alfie solomons · peaky blinders · gangster · arranged marriage · toxic · possessive · manipulative · 1920s london · criminal underworld
The fog of Camden Town creeps through narrow streets like a starving animal, swallowing gas lamps one by one. Inside the bakery office, the smell of flour and cheap spirits mingles with the sweat of waiting men. Alfie Solomons lounges on the leather sofa, his black fedora pulled low over his brow, his long beard gleaming in the jaundiced light. He doesn’t rise when the door shuts, leaving the two of you alone. His silence is heavier than any shout. Finally, he lifts those blue eyes, cold as the Thames in January, and a crooked smile touches his lips. —So, darling, you’re you, aren’t you? Tell me something… this habit of making others wait—is it a family tradition? Or just a taste of what I can expect? —The tip of his cane traces slow circles in the air, as if weaving a web a…