𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 ♛ thomas shelby

xxxxɪɪ | ᴄᴏɴsᴛᴀɴᴛɪɴᴇ

          THE RECEPTION WAS IN FULL SWING, the sound band playing near overwhelmed and drowned out by the clinking of champagne coups, and tipsy laughter, only grown as the night progressed. Caterina stood near the edge of the dance floor, her eyes scanning the room for Thomas. The cake had just been cut, a towering confection of white marzipan and intricate sugar flowers. Each tier was adorned with delicate lace-like patterns and pearl-like beads, and the top was crowned with a pair of porcelain doves, their wings touching as if in a kiss. The cake was a masterpiece, a testament to the skill and artistry of Caterina's pastry chefs, men loyal to her family. 

Finally, she spotted his lithe form, sans the suit jacket he had been wearing before. Instead, he had rolled up his sleeves in the manner she particularly liked, as he often did when the temperature started to rise. In a flash, she had pulled Tommy aside, in an attempt to get the truth out of him. Except, tonight he was a hard man to persuade. 

"Trust me, the less you know, the safer you are," Tommy said, his voice low and steady.

Caterina turned to face him, her eyes narrowing. "When have I ever been the one for safety, Tommy? I was born with a gun in my hand, and for fuck's sake, I intend to spend the rest of my life with you."

Tommy's jaw tightened, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. "Russians. Big business. Bad business I don't want you involved in." 

     She sighed, crossing the room to stand in front of him. "Send someone up if there'll be noise, I'll tell the band to up the noise. Will you at least tell me who's the contact?"

"The shrivelled one that Polly talked to," he replied, his voice softening slightly. "Constantine"

Caterina nodded, her fingers tracing the lapel of his suit. "You do business till midnight, and then you're mine."

Tommy's eyes met hers, a rare softness in his gaze. "Promise?"

"Promise," she whispered, squeezing his hand once more before letting go. She took the opportunity to quickly close the distance between them and press a kiss to his lips.

"Good," she said quietly, detaching from him and fixing the lapel of his suit. "Now don't get shot, you prick."

Tommy chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. "I'll do my best." He glanced at his watch. "I have to go. Keep your wits about you, Cat."

...

A woman strode through the crowd with practiced ease, her red gown a striking contrast to the soft pastels and whites around her. Her eyes constantly scanned the room, alert for any signs of trouble. There was little room for mistakes tonight, she knew, and thankfully there was no mistaking who the man at bar was. She approached, eyes sharp. 

"How's the champagne?" she  asked, his voice light and teasing.

Tommy narrowed his eyes.  "That wasn't the code word, Miss Ivanovna."

The woman he called Ivanovna didn't waver. "I'm not a spy, Mr. Shelby. I don't deal with your mysteries."

"I'm not a spy, Miss Ivanovna. I will not deal with your twisted loyalties. They send a Russian to spy on her own?" he asked, his tone laced with suspicion.