#fatum

“Unfortunately.” The witch doesn’t elaborate on why the Black Hand is after her, Jack should know why already. If he doesn’t then he’s a fucking idiot. “Luckily, they underestimated me as much as Luca did in life.” She says handing him the loaded gun.

“Good thing I was already in their black books.” The yanqui speaks as if this will be more than a crazy holiday in the den of depravity. He whistles in approval at finding the barrel fully loaded and adds, “You don’t look like a gun person.”

“I prefer knives.” The witch takes the knife on her other garter, a beautiful stainless-steel thing encrusted with diamonds. Tiffany and Co. made more than just jewelry, they made very beautiful knives.

“I cover you; you cover me.” It is not a question; it is a statement as if they had already agreed to it. No valiant prince saying he will protect her and she won’t do a thing, just a reasonable man knowing he’s fucked if he doesn’t have the right person covering his ass.

She’s not ready to get her heart broken again, casual sex was good for the soul, terrible for business but she really doesn’t need him for much just needs a man’s name to get past pesky laws. Besides, if he is worth having, he will give her the time she fucking needs to make a decision about it.

It is too soon to fall back into the old habit of falling for the first man willing to play her games. Tommy was willing to eye fuck her for a whole year before speaking one word to her, Brilliant pursued her until she made him change his methods just for her and now the witch has no fucking clue how this one will go.

Still, it’s nice to have a man, especially now that he stands between her and the Italians. A big, beautiful man makes a big, beautiful human shield while they break out of the basement they had been locked in.

The stairs up are poorly guarded; the one man is caught sleeping on the job and can’t even scream before Jack snapped his neck.

“I thought they would be smarter about this.” Eva comments as they search the body for the trapdoor’s key, his weapons and his cigarettes. She doesn’t feel like staying in this filthy place that looks worse than any hole in the wall she slept in during the war any longer. The booze they deal is improperly stored, the blankets and mattress filled with bugs and, fucking hell, there was mold on the fucking walls. The witch is desperate to leave a lit cigarette and blow this place out of existence.

“Your ex-husband killed a lot of them, made deals with their enemies, the mob isn’t stupid enough to get the rest of their men killed because Luca was stupid enough to fuck his enemy’s wife.” Jack keeps close, his voice quiet as he explained the obvious. Spinietta had lost a lot of territory to Capone and the others that took advantage at Luca’s failure to secure his own kingdom in Birmingham, figures the ones seeking vengeance would lack the manpower to see it through.

Though why they didn’t just kill them the moment they took them was beyond them.

“Ex-wife.” She corrects and he shrugs.

“Eh, doesn’t make any difference to them. We’re catholic, remember? You’re the mother of his son so you got about the same value as the current Missus until she gives him a brat to replace yours.”

“Fuck, I guess I’ll be stuck like that forever!” Gang politics only interested her when it affected her, she never got involved in Brilliant’s running of his tong or cared about what shit Tommy’s did once the honeymoon phase ended, and now Eva’s stuck with the only child of Thomas Shelby because she had been too much of a coward to drink the herbs when she saw it in the cards her marriage was going to fail no matter what she did.

But she loves her son, she would do it all over again for him and if she has to kill her way out of shit like this because he exists, then so be it.

“You should meet my ex, Sarah, she hates that as much as you do.” He suggests as if his ex-wife will be happy to befriend the woman he’s been fucking for a week and has now gotten a warrior’s bond with thanks to Tommy’s shit ideas some three years ago. “How old is your kid? I think him and Junior would get along like a house on fire. Need to ask first, is he a little shit to kids who are…special?”

“Get us out of here before you start scheduling a fucking playdate, O’Neil.” One moment they are quiet as the dead trying to escape and now, he’s rather chatty, even setting up a fucking playdate between his kids and her son. What in the nine circles of hell was wrong with this man?

The tall idiot then starts crying out, “Oh, fuck, they’re both dead! Get me out of here, her husband’s a fucking politician and your man just fucking killed her with her own fucking knife!”

Jack had been the one to scout ahead when they reached the trap door, he was no idiot; he had to have known that would happen. There has to be a method to his madness, the witch thinks. This man wouldn’t have stupidly given their position away if there wasn’t something gained by it. They could have been out of this fucking place had they done things how it should be.

“Why did you fucking do that?” Eva hisses at the fucking audacity of this fucking man as enough Italians to make this an unnecessary fight. They could have just escaped with minimum fuss, maybe make a break for it and cause a ruckus to get the attention of the neighbors, but no, Jack O’Neil wants to die in the fucking attempt.

“I couldn’t get a good view on the rest, needed to know how many of these fuckers were here.” He says as they take cover in the basement they should have left. They could die here, what was stopping the three men lounging about in the house upstairs to just lock them down here until they died?

But these men loyal to the memory of Luca Changretta and his dead men were not bright. They fall for this trap the Irish yanqui had set for them. They send one in, with a second for cover only to be caught by surprise by Jack who takes a hostage knowing they cannot afford to lose the few people they had gotten for what appears to be a last ditch effort to avenge Luca and his family.

“Who set this up?” Eva aims her gun to the other two stooges who forget they too have their own fucking weapons. Just four men, very slim pickings for whoever gave them the job.

“The vendetta is not over until we say it is!” the hostage shouts as if they didn’t know the family was not trimmed down to just them trying to get some revenge done before they join their old boss.

“Well, lucky you, Shelby has someone to finish the fucking job for him.”

Somehow, they make it out in one piece and agreeing not just to a playdate, an introduction to one of Boston’s least bitchy socialites and, worse, a man who thinks he might get lucky with her.

“One date, Evie, one date and I’ll be a gentleman about it if it doesn’t work out.” His words and feelings are so genuine it confounds her, as they pile up the bodies for Nucky Thompson to take care of and she says yes.

One date.