"Thomas," I called out to him. He paused and looked over his shoulder. Before I could falter, I lifted my chin, "Thank you."

He nodded once, "Good night, Marie."

When I approached my bed again, I scooped my blanket off of the carpeted floor before sinking into the mattress. The soft cotton comforted me as I cocooned myself and tucked a small wealth of it under my chin.

From head to toe, I could feel my heartbeat. Eventually, after shaking the image of the handsome man with disheveled hair at my door, after dismissing the memory of tasting his breath, my temperature cooled. My mind went quiet, except for a steady count of the seconds that my watch measured.

-o-

"Is this another one of your schemes?"

Her buttercream voice broke my concentration and I nearly dropped the freshly rolled fondant. Sharply breathing in through my nose, I shot her a cutting glare. The mischief glimmering in her eyes told me she was looking for a rise. My chest deflated in a loud sigh.

"What kind of question is that?" I asked as I repositioned my wrists and elbows, preparing to lay the sheet.

"An important one," my sister sat on a stool by the counter, swaying one of her feet to and fro, "You always seem to be up some something these days; getting yourself in trouble." The fondant fell over the edges of the cake with a moist fwahp.

"I don't get myself into trouble," I attempted, but my resolve fractured when Anja pursed her lips and tilted her chin at me.

"I don't get myself into too much trouble."

My sister had a good humored chuckle at my amendment, "Don't you think there are easier ways to get what you want?"

"And what do you think I want?" I slung back.

"The world in the palm of your hands?" despite prior protest, she swept her finger in the bowl of fresh strawberry preserves and grinned, "You've wanted sway since the moment you were born. And anyone of us would admit that you wear jurisdiction like a second skin. However..." She trailed off and took the time she spent looking at the ceiling in search of the right words to also lick the sugarly treat from her finger. I couldn't help but roll my eyes.

"You make me sound like a mad dictator," with a flat rib I busied my hands with the task of smoothing the icing to fit the form of the cake, "I just want to be a part of the family business."

Anya frowned, "That's just the thing, Son…"

My back tensed at her tone. In spring of 1911, all of my fathers children were still living at home, and sometimes it felt crowded, but not for lack of space. Regardless of the fact that there was an abundance of love between us, my siblings and I fought a lot growing up, as many brothers and sisters do when they spend so much time together. As children, we roughhoused and screeched. As young adults, the disagreements did not waver in frequency; they only improved in reason, logic, and delivery.

As a young adolescent, each of these arguments felt high-stake to me, like a battle worth sacrifice. I said nothing as I allowed her to decide how bloody the battle would be with her next words.

"I know that we have a skewed view of the world because our moder worked so closely to taica. However," she bit her lip, "You know women only can have their power through certain channels, don't you, soră mai mică?"

The usual jealousy that would rot in my stomach everytime I was reminded of my sisters time spent with my mother, and the languages she learned, got snubbed out by a deluge of indignation.

"I know you are happy to marry and move on with your life," I sniped, "Since I assume that's one of the channels that you're referring to. But I know I can do more" With knife in hand, I turned the platform and swiftly trimmed off the excess fondant from the cake.

"Peace, Sonja," she smiled the same smile you give a child throwing a tantrum, "You are an academic, a determined innovator, and you are, let's say… steadfast, to put it sweetly."

I wrinkled my nose but couldn't help but add, "Or a mule, to put it frankly."

"Yes," she laughed before smoothing her face over. "But you are also a woman. People will fight you every step of the way. I want to make sure you realize your other options. There are ways to use your womanly charms-"

A loud groan blared from my diaphragm.

"I'm being serious! You may not be able to have the world in your palm, but if you find the right fellow, you can have significant sway in the company. There are swarms of suitors bothering father. You can have your pick of the lot," she soothed. I mused bitterly over these suitors, most of which asked of me because they had already been told no by Anja, who refuted every single request she had ever received without a second thought. Most of these men aimed to marry a powerful, rich man's daughter to advance themselves. The youngest daughters of powerful, rich men usually weren't at the top of the basket.

"I don't want to talk about this again," I complained, "Please."

Though many of his colleagues encouraged my father to have his children marry, Ellis Bray was a man of his word. Many called him sentimental and foolish, but one of the last wishes my mother made before she died was that we make our own choices in matrimony. She thought it just, given their own history. Had my father's father gotten his way, he and my mother, Jaelle Durriken, would never have married. She did not let him forget it.

This isn't to say my father did not pester us about it- myself less than the others because I had yet to turn eighteen. My siblings seemed to take this as reason to compensate for lost opportunities.

"What about Mark Miller? He is a very powerful investor and a kindly man. He's certainly one of the most decent to approach father," a simper curled her lips, "It doesn't hurt that he's handsome as sin."

"Then why don't you snap him up? Oh! I almost forgot. You will only marry for true love," I clasped my hands together, rested them against my cheek and falsely swooned. "That'd your usual bit, isn't it?" Dropping the act, I got back to work and placed the floral cake topper on with ease.

"Don't you think it seems a bit hypocritical to only marry for love and then push me to marry for status?" I grumbled. My sister laughed breezily in return and hopped off her seat to stand beside me and admire my work. Despite my ire, when she wrapped my arm in her own, I did not object. She smelled of the lilacs that were blooming in our yard.

"Yes, well, I want true love. I know you," she bumped my hip with her own, "Want power."

Of the many times Anja had broached the subject, this time I found myself considering it. What if I did marry good-looking Mark Miller? Would it be enough to have an estate in West Brompton? To host soirees where every guest on the list is a connection the Miller's gained over generations of involvement with the automobile industry and the theatre? To have influence on the company through investment agreements and the reputation of a elite businessman's wife?

Quickly I shook my head, "I don't want to talk about my future unless you are helping me think of ways to convince father that he should let me work with him."

My sister squeeze my arm and pulled me to look at her. There was a three year age difference, but Anja fell nearly ten centimeters short of my height. If she were ever mistaken as younger from her height, it was easy to correct the error from the knowing in her eyes, "It's unlikely that he'll ever say yes. You know that, don't you? What if all of this is fruitless, Sonja?"

"Unlikely implies that he may," willing her to see my perspective, I didn't allow myself to waiver from her gaze, "I'll keep proving myself until he does. Women are barred from this sort of work because everyone is told it is men's work. Those same people who tell us that have also told us that it is better to be seen than heard. I've complied with that expectation; I've listened and I learned about people, specifically these businessmen and the work they do. I'm done not being heard! Anja, I have what it takes to contribute to Compass Railways. I know it."

She frowned with her lips pursed. I shifted under her scrutiny.

Finally, she sagged slightly, "And how is decorating the board chair's son's wedding cake proving anything?"

When she said it like that, it did sound like the beginning of a bad joke.

"Well, have you ever met the mother of the groom?"

Silently she indicated she had not.

"Dorothy Broomer is quite the example of an upstanding woman. She runs a weekly luncheon at their estate for all of the wives of her husband's peers. I think if I can get into those lunches I can get some real work done."

"And you are planning on marrying one of her husband's peers?" she teased.

"What? No! I know Misses Broomer has a soft spot for young women and their hobbies. She never had a daughter of her own and has often taken it upon herself to sponsor or otherwise support and mentor young women who live up to her standards of the proper lady. As soon as I breathed a word about decorating, she was hooked. I've been fueling this association for nearly a year, and when the engagement was announced, I immediately offered my services," I left her to rummage around for the cake box.

"And you think this will get you into the luncheon? The cake?" Anja popped a hand onto her waist.

"Not just the cake," I lowered the cake into the container and closed it, "The wedding is happening right at the Broomer estate. What better place to get an understanding of these women than on their own domain? I'm going to go meet the hens in the coop."

"Taica said he was not taking you."

"He was going to take the lot of us to the event until you said you could not," I watched as a wide, pure look came over Anja's face. A spike of suspicion split my temples, but I continued, "Without you, he only trusted the boys to attend- why he does, I will never know since they are bound to cause a ruckus… but I digress."

I reaching into my skirt pocket and brandished a folded cream card in triumph.

"Is that-?"

"Dad may not be taking me to the ceremony, but Misses Broomer invited me herself. This is the time-"

"To join the roost," she cut me off.

I nodded eagerly, "I need to get any of those hens who will listen to hear my advertising plans."

Several beats passed.

"Well?" she asked abruptly.

"Well, what? Shouldn't that be my question?"

"Well, what are you wearing? You must look the part of the proper woman for Misses Broomer," she said matter-of-factly, "More importantly, you have to play the part."

"Dress like a hen and cluck like a hen?" I joked.

She laced her fingers in mine with a laugh and pulled me out of the kitchen, through several halls and up a set of stairs to her room where she helped me pick out a dark cobalt cashmere dress that was spaciously ruched at the bust. A pearlescent silk sash was tightened around my torso before flowing to my ankles from my hip and the high collar wrapped up around my neck, closed with round, silver buttons. After some bickering, she convinced me to switch my daily heeled boots for black patent dress shoes with silver buckles to match the buttons and a pair of her simple teardrop earrings. When she finished fastening my dark hair in a popular French bun- a chignon, she had called it- I had never felt more grown in my sixteen years.

Just as I could feel my stomach drop and my toes grow cold, my sister took my cheeks in her fingers and pinched them.

"Ouch!" I batted at her hands and she laughed.

"Taica would likely kill us if you wore makeup, but you were looking a little pale," she supplied, "Bite your lips to add some color there, as well." In the mirror I admired her beautiful smile that brightened her entire face, lighting her green eyes from the inside out.

"Are you sure I look alright? Is this the right dress…?" I asked doubtfully.

"You look beautiful, stjärnstoff," she took my face in her hands and smiled warmly, "Besides, you can trust a woman in blue."

The sound of that struck a chord with me, and I filed it away in my mind for my own use. The smile growing on my face was uncontrollable. She leaned up and placed a small kiss on my cheek before stepping back.

"You will find Rhys and Felix when you arrive, won't you?" concern colored her voice, "Some of those men are-"

"Wolves?" I supplied.

"I was going to say parasitical," she admitted.

"I will find them. Knowing the twins, it shouldn't be difficult," I promised while fiddling with the cuffs of my dress, "Thank you for listening… and for helping me with this."

"You are a piece of my heart, Sonja. If I ever try to hold you back, it is because I worry for you," the spotlight of her eyes was blinding. Wrapping her in my arms, I squeezed her tightly.

"What will you be doing today?" I asked. Under my hands the muscles in her shoulders tensed, but she laughed. When we parted she plucked a hair off of the blue dress.

"I told Susie I would come over to help her pick out decor for her nursery," she answered, "When are you leaving for the wedding?"

"Oh!" I exclaimed at the time on my watch, "My cab will be here soon. Wish me luck!"

"You won't need luck. Remember, det blir aldrig som man tänkt sig," Anja noticed my furrowed brow and translated, "Things never turn out the way you imagined."

"Right," I tried the phrase on my tongue, but cringed at the chopped words, "Tell Susie I said hello and have fun!"

We exchanged good-byes. When I was settled in the cab with the cake in hand, I ran through all the faces, names, and facts I could think of pertaining to the Broomers and their guests.

-o-

The humidity broke over Birmingham, resulting in a thunderous storm. When I pulled back my curtain with a freshly wrapped hand, I could see that Garrison Lane would soon be flooded if the rain continued in the next hours. Laborers were already on their commute, jackets clenched shut in one hand and umbrellas in the other.

Determined not to be late getting to the bakery, I quickly chose a black dress with gray ivy detailing that covered almost every inch of my body. Not willing to soak my trusted work boots, a pair of cheap blue heels ended up on my feet. In moments I threw a change of clothes and my boots into a spare paper bag, then tugged on a beige double breasted rain coat that I had found at the second-hand shop. A dark wool, brimmed hat completed the outfit.

At the door I stopped short with my fingers on the handle. Memories of the previous night rushed back and my whole body flushed. The movement of Thomas' tongue tasting my tears on his lips ran several times in my mind's eye. I slapped my uninjured palm over my face, but this didn't stop me from recalling his scent and the way his body drew in mine.

"No, no, no," I muttered. He was a gangster who had his hands in illegal betting and very possibly stole a shipment of dangerous guns, which resulted in a government investigation. He and his family used force and fear to preserve their reign.

A shiver ran through me.

He was also a man who heard my screams of terror and sought me out. He saw my face and sat at my table. Thomas Shelby left when I told him to.

I did my best to push it all back in my mind. Getting to work on time moved forward again.

Locking the door behind me, I made my way down the stairs into the bar to see if I could find an umbrella laying about. My heels hit the creaky wooden floor boards rhythmically as I hopped down the last few steps and made strides toward the bar. I ducked under the hinged part of the counter and begun rummaging around. Finding nothing, I poured myself a glass of water and drank deeply before refilling and setting it on the bar. Then I faced the pub with a hand on my hip and my spare clothes under my arm.

I gasped sharply through my nose and pressed a hand over my heart at the sight of Thomas Shelby slouched in one of the Garrison's booths. Both of his arms were crossed over his chest and his head was rolled to one side. My breathing slowed and I dipped out from behind the bar with my glass in hand. The closer I got the him, the more clear each of his eyelashes became and the easier it was to hear the breaths that blew out from between his parted lips.

The smell of whiskey permeated the air. I tilted the empty glass bottle on the table with one finger and when I inspected the brand my jaw nearly dropped at its caliber. Thomas let out a deep, heavy breath and my spine snapped straight. Figuring it was the least I could do, I set my water next to his used whiskey glass. Pulling out my watch and clicking the latch, I cursed at the time, pivoted on my heel, and made my way toward the front door.

"Christ!" I wheezed when I saw John Shelby standing in the doorway of the infamous sideroom that the Peaky Blinders worked out of, "Hello."

He said nothing, watching me with his dull blue eyes. John pulled a toothpick from his inner jacket pocket and tucked it between his teeth. The bottoms of his pant legs were damp and beads of water littered his shoes. An uncomfortable amount of time passed between us where nothing was said. Shifting my weight a few times, I broke the silence.

"Right," I breathed, "Well, I have to get to work."

Tucking my head down, I prepared myself to endure the elements.

"It's raining," John called calmly.

The storm rattled the windows as a strong gust blew through Birmingham.

I turned in place to look at him with both of my brows raised, "Yes. It is raining."

His eyes peered over my shoulder as if he could assess the downpour through the pub's frosted windows before informing me, "It's pretty bad out there."

With my fingers pressed to my brow I laughed and muttered, "Det finns inget dåligt väder, bara dåliga kläder."

"Wot was that?" John's voice raised slightly. Instinctively, I glanced at the sleeping man, who appeared undisturbed in his drunken slumber.

"There's no such thing as bad weather, only the wrong clothing," I repeated in english.

A slow trace of a grin took his face and he leaned into the side room. Before I could even edge closer to the exit, he stepped forward and held up a dripping, closed umbrella handle out. On its own accord, my head swayed to one side.

"You just gonna stare at it?" he prompted.

I shook my head and took it, "Thank you."

John shrugged one shoulder, "It's noffin. Ain't you gonna be late?"

"Not if I go now," I glanced shortly over my shoulder to take one last peek at Thomas, who had moved his head to the other side, "You have a nice day."

"You, too," John remained in his spot as I stepped out and opened the umbrella.

-o-

Rain did not keep the bakery customers away. People were in and out all morning like most any other day, and Alice greeted everyone who showed up by name, whether or not they brought the weather in with them.

I couldn't help but be more and more impressed with her all the time. In the time that I had worked at the bakery, there wasn't a single customer who Alice did not greet by name. If there was ever a new face, it was only a matter of one or two visits before she was acquainted. Perhaps she had to be twice as hospitable seeing as her husband Robert, on the other hand, was about as articulate as a mustached bear.

Though the Daniels' scolded me that morning for traveling through the sheets of summer rain, they were grateful for the extra hands. Every time that the stream of customers slowed, they had me mopping up the floor.

"I see you have the new Blinder girl swabbing the deck," observed a loud, rickety old man leaned against the oak counter in the late morning as he waited for Alice to finish boxing a dozen sugar cookies. My knuckles went white around the mop handle and I wondered if the man knew that despite his own hardness of hearing, the rest of us were just fine.

From the corner of my eye, I could see the only other customer, a man taking tea and some biscuits, look up from his newspaper to watch. He, too, seemed to pick up on the man's implication.

"Dale," Alice sounded scandalized.

"Come off it now, everyone knows. Everyone wonders just what she does to keep such a cozy spot," he unabashedly leered at me.

The thought of squishing him like a bug under my boot crossed my mind, but I kept my head down and continued mopping the newest puddle at our door. It wasn't the first time I had heard whispers in the bakery about me. It didn't take long for what seemed like all of Small Heath to figure out that the new bakery hand lived above the Garrison Pub by order of the Peaky Blinders.

Alice did not address his accusation, and instead asked stiffly for the man's due. He dropped some coins on the counter and grabbed his box of goods. I pulled myself, the mop and its bucket out of the doorway, then waited for him to pass. The squeaking of his shoes getting closer had my hackles raised. The man took his time to stop right in front of me, leaned into my space, and took a deep sniff. With clenched eyes, I stopped breathing and I willed myself to not lash out.

"You must be an expensive one," he crooned. My concentration broke, and my wide, enraged eyes took in his beady black ones. He gave me an ugly, wrinkled grin before walking out the door.

After the bell stopped ringing, I snatched up the bucket and mop and marched past the counter and Alice into the back room. It wasn't the first time a man had tried to demean me in such a way, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, but nonetheless my blood was boiling. In London, my name was both armour and a weapon I could use against men like that. In Birmingham, things were different.

When I returned to the front floor, Alice put an uncertain hand on my arm.

"I'm sorry Marie, he's just a customer. Dale doesn't know when to keep his opinions to himself," she said.

"It's fine," I insisted, "Really, I understand. Besides, people will talk."

"They will," she agreed, "That doesn't make it right."

I nodded my thanks before gently shrugging out of her touch. Alice did not ask me questions even though I felt the curiosity eating at her. I hadn't told anyone that I was staying without payment because I knew how unbelievable it sounded. For the next hours, I thought about the lecherous look on that customer's face and the inexplicit debt that was piling onto me everyday I stayed under a Peaky Blinder roof.

By the time the lunch rush hit, the rain had subsided and those thoughts were pushed back.

"Just Marie, Just Marie!"

A small, surprised grin stretched on my face as I turned to find Katie Shelby and her oldest brother at the counter, both of whom had wet hair, jackets and shoes.

"Well, hello there!" I propped my uninjured hand on my hip, "What can I do for you two today?"

"Two loaves of rye bread and four sticky buns," John Junior smacked some money onto the table. With an arched brow, I calculated the total, then the change, and went directly to the navy register.

"Be nice, Johnny!" Katie whined and smacked his stomach. Her brother only scoffed. After filling one of our large paper bags with their order, I firmly placed it into Junior's unexpecting arms.

"Hey!" he exclaimed.

Ignoring him, I leaned over the counter and took Katie's hand before folding the change into her palm, "It's been good to see you again, my dear."

"Thanks, Marie!" Katie pocketed the change then turned and called behind her, "You gonna get somefin, Ani?"

Only then did I realize there there was a thin, pale girl standing behind Junior. She had a crown of damp and dark, smooth hair and she kept her eyes trained to the ground with loosely crossed arms. She shot Katie a look and nodded.

The girl leaned up to Junior's ear and murmured something to him while slipping a few coins into the young Shelby's hand. My heart was beating in my ears so loudly, I almost didn't catch Junior's grouchy request.

"Can we 'ave one more sticky bun?"

Katie impatiently snatched the money from her brother and laid the coins out on the counter before excitedly sliding them over to me. I tore my eyes from the quiet girl and let out a breath I hadn't meant to hold.

"Of course," I said. The coins on the counter covered the cost perfectly, I noticed, and deposited them into the register. I turned to retrieve and bag the treat just as the girl- Ani, Katie had called her- tugged on her friends sleeve and whispered to him once more.

"Could you halve it?" Junior asked testily.

"I don't see why not," I stitched a small smile onto my mouth. The flakey pastry crunched under the knife. Carefully I wrapped the two pieces separately and slipped the treat into a bag. When I offered the order to Ani, she first glanced down at the bandage on my hand with pursed lips before looking up at me uncertainty.

Her eyes were an unfamiliar deep, dark brown of turned soil in the spring.

"Come on, you two are slowing me down!" Junior scolded, grabbing Katie's shoulder with the arm that wasn't tucked around the large bakery bag and tugging her away.

She waved at me and called to her friend, "Hurry up, Ani!"

In a blink, Ani took the bag from my hand and was slipping between the legs of adults to catch up to the two baby Blinders. I couldn't help but watch the three of them push their way through the glass front door.

She wore a white and gray dress that was a size too small, and the dirt at the bottom told the stories of many, many days. I was considering the shy girl's long, dark ponytail, when I saw the three of them stop in front of a familiar matriarch.

There Polly was, staring with her endless eyes. The calculating look dwelling there made me believe she had been watching me for a while.

"'Ey, luv. Can I get a long loaf and a meat pie?"

The noise of the bakery slammed into me. I blinked several times and focus in on the man in front of me who was running his tongue through a gap in his mouth where one of his canine used to be.

"Coming right up, sir," I smiled falsely. Before I could move, Alice slipped a bag into my arms. When I checked it, I found the man's request and offered her a grateful look. She nodded in return.

Like many times in my day to day life, I shoved my thoughts back, way back in my mind until I would have time to review.

-o-

Early that evening, I was only three steps out the bakery door when I heard Alice call my name. She stopped beside me and handed me John's umbrella.

"Thanks," I smiled at her shortly.

"Of course," she folded her hands in front of her, "There's been something on my mind, if you don't mind me asking."

"You can ask me anything," I assured without promising the corresponding answers. She chose her words carefully; I could see a debate behind her eyes.

"I know things must be tough since your father passed. Have you-" uncertainty painted her face, "Have you been making peace with God?"

What I had been expecting, I wasn't entirely sure, but it was not that. My guilt must have been clear because she spared me from responding by patting my arm affectionately.

"It's just something to think about. Get home safe, love."

"Right. You two have a good evening. I'll see you on Monday," I replied. On my way back to the apartment, my week's pay was heavy in my pocket. I figured I would lighten it after I made myself some dinner.

- o -

The Garrison was busy every night if the sound coming through my floor boards was any indication. That night I was just another patron at the pub. Henry and I swapped pleasantries, after which he quickly realized I was not in the mood to chat. He had been more than happy to serve me my first two drinks, but after ordering a third whiskey in a matter of two hours, he began lingering near me between serving other customers.

"How about one more, Harry?" I rolled the near empty glass back and forth on its foot, and smiled sweetly up at the barkeep with large ears.

"I don't know about that love," he slapped his rag over his shoulder before leaning one elbow on the bar across from me, "Don't you think you've had enough?"

My shoulders dropped, but my smile lost its sugar and gained authenticity.

"This'll be my last. Don't want to be down here for too long," I told him, hopefully pushing my glass out toward him. After all, I wanted to be on the road by nine.

He gave in with a long heaved sigh and refilled my whiskey. Just as I went to take the glass, he pulled the glass back just out of my reach.

"The Garrison doesn't always attract the greatest company," he said seriously, gesturing with a nod out at the rowdy folks around the pub, "And lasses like you don't come 'round here often."

He left the glass in front of me to go tend to another customer. I covered a silly smile with the palm of my hand, drawing my glass nearer with my free one.

"I know what you're getting at, " I told him when he came near again, "And I want to thank you. But, I grew up with two brothers, remember?"

"Aye, I remember. I bet you they'd want you to be more careful, too."

I frowned, and didn't say anything more. Frank, Earnest, Alice, and now Harry. Each of them had given me at least one warning in the past weeks. Were they omens? The earlier storm was gone, but my own personal rain cloud brewed above my head.

My mother had always scolded me for brooding as a small child. Envar är sin egen lyckas smed, she'd say. Each person is the forger of their own happiness. It was something that I could only live by if I kept in mind that each person in the forger of their own misery, as well.

Right after my father's funerary services, when I started on my mission to find out what happened to Anja, I didn't have a definite endgame in mind. There were so few clues at my disposal, I did not know what to expect- I simply refused to believe she was gone with no explanation. The plan had been to have safeguards in place and make every move in response to new circumstances- and in that case, new players.

When I had first heard of the drunk with twins who befriended John Shelby's children, it seemed unlikely to be fruitful. At the time I thought it was too good to be true. Too easy to be true. I hadn't thought all the way through to what I would do if those twins were my sister's twins.

As the days passed and reality set in, it was clear that Anja's children befriending the baby Blinders would complicate things grately. Sure, I always had the intention to adopt if I found my niece and nephew, but there were already many barriers in sight- barriers that would not be easy to deal with, including the Shelby's.

Besides Birmingham's resident gangsters, the twins father stood between them and me. I had never even seen the man, and my loathing for him was almost unparalleled. My sister was no longer in Birmingham and he was at fault in some way, of that I was sure. What I was unsure of was how I was going to bring the twins home. Did I expect to go knocking on their door with open arms? 'Here's Auntie Sonja to take you away, say goodbye to your dewdropper dad. Let's get you enrolled in boarding school so I can find out what happened to your missing mum!'

Yes, I thought burying my face in my hands with a groan, that would go over quite nicely.

The two conflicting autopsy reports for my father's death indicated police involvement and obstruction of justice. This got me thinking that it was possible, even likely, that Anja's disappearance never made any of the papers because it was swept under the rug by the police of Birmingham. Just how deep did this anti-Bray plot run?

For now, I needed to get inside information on the local force, and that had to preface any advance I make on Anthony bloody Moretti. It all would have been better had my father agreed to investigate with me. The arse had to go and die on me instead, I cursed him quietly and numbed the grief in my heart with another gulp of whiskey.

Even on a full, settled stomach, I was nearing my limits. Temporarily saving myself the agony of being uncertain, I shoved everything back yet again. My focus bounced between examining the pubs yellow wallpaper, the red ceramic bricks that lined the infamous Peaky Blinder side room, and the faces flickering in the mirror behind the barkeep.

Rowdy men crowded me at all sides. Unlike Katie's party, I hardly saw any women at all in the Garrison. All of the women I saw were paired, and as the pub became more busy I decided it was not wise to linger.

"Well, what do we have 'ere?"

It was spoken so close to me that I could feel the man's breath on my neck. The stranger was forward enough to sweep my dark curtain of hair over my shoulder, letting his fingers linger purposely at my spine. Obviously, I had chosen to be on my way a moment too late.

"What's a gem like you doing in a shit 'ole like this?"

Ugh. Harry, who was several feet down the bar, and I made brief eye contact; there was a question clear in his face. Instead of bothering to reply to either of the two, I threw back the last of my whiskey, left enough to cover my tab, and pushed away from the bar. The black skirt I had changed into after work swished around my ankles as I turned to make my exit.

"What, you think you're too good to say anyfin? Come 'ere you little-"

He grabbed at my elbow, catching just enough of the white fabric of my blouse to tug me back to him. A woman who had been cozied up to a bloke nearby shrieked when I collided with her, spilling her drink across her dress and the floor.

My assaulter, a wide shouldered man who had no hair, stepped into me until I hit the bar. My boot hit the edge of one of the brass spittoons on the ground, and in the moment I couldn't help but be grateful it hadn't toppled over.

"I just want to get to know you, luv," the antagonist put a spread hand on the bar on either side of me, and my patience was dissolving rapidly.

Instinct took me. I kicked my foot back and swiped my small blade out of my boot.

Thunk.

The folks around us took pause. There was too much going on to have this spat to garner the attention of more than just the people near. Harry, who had begun to stock over to the scene, was frozen in place.

"Damn," I sucked my teeth and speared the man with a steely look, "I missed."

The man suddenly leapt back and held his hand above his head.

"You crazy, fucking bitch!" he bellowed. More heads turned our way.

With a sharp tug, I yanked the blade out of the dark wooden bar and ignored the dull pounding of the agitated burn blisters on my palm. In fact, I hadn't missed anything- my target had been right between his thumb and forefinger. Five Finger Fillet was another game Rhys, Felix and I liked to play, and I had the scars to show for it.

The alcohol felt more apparent once I was on the move. Drunkenly, I slunk closer to the bald man with the blade hilt wrapped in my hand at my side.

"You said you wanted to know me," I smiled sardonically, "I think all you need to know is that my aim is usually a lot better."

The man's face was turning purple with rage and he took a menacing step toward me. He stopped abruptly when two tall men in caps parted the crowd on the left and stepped purposely in front of me without a hitch.

"There a problem 'ere?" John Shelby asked after cooly evaluating the man, who was closing in on himself more with every passing moment. A sense of security tried to wrap itself around me, but I shook it off remembering that the Shelby services came with a price. Nimbly, I slipped the knife back into my boot the same way I had drawn it.

"No, Mister Shelby-"

"'Cause," Arthur boomed, "It looked like you were boverin' our friend Miss Marie."

"Botherin' her?! She tried to fucking stab me," the man said incredulously.

Both of the Shelby's turned to me simultaneously, one with both eyebrows up high and the other with only one. Trying to look nonchalant, I folded my arms over my chest and kept my eyes trained on the bald man.

"What, her?" Arthur guffawed.

John, on the other hand, had a knowing look in his eye. He put his head down, allowing his hat shadow the top half of his face, leaving the small smirk on his face visible, "What did you do to deserve that?"

The man's mouth opened and closed and I could tell that he was desperately trying to figure out what the Peaky Blinders wanted to hear.

"He put his hands on her," Harry piped in helpfully. No sooner did the Shelby's begin popping their knuckles.

"Is tha' right?" Arthur amplified his voice and took a step forward. By this point, there were too many eyes on the situation; I thought I might fall through the floor. I had to get out. Sensing that the Shelby's were bloodthirsty, I cleared my throat to get their attention.

"I'm going to let you three figure this out," I gestured vaguely, "I've got to go."

I slipped between the two Shelby's to step up to the bald man and look him up and down with an unimpressed sneer. Deciding I had nothing else to say to him, I headed out.

"And where are you goin'? Arthur called.

Not stopping my stride, I spun on my heel and called back, "To church!"

- o -

Author's Note.

Thank you for all the favorites and follows. So, what do you think? How are you guys feeling about the chapters opening with flashbacks? I know they are long, but I promise they are important for setting up the action that is coming your way. I'm in this story for the long haul- I'm anticipating another 20 chapters at least, and I can always use feedback on how I am doing. c:

Hope you all are well and that you enjoyed this update! I totally fell into that finger fillet trope, haha. Also- guys, my written European dialects are terrible. I have no idea how to even begin fixing it.

Jaelle is pronounced, "yah-ehl" in this case.

Moder - Swedish for mother

Taica - Swedish for father

Soră mai mică - Swedish for younger sister

Stjärnstoff - Swedish for stardust

Det blir aldrig som man tänkt sig - Swedish proverb: Things never turn out the way you imagined.

Det finns inget dåligt väder, bara dåliga kläder - Swedish proverb: There's no such thing as bad weather, only the wrong clothing

Envar är sin egen lyckas smed - Swedish proverb: Each person is the forger of their own happiness.

dewdropper - a man who sleeps all day and doesn't have a job

Here's a reminder that if one of my chapters reaches ten reviews before the next one is posted, I will randomly choose one reviewer to receive an exclusive sneak peek of the upcoming chapter.

Review Responses.

Cosmo39 – Thank you for your review! I think you'll really like the next five chapters if you liked these first ones.

Aihi154 – I'm glad you like it! I hope this update finds you soon.

Ferallahey – I laughed so hard when I read your review. Damn straight Sonja has shit to do! Thanks for leaving some love.

RinaBea – Building that trust is going to take a little while, but it's going to be good, I promise! I can't wait to get into the meat of this story. Thank you for the awesome review!

RAW: 5 February 2018

EDITED: