awake. The squeaking of her feet on the wooden floorboards leading to the kitchen made her cringe, and when she hit a sore spot, inducing the wood to groan, she almost stopped.

"Del?"

Her scalp jumped, and she cautiously stuck her head round the corner, "Yea?"

Tommy was seated in the chair closest to the fire, shoulders slumped and head tilted back. He took her in, looking her from head to toe. She didn't care if he liked what he saw anymore. In fact, she bitterly hoped he hated what he saw. 

"Come 'ere."

The words startled her, knocked her breathless like he'd punched her in the gut. The fact that he said it, that he even wanted her with him, shocked her to the core. She had made it clear she'd wanted nothin' to do with him, and he hadn't done anything to say he wanted anything different. So... what the hell was he doing? Hands curling around the doorway, she bit her lip and hesitated for a moment. Tommy still hadn't looked away.

Ah f—ck. Why not?

It wasn't like she'd be round much longer anyway. She'd be off to Australia in a few weeks. She'd give him this, just a bit of closure before she punished him by never seeing him again.

Del crept in, full of dread, squinting in the scant light of the parlour. She could barely see him. He was lounging back in the furthest chair by the door, like he was guarding the house or some such shite. Tommy'd a frown and a thick glass of whiskey in his hand, tired eyes tracking her every movement. Della sat on the floor against the brick wall across from him, her shoulder and arm immediately warmed by the fire. The ground felt cold and unkind, but no matter how much she hated it, everything still somehow felt better with him at her side. They sat for a moment, him staring at her and her staring at him. Neither of them said anything.

Del was considerin' up and leaving when Tommy groused, "Charlie asleep?"

"Yea."

He hummed mildly, cocking his head at her, "And why aren't you?"

"Couldn't. You?"

"Couldn't."

Their conversation was so stiff, Del didn't know what the hell to say to him, "Uhm... Did youse work hard today?"

"Yea. Worked pretty hard." Tommy reached into his coat pocket, asking, "You know how t' roll a cigarette, Della?"

The girl arched a brow, "Aren't you rich enough t' just buy 'em?"

"Ah, but there's a skill to this, eh?"

"Yea," she could concede that.

For the next hour or so, they sat in the rising pool of darkness, fiddling with the tobacco and the cigarette papers 'fore Tommy started smoking them. When the hour was up, Del could roll a cigarette moderately well. She still didn't go to bed, just watched his smoke rise to the ceiling, thick enough to hide them from the view of the rest of the world. Just for a minute.

This safety let Del softly ask, "What's really goin' on, Tommy?"

She sounded so exhausted, so annoyed. He cast a glance down his nose at her. Her expression was serious, far more serious than any girl her age should rightly have. That was his fault. It usually was. Anyway, she was old enough, he supposed. Old enough to go on the road. Old enough to know the truth.

Tommy sighed through his cigarette smoke, lingering as he thought, "D'you know what vendetta means, Del?"

She shook her head.

"It's when the family of a murdered person seeks vengeance on the murderer and their family," he explained. "What's it called?"

"Vendetta," she supplied obediently.

"Vendetta," Tommy repeated, "A blood feud; that's what's goin' on."

Della absorbed that for a moment 'fore asking, "Who'd you kill?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Will they get us?"

"No, they will not."

"They got my Uncle John. Michael too, nearly."

His voice was harsh, almost angry at her, "I won't let them get us, Adeline, no matter what I have t' do."

Tommy was startled by the embittered amusement he saw dance across his daughter's face. When did she become so angry? When did she become so sad? When did he lose that last bit of sunshine he had on this f—cking earth? He knew. Of course he knew. He smothered it out himself, a year ago when he abandoned her for her own good. The strange girl before him wore a blithe smirk, pushing herself off the ground, quirking a brow down at him.

"Well done, Tommy." Del said, "One foot already in the grave."

She left him alone in the dark.

━━━━━━ annie speaks ━━━━━━

you guys, del is back and she's tougher than ever. writing angry adeline shelby is my new aesthetic, and it's making me so happy. it's clearing my skin. it's curing my depression. things are good. del has never REALLY been angry at tommy before so it's nice to see. tommy is SUFFERING. he wants his girl back and he can't get her :) yay. this, guys, is the part of healing and redemption. father-daughter relationship, here we come... (we just have a lot of screaming and fighting to get there).

series 4 is arguably my favorite and i can't WAIT to show you guys what i have planned. what happens this series will ultimately set the tone for the rest of this book. i have so much angst, fluff, healing, and violence planned! this is the part where del really is set on the path of being a peaky blinder, with all the pain and anger that this implies.

sorry this chapter was a bit long, but thank you all for sticking with me so far! can't wait until next week xx

small spoiler: next chapter involves a certain someone's mother... enter great jurossi