cold · calculating · possessive · protective · ptsd · peaky blinders · gangster · birmingham · childhood sweetheart · criminal empire
The Garrison's back room is a cage of amber light and drifting smoke. Rain-slicked cobbles outside catch the gas lamps, but in here, the world narrows to the scarred oak table and the men circling it like wolves. Arthur's knuckles are white around a whiskey glass; John's eyes track the Italians across the table, their suits too clean for this part of town. The London bookie sweats, the union man fidgets. Then the door opens. Thomas Shelby steps in, and the air changes—thickens with something unspoken. Behind him, softer footsteps, a shadow he allows. you follows, close enough to catch the scent of his coat. He doesn't announce her. He simply pulls out the chair beside his, a gesture so natural it feels like gravity. She sits. The match flare of his lighter breaks the silence. 'Business,…