EVELYN FINALLY FELT warm.

The sun hung high, a blazing white orb against the endless expanse of blue sky. No clouds interrupted the perfection above her, just an infinite ocean stretching into realms her mind couldn't fathom.

Her bare feet pressed against the damp earth, the cool, muddy soil curling between her toes, grounding her. The sensation was familiar, like an embrace from an old friend. It must have been summer — she never wore shoes in the summer. Her mother had always believed the soil was meant to tether a person to the world.

"Never do anything to prevent that, Evelyn," her mother would say.

Shoes were cast aside when spring melted into summer, and the frost became a distant memory. Evelyn never questioned it; she only obeyed.

Now, nature surrounded her, wrapping her in its arms. Trees loomed on either side of a worn path she didn't recognize, yet her legs carried her forward with a confidence that startled her. It was as if her body knew something her mind hadn't caught up to yet.

"I remember this place well."

The voice startled her, soft but distinct, cutting through the tranquility. Evelyn turned her head sharply to the right.

"Mum?"

There she was — Ioana. Her cheeks were flushed with a familiar pink hue, and her golden hair cascaded over her shoulders, appearing nearly colorless beneath the faint white glow of her silhouette. Her skin, usually rich like caramel, had faded, translucent and ethereal. She looked young— too young— like time had stopped, leaving her beauty untouched.

"What are you doing here?" Evelyn asked, her voice calm despite the shock stirring within her.

Ioana smiled, warm but urgent. She reached for Evelyn's hand, interlacing their fingers. The grip was firm, grounding, like when Evelyn was a little girl.

"We don't have much time," Ioana said, her tone clipped.

Evelyn frowned. "Time for what?"

"Just listen." Her mother's voice held the same command it did when Evelyn was a child.

She closed her eyes, obedient, letting the world around her fall silent. Evelyn strained to hear...something. Anything.

And then she did.

The faint echo of a child's laughter.

Her heart jolted. She knew that sound, knew it better than her own voice. James.

Her legs moved before her mind could react, carrying her down the widening path. Urgency coursed through her veins, each step faster than the last. Ioana stayed beside her, weightless, gliding effortlessly as if the earth didn't hold her at all.

The laughter grew louder. The path widened further, the dirt overtaking the vegetation until it abruptly opened into a vast field of white lilies swaying lazily in the breeze. And there, in the distance, was James.

He was crouched in the flowers, small hands plucking delicate stems as if he had all the time in the world. Against the sun, his mop of pale hair curled, his ends appearing almost orange.

"James!" Evelyn called, her voice trembling with relief.

He didn't turn.

"James!" she yelled again, more forceful this time. Her tone echoed with the authority of her mother's voice, but James continued to ignore her, oblivious, lost in the flowers.

She tried to step forward, but her feet wouldn't move.

Confused, Evelyn looked down to find the earth gripping her ankles like a vice. She strained, twisting, but the soil refused to release her.

"Mum," she gasped, whipping her head toward Ioana. But her mother was gone.

In her place stood Thomas.

His icy blue eyes bore into hers, rimmed with exhaustion and something darker — something colder. Blood trickled lazily from a deep gash on his forehead, the crimson streak carving a path along his jaw before dripping onto his tailored jacket.

"Thomas..." Evelyn's voice was barely a whisper, her hand reaching for him instinctively.

But he caught her wrist before she could touch him, his grip firm but not unkind. He shook his head slowly, silently telling her no.

A piercing scream shattered the moment.

Evelyn's head snapped forward, and her son's name fell from her lips in a desperate gasp. James was gone. In his place stood her father, Danior, a shadowy figure with eyes as sharp and unforgiving as the blade of a knife.

Her blood turned to ice.

"James!" she screamed, struggling against the soil now swallowing her legs, her torso, her chest. The harder she fought, the faster she sank, the earth consuming her like quicksand.

"Tommy," she pleaded, turning to him, her voice breaking. "Help me."

But Thomas didn't move. He stared at her with a passive detachment that twisted the knife in her heart. Slowly, he released her wrist and stepped away.

"Thomas! Please!" she begged, her voice raw.

He said nothing. Instead, he walked forward, his steps effortless as he crossed into the field. Evelyn thrashed as the earth climbed higher, covering her arms, her shoulders. Panic clawed at her as she screamed, but no one turned, no one listened.

Her chest heaved as the soil crept to her chin. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the damp dirt. She tried one last time to call out, but the earth filled her mouth, silencing her.

Her final glimpse was of Thomas in the distance, shaking her father's hand.

Her father's cold smile was the last thing she saw before the earth claimed her entirely.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The racetrack was the meeting point of two worlds: the public spectacle of sport and the shadowy undercurrent of crime. Fixed bets, stolen winnings, an endless flow of liquor, and powder as fine as freshly fallen snow — what seemed like a glamorous playground for the elite was nothing more than a polished veneer for the ugliness it concealed.

Outside the gates, the crowd thrummed with restless energy, bodies pressing together in their rush to wager fortunes. None of them knew — or perhaps, none cared — that the race they so eagerly gambled on was already decided, its outcome sealed by the hand of one man: her father.

It was the very world Evelyn's mother had fought to shield her from.

And yet here she was, ankle-deep in the dirt her father controlled, a pawn in a game that had started long before she was born. The Shelbys' presence reminded her just how far this world reached. For many of her Romani comrades, the racetrack wasn't just about the horses. It was about power. About reclaiming a piece of the pie dangled just out of reach for generations.

But today, something felt off.

As Evelyn's heeled boots touched the ground, a violent shiver climbed her spine, rattling her skull and chattering her teeth. It wasn't the briskness of the noon air; it was something else entirely. A struggle — light and darkness — was brewing, coming to a head soon and somewhere near.

Polly had insisted she share her visions, but Evelyn wasn't ready to trust her. Not yet. Polly was Thomas's confidante, his crutch, and Evelyn had no doubt her concerns would be relayed to him immediately. That wasn't a risk she could afford.

Ever since the day she'd kissed Thomas, someone — or something — had been reaching for her mind. Her dreams were vivid now, laced with cryptic messages she couldn't untangle. And in every dream, her mother was there. For the first time in years, Ioana's presence was tangible, her spirit threading itself into Evelyn's world.

She needed guidance. She needed kin.

She needed Zilpha Lee.

"You fit right in," Arthur murmured in her ear, breaking her reverie.

Evelyn turned to him, forcing a polite smile. "You can thank Ada for that."

It was true. Ada had gone to great lengths to disguise her. Evelyn wore one of London's finest gowns, a thick lavender fabric adorned with intricate beading that cinched her waist and flowed gracefully to her ankles. Her coarse brown curls were pinned tightly into a bun, concealed beneath a cream-white hat adorned with matching roses. Even her face had been transformed — rouged cheeks, bold lipstick, and caked mascara. When she'd looked in the mirror, she hadn't recognized herself, and that small comfort made it easier to face the enemy.

The crowd around them surged, too thick and chaotic for anyone to properly survey. Evelyn's nerves remained on edge, her instincts screaming at her to stay alert.

"Are you sure my father won't be here today?" she asked Arthur, her voice low as she clutched the small purple handbag Ada had insisted she bring. Out of habit, she popped it open. Nestled among her cosmetics was a small pistol — the same one she'd stolen from Thomas's caravan the day they met.

Arthur tilted his peaked cap forward. "Your daddy's in London meetin' some bloke from Camden Town. Our men at the Garrison heard it straight from him."

Evelyn bit her bottom lip, unease still gnawing at her despite his reassurance.

A car pulled up behind Arthur's, the sound of tires crunching against the dirt drawing her attention. John stepped out first, followed by Thomas, with a handful of Lee boys spilling from the back bench.

Thomas's gaze found her immediately, his sharp eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. He greeted her with a subtle curl of his lips and a small, deliberate bow of his head. Heat crept up her cheeks, and she quickly looked away, flustered.

The group gathered around, Evelyn flanked by Arthur and John. Thomas remained to her right, his presence commanding as he began issuing instructions.

The plan was straightforward. Arthur, John, and the Lee boys would infiltrate the track through the stables, disguised as stablehands. From there, they'd neutralize Kimber's bookies and the guards Danior had left to oversee operations. Meanwhile, Evelyn and Thomas would keep Kimber occupied inside, working to sway him to their side while the others made off with the bets.

Evelyn shifted her weight uneasily, her grip tightening on the handbag. It all sounded simple enough, but she knew better than to trust simplicity. Especially when it came to men like Kimber —and her father.

As Thomas's voice faded into the background, Evelyn's mind drifted back to her mother's words. The soil was meant to tether you to this world, Ioana had always said. And yet, standing here, surrounded by schemes and shadows, Evelyn felt untethered, caught between two worlds pulling her apart.

But she didn't have the luxury of hesitation.

Not when her son's life hung in the balance.

"We'll give you two hours, at most," Thomas said, glancing at his pocket watch, "Remember, we've done this once, we can do it again."

At this, the Lee boys chuckled.

"We won't let ya down, brother," Arthur announced proudly, reaching behind Evelyn to clap a hand on John's shoulder. John and Evelyn's eyes met, and he gave her a wink, a smile creeping across his face, "No one messes with the Peaky fuckin' Blinders."

And with a roar, they were off. The Shelby and Lee men vanished into the crowd like smoke, their movements precise and seamless. They molded into the chaos as if they'd been born to it — men trained to thrive in ambiguity, lives built to fold into shadows, unseen and untraceable.

"Shall we?" Thomas's voice was closer now, low and measured. He offered his arm with the sort of formality that almost felt absurd given the circumstances. For a fleeting moment, the ridiculousness of his chivalry threatened to eclipse the anxious knot twisting in her stomach.

Evelyn raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching at the corners.

Thomas's mouth quirked into a crooked smile, the blue of his eyes catching the light beneath the shadow of his peaked cap. "We have to play the part, remember?"

"If you insist." Evelyn let out a soft laugh, sliding her gloved hand through the crook of his arm. The contrast of textures — silk against stiff, tailored wool — was strangely grounding.

He led her up the grand steps, past the betting shops and bustling stands, to a room reserved for a very particular crowd. A man with a thin, pointed mustache and a tuxedo as polished as the mahogany walls stopped them at the door. Evelyn watched as Thomas discreetly slipped the man a wad of cash, earning them a silent nod of approval before they were ushered inside.

The air inside was rich, almost suffocating, humming with the excitement of the day's races. A jazz quartet played softly from a raised stage, the melody twinkling beneath the light of crystal chandeliers. The golden glow refracted off polished surfaces, casting shimmering patterns onto the dark wood-paneled walls. The heady scent of aged bourbon mingled with the tang of cigar smoke and the delicate aroma of fresh roses decorating each table.

The room buzzed with life. Men in sharp tuxedos and women in dazzling flapper dresses flitted between tables, their laughter bubbling up like the champagne in their glasses. Couples danced near the band, swaying in a haze of alcohol and opulence. At the center of it all, a long, curved bar gleamed under the chandeliers, where a bartender moved with practiced precision, crafting cocktails as if performing sleight of hand.

Evelyn couldn't help but pause, her eyes drinking in the excess. The stark difference from the wilderness she so often retreated to left her breathless. "So, this is how the other half live," she murmured.

Thomas said nothing. His eyes were sharp, scanning the room with the practiced deliberation of someone always calculating the next move. He pulled her gently toward the bar, navigating the crowd with ease. No one seemed to notice them — every person too engrossed in their own indulgences to care.

They reached the bar, and before Evelyn could voice her preference, Thomas had ordered for them both. She shot him a pointed look, narrowing her eyes.

"What's a French 75?" she asked, her annoyance clear as she glanced at the bartender preparing the drink.

Thomas smirked. "A drink for ladies."

"And whiskey isn't for ladies?" she countered, arching an eyebrow.

"Not the kind of ladies who come to places like this," he said, his voice steady as he slipped a pocket watch from his vest and checked the time. "And definitely not the ones who sit with Kimber."

Evelyn snorted, glancing down as the bartender set a delicate crystal glass in front of her. The stem twisted elegantly, supporting a frosted goblet filled with the pale golden drink. She hesitated, almost unwilling to disturb its perfection.

"You look unimpressed," Thomas noted, lifting his own glass to his lips, his focus still on the room.

"This is all too much," Evelyn admitted, finally wrapping her fingers around the delicate stem. She kept her gaze forward, unwilling to look back and risk exposing whatever vulnerability lingered in her expression.

Thomas chuckled, a quiet sound that held more weight than it should. "You might be the only gypsy in the world who'd rather live in the struggles of the poor than the comfort of the rich."

The confidence in his tone grated on her, as though he understood her better than she understood herself. She sipped the drink slowly, the sweet notes of champagne and gin lingering on her tongue.

"You don't know anything about me," Evelyn said softly, her words deliberate.

Thomas's lips curved into a ghost of a smile. He leaned back against the bar, his elbows resting on the polished oak as he turned his body slightly to face her. The light caught his eyes, their blue depths sparkling with something dangerous and unreadable.

"I know you better than you'd like to admit," he said, his voice low and steady, like a thread pulling her toward him.

Evelyn met his gaze, her chest tightening at the way he held her attention. It was unnerving, how he could make someone feel utterly seen with a single look. It was part of what made him such an effective leader — but it was also what made him dangerous.

She tilted her head, her lips curving into a small, almost mocking smile. "Maybe that's part of my plan," she said quietly, her tone daring. "What if I've been pretending this whole time — just to get what I wanted from you?"

For a moment, the air between them felt charged, the noise of the room fading into the background. Then Thomas laughed softly, a sound that sent a shiver down her spine.

"Then I suppose that would make you the cleverest woman I've ever met," he replied, his voice carrying a quiet admiration that only made her more uneasy.

Evelyn didn't break eye contact, but her fingers tightened slightly around the stem of her glass. She could never tell if he was toying with her — or simply telling the truth.

For a moment, Evelyn regretted her words, but the thought was swept away when Thomas's arm looped firmly around her waist. She gasped softly as he tugged her closer, plucking the champagne glass from her hand with an easy grace.

"Besides," Thomas began, his breath brushing her cheek. The fabric of her dress suddenly felt tighter, constricting her lungs. He pressed his forehead gently against hers and whispered, "That would make two of us."

Before she could react, he whisked her onto the dance floor. The world spun as he seamlessly guided her into the crowd, his steps perfectly attuned to the rhythm of the band's jaunty foxtrot. Evelyn stumbled slightly, a surprised giggle escaping her lips.

"I'm a terrible dancer!" she called over the music, extending her left arm as Thomas took the lead. She tried to ignore how his hand rested possessively at the base of her spine, drawing her hips firmly against his.

Thomas shook his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Now I know you're lying. I saw you at John's wedding. You can dance just fine."

Evelyn glanced down at his polished shoes, attempting to mimic his steps and avoid making a fool of herself.

"Eyes on me," Thomas commanded softly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Her gaze snapped back to his, and she noticed the shift in his demeanor. The warmth and playfulness he'd shown earlier had vanished, replaced by a sharp intensity. Her grip on his hand instinctively tightened.

"Speaking of secrets, Tommy," Evelyn began, her voice steady despite the growing tension. "Which one of those thoroughbreds out there is going to win tonight?"

His eyes narrowed, the hint of a challenge sparking within them. "Are you suggesting I fixed the race?"

"No, not you," she replied, her confidence growing as her feet began to move more naturally. "But I know my father did."

Thomas's jaw tightened at the mention of Danior, a flicker of fury flashing in his eyes. Evelyn felt a small, vindictive satisfaction at his reaction. Instead of answering, Thomas leaned in closer, his face mere inches from hers. Her breath hitched, her tongue instinctively brushing her lips in anticipation of a kiss.

But he spoke instead.

"I need you to do something for me," he murmured, his tone low and deliberate, as though someone might overhear.

The intensity of his words sent a fresh wave of anxiety through her, though she kept her expression composed. "What do you need?"

"In a few minutes, Kimber's men will approach us," Thomas explained, his calm exterior betrayed only by the faint sheen of sweat on his palm. "They'll invite us to sit at Kimber's table. I need you to be ready."

Her stomach twisted, but she forced herself to nod. "What do I need to do?"

"When we sit down, put the bag Ada gave you on the table," he said. "Keep your hand on the pistol, but discreetly. Don't let them see."

Of course, he knew about the weapon. Evelyn's heart skipped at the realization that he'd chosen it for her, though she quickly shoved the thought aside. Now wasn't the time for sentiment.

"Okay," she said softly, her voice betraying only a hint of unease.

"I'll give you a signal when it's time to pull it out."

"What signal?"

Thomas shook his head. "You'll know when it's time. But when you draw the gun, aim it here."

Their steps slowed as he released her hand and pointed directly at her chest. Beneath his fingertip, her heart thundered against her ribs, and she was certain he could feel the rapid pulse.

"I don't know how to shoot," she admitted, her voice almost a whisper.

"Yes, you do," he replied firmly. "You put your finger on the trigger and pull."

"What if I can't?"

"You will," he said, his voice steady and sure. "But I'll do my best to make sure it doesn't come to that."

Evelyn broke away slightly, glancing over her shoulder. Through the throng of dancing bodies, she spotted two men in crisp suits approaching. Their faces were partially obscured by the brims of their fedoras, but their movements were deliberate, their intent unmistakable.

The sight ignited something in her — a simmering vengeance for all the ways Kimber and his men had terrorized her family and turned her life into a nightmare. That reminder alone was enough to bolster her confidence.

She turned back to Thomas, determination burning in her eyes. "I'll do whatever you ask, Tommy."

His lips curled into a proud grin. "Spoken like a true soldier."

And, like a soldier stepping onto the battlefield, Evelyn swallowed her fear. Kimber's men arrived moments later, their cold eyes sweeping over her before addressing Thomas.

"This way," one of them said gruffly, gesturing toward a table a few yards away.

Evelyn followed Thomas as they approached the man of the hour. Kimber sat at the head of the table, a pale, round-faced man with a slicked middle part and a dark mustache. Even from across the table, the sharp stench of whiskey clung to him like a second skin. He glared at Thomas, his expression sour and distrustful.

Evelyn kept her face carefully neutral, though her fingers tightened around the bag in her hand. This was it. Time to play her part.

"Thomas fucking Shelby," Kimber sneered as soon as they sat down, his voice dripping with malice. "What the fuck are you doing back here?"

Thomas didn't flinch. Calmly, he pulled a tin of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, inspecting them as though Kimber's venom was no more than background noise. Under the table, Evelyn quietly opened her bag, setting it on the table with deliberate nonchalance. The band played on, its upbeat melody a stark contrast to the growing tension. Her hand slipped into her purse just as Thomas placed a cigarette between her red-painted lips.

The flick of his lighter. The acrid scent of charred paper. Evelyn inhaled, letting the smoke settle in her chest. As she plucked the cigarette from her mouth, she caught the disdainful roll of Kimber's eyes and the faint shake of his head. Thomas's deliberate pace was working. It was under Kimber's skin, just as intended.

"Mr. Kimber," Thomas greeted, his tone maddeningly casual. "It's been a while."

"Not long enough," Kimber snapped. "Now tell me what the fuck you're doin' here before I have my boys blow your fuckin' head off."

Thomas exhaled a plume of smoke, his free hand resting lightly on Evelyn's knee. She stayed perfectly still, her composure unwavering.

"I'm here to propose a truce," Thomas announced, his voice smooth and unhurried. "A truce between me and your Birmingham boys."

Kimber barked out a laugh, throwing his head back as if it were the joke of the century. Evelyn's stomach twisted at the sound — grating and humorless, it was a laugh meant to humiliate.

Thomas, unbothered, waited patiently for him to finish.

When Kimber's eyes finally settled on Evelyn, they gleamed with lewd interest. "And I suppose you're offering me one of your whores as a peace token?" His gaze dragged over her face, down her neck, and lingered on her chest. It took every ounce of control for Evelyn not to lunge across the table.

"The other one was prettier," Kimber continued, feigning indifference. "The blonde... what was her name? Lady Sarah? The whore with the clap? Shame that didn't work out for you, eh? I heard she turned you over to that chap from Northern Ireland."

They don't know how it feels to be betrayed by someone who's supposed to love you.

Thomas's grip on her knee tightened, his jaw clenching as his tongue swept across his bottom lip.

"There will be no whores tonight, Mr. Kimber," Thomas said, his voice cutting through Kimber's jeers. He took another drag. "You wouldn't be able to afford them."

Kimber's smile faltered. "I don't know what you're talkin' about."

Thomas tilted his head, feigning pity. "Now, now, Kimber. Gentlemen shouldn't lie in front of ladies."

Kimber's cheeks flushed red with anger. "You don't know shit."

"Oh, but I do." Thomas leaned forward; his tone soft yet cutting. "You're broke, Kimber. Your business has dried up. Every pound you make off these tracks goes straight into Danior Heron's pocket, and he throws his whores, booze, and snow your way to keep you pacified."

Kimber scoffed, brushing at the faint white powder on the table, inadvertently proving Thomas's point.

"Your men are angry, but you're angrier," Thomas pressed. "I can fix that. All we need is to go back to the way things were. I get Birmingham back — the betting licenses, everything. In return, you get our protection at the races."

"And why the fuck should I trust you? You tried to kill me!" Kimber spat.

"And you tried to kill me," Thomas replied with a shrug. "We're square. Besides, I've got nothing left to lose. You made sure of that."

"You're bloody mad," Kimber said, but the cracks in his bravado were showing. Evelyn could see it — the wheels turning as he searched for a way out. "I should've killed you when I had the chance."

"You're right," Thomas said softly. "You should have."

Under the table, Thomas tapped Evelyn's knee once. The signal.

Without hesitation, she drew the pistol from her purse, raising it swiftly to Kimber's chest. The room seemed to freeze. Kimber's mouth parted slightly in shock, his bravado melting away.

"Because now," Thomas said, his voice low and lethal, "you've got no choice but to take what I'm offering. Take the deal, or I'll have Danior's daughter put a bullet in your heart right here, in front of everyone."

Evelyn's hand nearly faltered at Thomas's words. Her mind reeled at the betrayal, but she forced herself to remain steady, the pistol aimed unwaveringly at Kimber. Her fury at Thomas burned like a brand down her spine.

Kimber recovered quickly, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "Well, well, well. You're Danior's little gypsy bitch daughter, aren't you? The one all those boys talk about?"

Her jaw tightened, and she gripped the pistol harder, her knuckles turning white. She said nothing, her lips pressing into a thin, furious line.

Kimber leaned forward, his grin widening. "Your daddy's got a hefty price on your head, sweetheart. What are you doing here, eh?"

Evelyn ignored the tremor in her free hand as she stubbed out her cigarette. Adrenaline coursed through her as she met Kimber's gaze, her voice sharp and commanding. "Your alliance doesn't come cheap, Mr. Kimber, but I'm not my father. I understand how business works. That's why I'm offering a partnership — not another war."

Kimber's laugh was softer this time, almost thoughtful. "Oh, this just got interesting." He cocked his head, studying her. "But alliances don't come easy, love. Prove you're tougher than your old man."

Evelyn rose to her feet, the pistol now aimed between his eyes. Ignoring the warning glances Thomas shot her way, she straightened her spine.

"I don't care about your money," she said coldly. "I need reliability. And if you think you can play me, you're dead fucking wrong. Do we have a deal, or not?"

Kimber leaned back; his hands raised mockingly. "Whatever you want, princess."

Evelyn slammed the gun onto the table with a sharp clack, rattling the glasses. Thomas flinched at the sound, but Kimber didn't so much as blink, his dark eyes gleaming with interest.

"I'm sure you boys won't mind if I powder my nose," Evelyn said curtly.

Kimber's smirk was her only answer. Without sparing Thomas a glance, she turned on her heel, her sharp footsteps echoing as she stormed toward the exit.

The murmur of conversations, the tinkling of champagne glasses, and the sultry hum of the jazz band all faded into a dull roar in her mind. Her carefully composed mask of poise cracked the moment she reached the corridor leading to the side exit. She pressed a trembling hand to the cool plaster wall, steadying herself as the weight of Thomas's betrayal hit her fully.

He'd known. He'd always known how delicate her position was, how much was at stake. And yet, with a few careless words, he'd unraveled everything.

For months, she'd navigated the dangerous waters of her situation with precision, balancing her anonymity with her secret mission to dismantle her father's empire. She'd painstakingly built trust where it barely existed. Every move had been calculated, every risk measured — because failure wasn't an option. Danior wasn't just a ruthless kingpin; he was a man who knew no boundaries when it came to maintaining his control.

He'd already proven that when he took her son.

The thought of her boy, his bright smile now a distant memory, brought a fresh wave of anguish crashing over her. She'd spent every waking moment since then pretending to comply, letting her desire to see James overtake her instincts to run far away from Thomas. And now, thanks to him, the fragile foundation she'd built was at risk of crumbling.

Her breath hitched as anger boiled beneath her skin, scorching the edges of her grief. She'd let herself trust him — more than anyone else. She'd let him into her circle, into her mind. She'd let him into her heart, foolishly believing that he understood the stakes, that he had her back.

But no. In his greed, or perhaps his desperation, he'd taken the one card she'd held close to her chest and played it in front of Kimber like a gambler in a losing hand. By exposing her as Danior Heron's daughter — and worse, as the one working to tear down his empire — Thomas hadn't just endangered her; he'd painted a target on her back and on her son's.

A sickening chill spread through her as her father's face surfaced in her mind. His cold, calculating eyes. His cruel smile. He'd warned her what would happen if she stepped out of line. Do as I say, Evelyn, or the boy pays the price.

And now? If word reached him that she was working against him...

The fear threatened to swallow her whole, but Evelyn shoved it down. She couldn't afford to break. Not now. Not yet.

Her nails dug into her palms as she straightened her back, forcing herself to think. Kimber didn't fully trust her, not yet — but he was intrigued. That was something she could work with. Thomas had made her vulnerable, yes, but he hadn't destroyed her. She still had leverage; still had the Lees she could call on. They trusted her more than they trusted Thomas.

Her jaw clenched as fury roared back to life. She had warned him that she wouldn't go along with any plan that got in the way of saving her son — that she would always put that first.

Thomas would learn that she was true to her word.

He'd learn that she wasn't a woman to be betrayed lightly.

Evelyn pushed off the wall, smoothing her gloves as she made her way out the side door. Her heart ached for her son; her resolve bolstered by the image of his small, frightened face. She would save him. She had to. And if that meant stepping into darker, bloodier waters, so be it.

Thomas's betrayal had cost her dearly, but it wouldn't break her. She'd been raised in the shadow of a kingpin — she knew how to survive. And now, she knew exactly who her enemies were.

Her foot had barely touched the stone steps when a hand clamped around her wrist. She jerked back, spinning on her heel, ready to strike. The moment she met those piercing blue eyes, her palm lashed out, cracking across his high, sharp cheekbone.

Thomas didn't flinch. He stood firm, nostrils flaring, his icy gaze boring into her. He didn't like how she'd taken control of the meeting — or how she'd stormed out. But Evelyn didn't care.

"Did you get what you wanted from him?" she sneered.

He gave her one, small nod.

She laughed, brittle and disbelieving, yanking the cream-white hat from her head. The force ripped out several pins, and half her hair tumbled down over her shoulders. "Why the hell did you make me wear this ridiculous outfit if you were just going to sell me out?" she demanded, throwing the hat at him. It hit his chest before landing in a dirty puddle at his feet.

"You couldn't help yourself, could you?" Her voice rose, trembling with fury. "You had to expose me to save your own skin."

"It's just business, Evelyn," Thomas said sharply, his voice cold and measured. "Kimber wouldn't have agreed to a truce without knowing who you were. You're too valuable for him to refuse."

"Right. Just business." She spat the words back at him, venom lacing her tone. They tasted bitter, as if they poisoned her just to say them. For a moment, she studied his face, searching for something— anything — behind his irritation. But there was nothing. No warmth, no regret. Just a man calculating his next move.

Of course. That's all she was to him. Just an asset to get him to the finish line.

Evelyn turned on her heel, taking the steps two at a time. In the distance, she spotted Arthur and John's caps bobbing among her Romani kin as they piled into automobiles, ready to disappear. Their plan had worked, but it felt hollow.

As she approached the car meant to take her back to Ada's, she veered instead toward the van bound for the Lees' encampment. It was the only place that might offer her sanctuary now. The thought of sitting in Ada's apartment, under Thomas's cold, watchful gaze, churned her stomach.

The sound of boots echoed behind her — steady, deliberate, frustrated. Before she could react, his hand grabbed her arm again, pulling her to a stop and spinning her to face him.

She shoved him back with the heels of her palms. "Don't fucking touch me."

Around them, the air grew tense. Conversations among the boys quieted as their attention shifted to the brewing argument.

"Where the fuck are you going?" he demanded, his voice sharp with barely restrained anger.

"Since this is all just business, I'm going back with the Lees," she snapped. "Where I belong."

"Don't be ridiculous," he shot back, his frustration spilling over. "You're not going back with the Lees."

"Are you going to stop me?" she challenged, squaring her shoulders and placing her hands on her hips. They locked eyes, his fury meeting her defiance. When he didn't respond, she pushed him again, harder this time, shouting, "Go on, bossman. Point a gun at my head if that's the only way you can keep me here."

But he didn't. He stood there in silence, jaw tight, his eyes blazing. She'd disarmed him in a way he hadn't expected. He wasn't prepared for this — to be defied so openly, in front of everyone.

Evelyn's lip curled in disgust. She spat at his boots. "That's what I thought."

Without another word, she climbed into the back of Johnny Dogs' van. She kept her head high, her expression cold, until the van pulled away. Only when the Shelby car disappeared into a cloud of dust did she let the tears fall.