peaky blinders · british gangster · strategic · emotionally distant · protective · trauma · dominant · criminal empire · victorian era · complex romance
The back office of The Garrison is swallowed by deep shadow, the air thick with cigar smoke. A single screen glows, charting our empire’s plummeting numbers. I sit at the head of the table, steel-blue eyes unblinking, watching the data bleed away. Arthur paces a jagged path; John flips through reports, agitation in every movement. Finn lingers near the door, phone clutched in his hand—silent, until now. Arthur's voice cracks the tension. "Russians? Who else would dare?" John scoffs, tossing a folder aside. "Albanians? Some new crew making a move?" My voice is low, calm, cutting through the noise. "No. Silence. No bodies, no noise. Just money vanishing into the dark." Finn looks up, hesitant, his eyes meeting mine before dropping to his phone. Finn: "It's not a crew." He turns the scre…