Jamie Targaet

Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site.

Sunday morning should’ve been quiet, allowing him time for his family. Just one day. 

Tommy had been in London for the last three days. Instead of staying in that city for one more night, he travelled home overnight, arriving in Birmingham in the early morning hours. Unable to sleep after that and not wanting to wake his wife and baby son, he came down to his office to get some work done. 

Tommy had been working at his desk for about an hour when the door opened with no preamble. He was hoping it was his beautiful wife, already smiling.

But it was Rory who stepped in. 

“He’s here,” Rory said meaningfully. 

Tommy didn’t need to ask who. Somehow, he knew Alfie Solomons would turn up soon. Just not at his home. 

Reluctantly, he said, “Bring him in.”

Only a moment later, Rory returned with Alfie at his shoulder.

He wasn't sure if Alfie was an ally or an enemy. The man took one step into the room before stopping, measuring the place. His hat was still atop his head, his cane tapping the floor as he walked.

“Right,” he muttered, glancing around. “So, this is where you do your thinking, yeah? Bit tidy for my liking, Tommy."

Tommy had no intention of rising to it. “I'm sure you’ve seen worse.” Gesturing to the chair on the other side of his desk. “Sit.”

But Alfie didn’t sit. Turning ever so slightly, he glanced back towards Rory. Tommy's new business partner took his time, sizing up his brother-in-law, the young man who had earned a reputation for himself as one of the most deadly men in Birmingham. 

Rory stood by the door, too calm and still for a man his age. His gaze didn't leave Alfie for a second.

“Interesting one, that,” Alfie said, almost to himself.

Rory didn’t react at all. He just stood there, motionless and waiting.

Alfie smiled faintly. “Go on then. You can leave us. I promise I won’t rob him blind in the next five minutes.”

Rory still didn’t move, his gaze shifting to Tommy. 

When Tommy gave him a small nod, Rory left without a word, closing the door behind him.

And in the silence of his exit, Alfie watched the door a moment longer. Letting out a slow breath, he turned his attention back to Tommy as he finally took a seat in front of his desk.

“Bloody hell,” Alfie muttered.

Tommy lit a cigarette. “Problem?”

Alfie shook his head, making himself comfortable in the leather-backed seat. “No, no problem. Just didn’t expect him, is all.”

Tommy didn't answer. Alfie kept talking. 

“That one’s cold, Tommy.”

Tommy didn’t answer.

“I’ve met lads like that,” Alfie went on, his hands moving as he spoke. “War leaves ‘em like that, yeah? Takes everything soft out and leaves… something else.” Alfie frowned faintly now. “Thing is, I’d usually say war did that, yeah? Seen it a hundred times. But he’s too young for that, isn’t he mate?”

Tommy exhaled smoke, letting Alfie work his way through it. “He’s seen enough.”

Alfie gave that a moment. “Right, so it’s not war.”

Tommy watched him nod to himself, like he’d just solved a puzzle he didn’t enjoy solving.

“Because war, yeah?” Alfie continued. “War’s simple. You know what did it. You know where it came from.” Tapping his temple, he said, “But when it’s not that. What's in that lad was built. Bit by bit.”

Tommy just waited while Alfie’s gaze shifted to the door again.

“Which means,” he said, almost conversational now, “he didn’t end up like that by accident. No, he chose it.”

Finishing his cigarette, Tommy crushed it in the tray. “He’s loyal.”

Alfie let out a short breath through his nose. 

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.” Looking back at Tommy, he went on. “Until he isn't anymore. What happens then?"

Tommy wasn't about to engage in the conversation. Alfie was posing the question of what would happen if Rory ever turned on him, went against him. It wasn't impossible Rory would ever challenge him, just not in the way Alfie was thinking.

Finally, Alfie straightened, realizing Tommy wasn't going to take the topic up.

“I like him,” he added, lighter now. “I don’t trust him, obviously... but I like him.” A faint grin. “I wouldn’t turn my back on him, mind you.”

Tommy’s voice was flat. “No one asked you to.”

Then Alfie clapped his hands once, like shaking it off. “Right. Now we’ve done the introductions, let’s talk about London.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair. Finally.

“Camden’s not Birmingham,” Alfie said slower now. “You don’t just walk in and take a piece, yeah? You negotiate the air before you breathe it.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair, another cigarette between his fingers. “I’m not asking permission."

Alfie grinned. “Course you’re not. That’s why I’m here instead of sending someone else to tell you you’re wrong.”

Before he could say anything else, his study door opened again. No one knocked, and Tommy’s head snapped up instantly.

And there she was. His stunning wife was smiling and happy to see him. with the soft light from the hallway catching on her hair as she crossed the threshold. 

“You came back last night,” she said, already moving toward him. “You didn’t wake me—”

She stopped short when she saw the man sitting across from her husband. A stranger in his black clothes and hat, running a hand over his beard as his gaze swept over her. 

Tommy was already on his feet, but it was too late. There was a single moment of silence as Tommy walked over to his wife.

That's when Alfie lit up.

“Well now,” he said, slow and delighted. He was already out of the chair, stepping forward. His manner wasn't threatening as much as it was just inevitable.

Tommy moved, subtle but firm, placing himself just enough between them.

“This is my wife,” he said, tone controlled.

Alfie nodded like he’d expected nothing less. “Yeah. I can see that.” To her, his smile widened. “Though I'm not so sure I expected Thomas to find a wife that could put up with him and that looks like... you."

At the faint smile on his new partner's face, Tommy tried to guide her quietly from the office with a hand at her lower back. It was bad enough Alfie had gotten a look at her. He certainly didn't want her to linger. 

“And there it is," Alfie said loudly. "You’ve got the lad's eyes.”

Tommy cut in, sharper now. “Alfie.”

Of course Alfie didn’t stop.

“No, hold on,” he said, lifting a hand. “Because now I’ve got it, yeah?” Gesturing loosely toward the door, he said, "That one, Rory, cold as winter, barely says a word...” Back to her. “Then you walk in smiling... Brother and sister, right?” he asked with no small amount of satisfaction. 

Tommy didn’t confirm it, but his graceful wife nodded at his side. 

Alfie was pleased with himself. “Right,” he said. “That makes sense now.” When he glanced at her again, he said, “You’ve got his way of standing your ground. You just look a lot better.”

That had her smiling. Goddamn it.

Tommy stepped in fully now. “That’s enough."

She didn’t shrink away from Alfie or retreat. She wouldn't. His wife had held her own alone with Luca Changretta. It wasn't really a surprise she wasn't intimidated by the latest stranger in front of her. Still, smiling, she met Alfie's gaze calmly.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to interrupt. I just wanted to welcome my husband home.”

Alfie’s expression shifted just a fraction. He remained respectful. “Yeah, I imagine you did.”

Tommy wasn’t smiling, steering her towards the door. 

"I'll find you as soon as I'm done here," he told her quietly, willing her to leave the room. Now.

Alfie just chuckled under his breath. 

“Right, right. Business first,” he said, moving back toward his chair. “I’ll behave. Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Shelby. I have to say you're a strong reminder of why men make poor decisions.”

Tommy glared him down, but Alfie just grinned.

Nodding, she quietly made her way out of the office, leaving the two of them to talk business. The door closed behind her, but Tommy didn’t move right away. For a moment, he just stood there wishing his wife hadn't come looking for him.

And wishing he'd been alone so she could have. She would have kissed him, pressed her body against his like soft fire. He wouldn't have had a problem with it becoming more. All the way home last night, he'd considered that he'd only ever had her once on his desk. He was thinking he wanted a repeat of that...

Later.

Behind him, Alfie let out a low whistle. “Right, that’s… something, that is.”

Tommy got himself under control, slowly turning to face his unexpected guest. “Say what you came to say.”

“So,” Alfie said as he returned to his chair, his cane tapping. “Let me get this straight, yeah?” Gesturing toward the door, he said, “You’ve got that walking around your house. And then you’ve also got that cold little bastard for a brother-in-law.”

To Tommy's annoyance, Alfie was mapping out his family. 

“Now I’m trying to work out, who came first?” He paused. “The beautiful wife? Or the cold lad?”

Tommy’s voice cut in, low and lethal. “Enough, Alfie.”

Alfie stopped, just looking at him. His smile was faint, but deliberate. “Yeah, you don’t like that, do you?”

Tommy moved closer now, slowly and quietly. There was nothing casual about it.

“My wife isn't your concern,” Tommy finally said.

Alfie let out a soft, almost amused breath. “No.”

The silence dropped like a weight, as Tommy regarded him coldly. Internally, he was cursing the bastard for just showing up to his home. His home was his private life. Not business. She was not part of his business. 

Alfie held up a hand before it went any further. “I’m not after her, Tommy. I’m not suicidal. But I can't unsee a woman who looks like that."

Tommy didn't blink, still staring Alfie down.

“Didn’t you realize what you did, Tommy?” Alfie asked. “You went and married a woman who looks like that. Now you're building everything around her. And your son. I hear you have a boy with her.” 

When would the man realize, he wasn't going to discuss his family and bloody get on with it?

Alfie’s voice dropped, sharper now. "Now I understand something I didn’t before.”

Tommy’s gaze lifted to his.

“Luca Changretta,” Alfie said.

Tommy exhaled loudly. He didn't want to talk about the Changrettas. He wanted to move on to any subject that didn't involve his family. Her.

“All that noise. All that obsession.” Alfie shook his head. “The stories got really fucking loud, yeah? Territory, revenge, some girl your lot didn’t want near Angel Changretta. Some other girl.” His gaze locked onto Tommy’s. "That wasn’t just about business, was it? No, it was her.”

 The man's words hung there, ugly and true. 

"Luca Changretta is dead," Tommy said quietly.

Alfie didn’t argue that. “Yeah. And a good thing that is. But he won’t be the last man who notices her.”

Tommy stepped back then, just enough to reclaim the space. He lit another cigarette with steady hands.

Alfie watched him, but he wasn't smiling now. “That’s the problem, Thomas. It appears you’ve got something real. And men like us? We don’t get to have those things without someone trying to take ‘em.”

After one long, tense moment, Alfie clapped his hands, snapping the moment in half.

“Right,” he said, voice lighter again. “Now that we’ve established you’ve made your life unnecessarily complicated…” A smirk. “Shall we get back to discussing London?”

Tommy walked back to his desk and sat in the chair behind it. Finally. 

“Sit down, Alfie.”

But the man's warning lingered in the back of his mind.

***

Since your husband was busy, you decided to tend to your roses while Malachy was asleep upstairs. You'd been trying to make time for days, but something else for you to do always arrived whenever you remembered. If you didn't do something about them soon, they'd be out of control. The men of your house could care less about the garden outside. Tommy would always tell you to leave it to the servants. 

But when you'd been a girl, you loved books about fairytale princes and their castles. The princess who spent her days in beautiful gowns, wandering her garden and sipping tea. It had been fun to dream about anyway.

Now? Tommy was certainly not a prince, nor you a princess. But you'd never expected to live in a house like this, with so many rooms and staff to help maintain it. Only they weren't really staff to you. They were your friends. You certainly never imagined having a huge, beautiful garden either. But you were grateful, spending time there each day when you could. You were particularly fond of the roses and had, over time, taken over their care. Sure, you could have asked the gardener to do it for you. But it wasn't the same. 

You loved the silence of the garden, an escape from the voices, footsteps, and constant movement of the house. Kneeling in the dirt with your sleeves pushed back, you carefully worked around the stems. The blooms were coming in strong in deep reds and soft pinks. There were white blooms but not many this year. Clipping one branch cleanly, you leaned back to inspect your work.

“Delicate work, that.”

You stilled at the sound of that unfamiliar voice, turning your head slightly to see a man standing a few feet away. You hadn't heard him approach, and that was something. 

The man your husband had just been talking with didn't look like someone from Small Heath. The cut of his coat, the way he held himself, was deliberate and commanded authority. In that regard, he reminded you of Tommy. 

But Tommy had just been talking business with him in his office. What was he doing out here? He was studying you.

With the shears in your hand, you slowly rose to your feet. “I suppose so,” you said, keeping a polite tone. “It took me a while to get the hang of it.”

That got a flicker of amusement from him. “I imagine it was the same with your husband.”

Oh, it was. But that was a little too familiar from a man whose name you didn't know.

You met his gaze fully now. “And you are?”

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering how much to say. “Someone your husband’s been spending time with."

"So you're curious about me, but you won't tell me your name," you pointed out. 

He was fighting back a smile, trying to hide something that looked suspiciously like approval bleeding through his expression.

“You're a sharp one, yeah?” He shifted his weight slightly, hands casually gripping his cane before him. “Names are a bit of a commitment, aren’t they?”

You didn't answer right away. You'd watched Tommy do it enough times. He'd wait until the other person resumed talking just to fill the void. You started working on another branch.

“Alfie Solomons,” he said a couple of moments later like it really didn’t matter. 

You introduced yourself.

“And you’re right. I am curious.” Another moment of silence, and there was mild tension in that quiet. Alfie moved closer but still kept a respectable distance. “You don’t seem particularly concerned, Mrs. Shelby."

You kept pruning. You weren't dismissing him, but you were hardly welcoming him to stay either. “Should I be?”

He paused behind you. “Depends."

You worked on clipping another stem. “On what?”

“On whether you know what kind of man your husband is,” he replied.

You were smiling now. Turning around, you met his gaze again. “I do know.” 

“And what kind of man is that?” he asked.

You considered him for a moment. "Not the kind who allows strangers to wander into his garden."

Alfie smiled properly then. “But here I am.”

“For now," you said, still grasping the shears in your hands.

Interest sharpened his expression. “You’ve got a way about you. Like none of this troubles you.”

Glancing down at your hands, at the dirt under your nails, you spotted a small thorn mark along your finger. You thought about how you wanted to answer. “It does. But there's little point in letting it show.”

“That’ll either serve you very well,” he murmured, “or not at all.”

You looked back up at him. “I guess that depends on the day.”

That was when you heard Tommy’s voice. “Step away from her.”

His tone was calm, but for you, it only made it sound more menacing. 

Turning, you already knew what you would see. You husband had entered your space as silently as your visitor, every line of him was braced and locked in. He wasn't looking at you, but the man a couple of feet away. And that told you everything.

For whatever reason, the man mattered. Was he dangerous? Was he trying to do business with your husband? Did he intend to harm him?

Glancing back at your unexpected visitor, you said, "Excuse me.”

Alfe inclined his head slightly. “Of course.” Then, as if he couldn’t resist, he added, "Didn’t mean to overstay my welcome.”

You stepped forward, passing Tommy. You were close enough to feel the heat of him and the tension he held just beneath the surface.

“Inside,” he said, quieter but no less firm. "Now."

You didn’t argue. You just nodded and kept walking. And as you crossed the threshold into you home, leaving the garden behind, you realized that you hadn't been afraid. But Tommy's reaction made you wonder if that was the wrong response.

reaction made you wonder if that was the wrong response.

***

Tommy's attention focused on Alfie even as the door shut behind her. For a long second, neither man spoke. 

“You don’t listen very well, do you?” Tommy's tone was low and even.

Adjusting his coat, Alfie looked like he had all the time in the world. “I listen fine. I just don’t always agree.”

Tommy stepped closer. “You don’t come to my home and make yourself comfortable.”

Alfie glanced around the garden. “Comfortable’s not the word I’d use. Bit tense, if I’m honest.”

"You were supposed to have left. Now I find you still at my home, in my garden, with my wife. So why are you really here today, Alfie?"

"Just wanted to see exactly who I'm doing business with," Alfie said simply. "That's what we do in our world, innit?"

Unmoved, Tommy continued to stare him down. His wife was not part of his business. He'd already ended the Changrettas for her. He wasn't above making that list longer. 

“You won’t speak to her,” Tommy told him, "or come near her again."

Alfie looked at him then, really looked. "I know what I needed to know.”

It was then that Tommy realized exactly what that meant.

Taking a step closer, Alfie looked him in the eye. “Your reactions say a lot about who you are.”

Tommy’s voice dropped another degree. “You’re done here.”

Alfie gave a small, humorless smile. “I am.”

Finally stepping back, Alfie adjusted his hat. “Nice garden, by the way. Worth protecting.”

Tommy didn’t respond, just watched Alfie turn and walk away.

***

You were quietly looking through the cabinets for Polly's emergency bottle of whiskey. You knew she probably took it with her when she moved into her new house, but it was worth a try. You'd just checked on Malachy who was still napping. Now, you just needed something to calm your nerves. It was rare for you to turn to spirits to do that, and you weren't proud of it. 

You didn't immediately realize your husband was silently watching you from the doorway. As you closed the last cabinet, you noticed a slight tremble to your hands. You blew out an exhale, trying to center yourself.

“That bad?” Tommy's voice alerted you to his presence. 

You didn’t turn right away. "Oh, I'm okay."

“Yeah,” he replied. “I can see that.”

You really hadn't sounded very convincing. “I just... need a minute.”

When you turned to face him, Tommy's gaze was intent on you. 

It was all very odd. A man he was doing business with showed up at your house unexpectedly. That never happened. The same man found you in the garden by yourself. You'd handled yourself well enough, at least you thought you did. But you had to wonder how their second conversation went after you were told to go into the house. Tommy didn't look furious just now. But, as you knew well, that didn't necessarily mean anything.

“If it’s a drink you want,” Tommy said, calmer now, “come with me.”

The way he'd so easily guessed your intentions stopped you cold. His office door shut behind you once you reached it. You watched as he moved to the cabinet and pulled out two glasses. His hands were perfectly steady, unlike yours, as he poured even measures. It was the whiskey he favored, and it was a bit strong for you. But when he handed you a glass, you took it. You took a couple of drinks right away, closing your eyes as it burned its way down into your stomach. 

Tommy's gaze stayed on you. “Sit.” 

Taking a seat in the same chair where Alfie Solomons had been sitting, you took another drink. For a moment, neither of you said anything.

“What did you think of him?” Tommy asked.

That got your attention. Tommy wasn't asking if you were okay or if you were scared. No, he was asking what you thought of the man.

Looking down into the glass in your hand, you could only be honest. "I wanted to like him. But he made me uneasy."

Tommy didn’t react. “Why?”

Taking another small sip, you continued. “I mean... He was polite and charming... It's hard to explain." 

Tommy crossed in front of you, sitting on the edge of his desk as he drained his own glass and placed it next to him. Then his attention was right back on you, watching you closely.

And you knew, you knew, Tommy used small silences like that to prompt you into saying more. To expand on what you were saying. And damn it, you did it anyway.

“I just felt like there was something under all the charm and conversation,” you continued. 

Tommy pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking his time. “And what was that?”

You considered that carefully. “The only thing I can say for sure is that it was really about you." Draining your glass, you leaned forward and placed it on the desk next to his. "Now when I think about all the questions he didn't ask..."

Tommy exhaled smoke before grabbing your glass with one hand, bringing the cigarette to hold between his lips with his other. "And what did he learn?" he asked, refilling your glass and bringing it back to you.

You took the glass back, meeting his gaze solidly. "There are things you care about. Your family."

Your husband's expression didn't shift. "And does he view that as a weakness?"

The whiskey had eased the tension in your body that the man's visit started. You took another sip.

"It's not a weakness." You shook your head. "The way you protect your family, Tommy? It's you at your most dangerous."

"No, I asked if he viewed that as a weakness." 

Your husband's cool blue eyes took you in as you took another drink. The burn was less now, and warmth spread through your body.

"I don't know for certain what the man was thinking," you had to say.

Exhaling slowly, Tommy held your gaze for a moment. "Exactly."

You frowned. "I don't understand."

"No, you don't, and you can't." Tommy leaned back slightly, cigarette balanced between his fingers. "That's the point."

You watched him carefully. 

"I held my own with Luca Changretta." Folding your arms across your chest, you said, "And despite that, he was civilized with me."

"Civilized?" Tommy actually laughed. A short, disbelieving sound. "Changretta wanted you."

Where was he going with this? "Yes, but—"

"No." His voice remained even. "He wanted you."

The room fell quiet. 

You lifted your chin. "He never laid a hand on me, Tommy."

Tommy leaned forward, his gaze locked with yours."You were less than a month from having a babe. He threatened you, ordered his men to hunt a pregnant woman. Laying a hand on you is the only thing he didn't do because he never got the chance."

You opened your mouth and closed it again. Was he right?

Tommy's expression softened slightly. "I need you to adjust your beliefs when it comes to our world."

Our world now?

Your answer came immediately. "I guess you're right. I'm your wife after all."

A corner of his mouth twitched. 

"That's only one aspect of it." Your husband took a final drag on his cigarette, taking his time to expel a plume of smoke. 

You drained your second glass of liquor, realizing it was spinning your mind. The drink went straight to your head, making your skin warm. 

"Solomons wasn't interested in me, Tommy." You shook your head, but the movement made you a little dizzy. Your hands gripped the arms of his heavy leather chair to steady yourself.

And your husband watched you like a predator the entire time, catching every movement.

"It doesn't matter. You don't understand how men like him, like me, think." The intensity of his gaze froze you to the spot. "You don't understand how we evaluate risk, how we choose targets... I need you to be smarter in how you handle yourself. I need my wife, and Malachy needs his mum.”

While your heart squeezed in your chest at that last thought, Tommy was still studying you in a way that set your nerves on edge. 

Snuffing out his cigarette in the tray on his desk, he turned that high-powered perception back on you. “You will not be talking to anyone I do business with from this point on. Not unless I'm there and only if necessary.”

You tilted your head slightly. "How is that going to be possible, Tommy? I get the feeling that you didn't know Mr. Solomons was coming to our house today. I'm supposed to just hide when something like this happens?"

Tommy shook his head, still entirely focused on you.

You frowned. "What?"

Tommy sighed, looking at you like he was trying to decide how to explain something impossible. “If you were a man, you’d understand it.”

Understand what?

Tommy’s gaze held yours. "You look in the mirror every day and you don't see it.”

"Really?" That pulled a nervous laugh from you. But it was false bravado and he saw right through it. “Luca was one man."

“His brother Angel was another.” There was no humor in his expression now, and all you could do was stare at him. His gaze dropped to your lips, slowly roamed over the rest of you. “There will be others. The Changrettas weren’t even the worst.”

Confusion had your brow furrowing. "Who was?"

Something darker bled into his eyes. “You married him.”

His words settled heavily between the two of you. You married him.

Your breath caught at that. But Tommy continued before you could answer.

“I remember the first time I ever saw you,” he said quietly. “I had a coat that needed mending. Arthur gave me the address of your mum's shop. Said the girl on Gray Street could fix it proper.”

You remembered that day. It had been terrifying enough when Arthur Shelby started bringing his mending to your mother's shop. Still, from his first visit, Arthur had been kind to you. In time, he became just another customer.  Until the bet...

Tommy Shelby had been another story. You'd recognized him standing in your doorway with his expensive clothes and unreadable expression, light winking off the razors sewn into his cap. The energy in the entire room changed the moment his gaze found you. 

You'd been polite and brief, trying your damnedest not to draw more of his attention. But he'd lingered, his gaze intense on you. Much like it was right now.

“I saw you,” Tommy went on. “And I wanted you.”

His admission had your heart racing in your chest. He wasn't even trying to soften it or paint himself in a better light. 

“I put Arthur up to that wager with Sean O’Grady,” Tommy admitted. "I gave him the idea of making a night with you his prize."

You knew the entire story now. But the two of you had just never talked about it before. The dark greed in his gaze sent just a hint of fear racing through you.

“I knew Arthur would win. I also knew I'd never let him claim that prize." Tommy straightened, taking the glass from your hands just like he did that first night, and placing it on the desk behind him. “I took Arthur a bottle from the Garrison that afternoon and I made sure he wouldn't be upright for long.”

The room felt smaller now. You remembered John Shelby and another blinder, Liam, escorting you from Gray Street to Arthur's apartment that night. You hadn't been there long when Arthur passed out cold. Hope had swelled in your chest, had you thinking you could run from the most dangerous men in Small Heath.

"I knew you'd run." Your husband's icy blue eyes stayed locked on yours. “All I had to do was wait.”

You remembered that too. The fear and panic you felt darting out of that apartment, praying that no one saw you. You'd planned to claim that the deed was done, praying Arthur would assume you had since he'd been so drunk. 

But you'd run right into Tommy. He'd caught you so easily.

"You remember that night." His voice dropped lower. “I caught you. Then I took what I wanted.”

The honesty of his words hit harder than if he’d tried making excuses. 

Your gaze searched his face. Yes, you remembered all of it. He'd taken you that night just because he could. But to have him lay it out so baldly?

“I'm no different than the Changrettas," he said, "or any other man who will take one look at you and make the same decision."

Slowly, your husband pushed off from the desk. Planting his hands on the arms of your chair, he invaded your space. Crowded against the back of the chair, your heart hammered away in your chest so loudly he could probably hear it.

His gaze never left yours. 

"Look at you. All alone with me and a locked door." His gaze shifted to the whiskey bottle on the desk and back. "You've had two glasses now, sitting here proving my point."

The silence between you felt electrically charged.

"If I weren't the man you know," he said with unbearable calm, "well, you've already given me every advantage. You trusted me enough to follow me in here, to drink with me. You've allowed me to get this close to you." He skimmed a hand up your arm to cradle the side of your face in his warm hand, his thumb brushing covetously along your cheek. "You don't have your brother here. You don't have Polly... You don't even have a clear head anymore."

Just like you had that first night with him. You had more experience now than the scared girl you'd been in that quiet apartment. Yes, your stepfather had put you up as a wager in a bet, an agreement you hadn't consented to. Even though it was hard to push thoughts through the haze of the whiskey you drank, you understood now. You'd just gone along, assuming you had no other choice than to allow Tommy Shelby to just take anything he wanted from you. And he had.

"That's what concerns me. Because there are men in this world who would see every one of those things as an opportunity... They don't even have to force their way in." Tommy's face was mere inches from yours when he leaned in. "You're trusting and kind. But those are qualities dangerous men know how to exploit. And I need you to be more aware of that."

You swallowed hard. The words felt like the ending to his lesson. So why was he still staring at you like he was ready to strike any second?

"You took me home with you after that." Your voice sounded as small as it had that night. "After you got what you wanted. Why?"

Tommy didn't back away, his expression didn't soften. "Before the war, I wanted what any lad did. To find a pretty girl to marry. Start a family, have a simple life."

His kiss was slow and deceptively careful.  But you could feel the restraint behind it. 

"But I came home from the war a different man," he whispered against your lips. "I'd watched soldiers become corpses and I'd watched officers make decisions that buried entire sections alive. I saw men who did everything right but died anyway. Good things didn't just come to good people who waited their turn... I watched good men die waiting their turn."

Tommy very rarely spoke so intimately about the war, how it changed his views on life. You didn't dare interrupt.

"If the world wasn't going to play fair with me," he went on, "I was going to respond in kind." 

Anyone who didn't know him would think Tommy's greatest desire was power. He'd built so much from pure ambition, from the betting shop and street gangs to the expansion and all the violence holding it together. But now, looking into the haunted depths of his eyes, you realized power was never his goal. It was security. Everything he'd done was to protect his family, to keep all threats away. To ensure Malachy never in his life faced the fear his father knew.

You were now part of the family he worked so hard to protect. You'd given him a son. And in rare moments like this one when he opened up just a sliver, you realized Tommy would never crown himself king. Your heart ached to realize that scared young soldier who returned from France was still in there, believing that if he became powerful enough, he could protect those he loved from tragedy.

"I rejected that simple life I once wanted." His plush lips pressed soft kisses over your forehead, over your mouth. But you felt the raw need just beneath the surface. "Until I saw you."

Lifting a hand, you smoothed it over the back of his arm. The lean muscle beneath his crisp shirt shifted powerfully beneath your touch as you kept listening.

"I knew you were scared of me," Tommy said in a deeper tone. "I knew I didn't deserve you. But that didn't stop me. All I could think about was how you'd look sleeping in my bed, walking the halls of my house every day, waiting for me to come home."

When he kissed you again, there was heat and need. You welcomed it. 

"I took you home with me. And the next morning, there you were, sleeping away." His lips blazed a trail over your jaw, seeking out all the spaces that made you tremble, the way only he could. "You were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. You'd never learned a woman's artifice. You'd never known another man's touch."

His tongue tasted the salt of your skin, his lips teasing your flesh in a way that left you shivering.

"I promised myself another night with you," Tommy explained. "Then another. But it was never enough."

His palm was rough and warm as it skimmed over your face and hair. Slowly, it dropped to the front of your blouse, undoing each tiny button efficiently.

You sucked in a desperate breath, making no move to stop him.

"I convinced myself that I wanted to send a message to Small Heath," he said finally. "I wanted everyone to know what happens when you cross the Shelbys. But the truth was... I just wanted you. Guilt pushed at me every day to give you back. But I left selfishness win."

Faster than you could blink, Tommy snatched you out of the chair. He roughly dropped you onto the hard surface of his desk, sending one of the empty glasses flying off the desk to shatter on the floor. Your breath came out in a rush when he pushed you onto your back, his impatient hands grabbing your blouse and ripping it open. The tiny white buttons he hadn't undone flew everywhere.

When your husband ripped open your chemise, you just stared up at him in alarm, excitement running through your veins. 

Tommy's expression was dark and feral. One rough hand slid possessively over your breast before sliding up to wrap around your neck, squeezing lightly.

"This is what men like me want," Tommy whispered, pinning you in place. "To claim and take... And you're so fucking beautiful."

You knew you should have been embarrassed to be as turned on as you were in that moment. The flesh between your thighs was slick, your body was literally humming in need. 

"I took you that night," Tommy whispered, dropping quick scorching kisses over your skin. Teasing your nipple with his lips and tongue. "And I'm going to take you again now."

The moan his words pulled from you was a desperate plea. You were pushing yourself into his palms, up for his mouth. The hand on your neck didn't move, even when his other hand yanked up your dress until it could slide into your drawers to find you wet and aching for him. 

"Please, Tommy," you whispered.

"You survived Luca Changretta because he underestimated you." Your devilish husband chained more kisses over your chest, blazing a trail down your body.

"I survived you." You could barely breathe to talk, taking all the challenge out of your statement. You just writhed under him in need.

"You survived me," Tommy's words were muffled against the warm flesh of your tummy, "because I fell in love with you."

And you could read the truth of his words in the deep blue of his eyes. You felt it in the possessive way his hands explored your body like it was his as much as yours.

"No other man will ever touch you," he said heatedly, tearing your drawers away from what he wanted. "No one touches what's mine."

All you could do was nod, everything else was forgotten. You were struggling to breathe, focusing on the devilish touch of his fingers on your clit.

The hand at your throat slid down to play with your breasts as he buried his face between your thighs. Your hands scrambled for something, anything, to hold onto as he took you apart in the most intimate way. While his tongue twisted in your folds, lashed at your clit, your hands grabbed at the edge of the desk, his strong shoulders, and the short black locks of his hair. Pleasure rose fast and intense, he was relentless. Your high cries filled his study when you came on his tongue, his tight grip keeping your hips immobile.

Those blue eyes stayed on you, enjoying the sight of you drowning in pleasure. Tommy lifted his head, triumph bleeding into his expression as you lay there trying to breathe.

"As much as I enjoyed how needy you were when you carried my boy," he said, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, "I forgot how much I love watching you scream for me like this."

Your husband dove back in, this time wrapping his arms around your thighs to hold them open for his torment. With the whiskey still running through your veins, you were somewhere between trying to escape his sensual torment and pushing yourself at him, begging for more without words. The second time you came with his fingers sliding against your front wall and his tongue a barely-there flutter against your clit that had you begging for me. 

Tommy left you wilted on the desktop as he stood, his hands fumbling with his fine leather belt. Once he'd pushed down his trousers, he took himself in hand, red and swollen. Your gaze was riveted on the movement of his hand, the sight of his cock. You needed him so much.

He let go of himself only long enough to grab your thighs and drag you to the edge of his desk. Pulling your thighs over his hips, he positioned himself at your entrance. Tommy roughly grabbed your hips with his hands. You weren't sure if he was thrusting roughly into you or working you back and forth on his cock. 

All you knew was that you craved being filled by him, and he gave you what you wanted. You arched your back, pleading like a mindless thing atop his desk as he fucked you like he never meant to stop. Your thighs clamped around his slim hips, your slick inner walls trying to grab him with every pass. You moaned and pleaded, an indecent chorus that kept in time with the rhythmic sound of slapping flesh. 

Tommy kept shifting his thrusts until he found that space inside you that shattered your sanity and sent you sailing over the edge. At some point during your release, your husband captured your hands, pinning them to the desk on either side of your head. Now he hovered over you, watching your face as he fucked you harder and faster. The expensive fabric of his waistcoat was a cool slide against your breasts. The chain of his pocket watch was a cold shimmer against your heated skin. 

"Want you to feel me for days," he whispered hotly into your ear as his lips seared the side of your neck. "I want to keep coming in you until my spend is dripping out of you."

You wanted to grab him, to hang onto him, but his hands held yours to the desk. His thrusts came harder and faster as he chased his own release. 

"Want you full with my child again," he whispered as his lips and tongue teased the shell of your ear. "Swollen and beautiful... needing my cock to split you open every night. You begged me so sweetly..."

His eyes squeezed shut as he came, pumping into you with everything had. His lips parted as he struggled to breathe, furiously pushing into you over and over until he gave you everything he had. Until he had you trembling under him, making you take everything. All of him.

***

Ledgers lay open across his desk, untouched. The fire had burned low and the midday sun was dimming as clouds began to gather in the sky beyond his study windows.

Tommy sat in his chair with his six-month-old son asleep against his chest, one impossibly small fist wrapped around the fabric of his waistcoat.

For once, business could wait.

A quiet knock at the door drew his attention. 

"Come."

Frances stepped inside carrying another stack of correspondence, but paused when she saw them, smiling. The older woman he'd hired to help run his house was more than capable, but she was also caring. 

"I didn't mean to disturb you."

"You haven't," he said.

Her gaze drifted toward the ceiling. "Mrs. Shelby is asleep."

Tommy glanced upward instinctively.

"She usually isn't at this hour," Frances added. "I hope she's feeling well."

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "She's tired."

Frances smiled knowingly. "The little master keeping everyone awake?"

Not the little one. Tommy looked down at the sleeping boy. "Something like that."

The woman hesitated. "I could take him if you've work to do."

"No." Tommy shook his head. "He'll stay with me."

Frances nodded, leaving the correspondence she brought where she always did. "As you wish, Mr. Shelby."

Once she left, the room settled back into silence.

Tommy watched his son sleeping. Malachy stirred, making a tiny dissatisfied sound before settling again.

With a hand smoothing against his son's back, he said, "You've no idea where you've landed, have you?"

Another sleepy sigh.

"You'll meet dangerous men one day," he explained, watching the tiny fingers flex against his waistcoat. His thumb absently stroked the boy's back. "Men like Alfie Solomons. They'll make you laugh. That's the first thing."

His smile faded as he thought about Alfie catching him off guard today. Showing up at his home, getting an eye full of his wife.

"Never mistake a sense of humor for harmlessness," he continued, shifting the baby higher on his shoulder. "Men like Alfie want you comfortable because comfortable men stop paying attention."

Tommy watched the dying embers of the fire for just a moment. 

"He'll tell you a story, and half of it will be true. The other half's there to stop you asking the questions that matter."

Malachy's eyes fluttered open, gazing up at him for just an instant before closing again. Eyes that looked much like his own.

"If a clever man starts talking too much..." He quietly chuckled. "...listen to what he isn't saying. And don't underestimate him. The moment you do, you've made a mistake."

Tommy thought of his wife sleeping in the safety of his bed. The moment he had with his son, knowing the devils were far from his gates. For now. That security was earned through hard work and calculation. He'd teach his son what do and he'd adapt to whatever path life took him on. 

"Respect dangerous men, Malachy," he said slowly. "Never admire them."

Admiration clouded judgment, and he'd seen men become fascinated by power, reputation, and charisma. Alfie Solomons possessed all three.

"You'll like him," Tommy went on. "Most people do."

His wife had although she'd also feared him on some level. Not enough. But he'd teach her too. 

"That's what makes him dangerous."

A long silence followed. 

"But you'll learn," he told his son with quiet certainty. "I'll teach you."

Tommy chuckled under his breath. "You'll think your father's suspicious, probably tell your Mum I'm impossible. And she'll agree with you."

His wife still believed there was good to be found in most people and somehow married a man who searched every room for exits.

Tommy sincerely hoped he inherited his mother's heart. But he intended to give him his eyes.

He sat there without moving for a little while longer, the warm weight of his son in his arms, something he wanted burned into his memory. His ledgers remained untouched.