Created by the devil

The good he seeks.

Gia woke up with the dog laying on her bed. "Aggressive huh?" She smiled. She stepped out of bed and chose a wrap dress that accentuated her curves but was flowy at the bottom, so she could still move around. She then put on her representative red lipstick, which she wears for independence from social stratification.

She hastily made her way towards the pub, which is only a street away. She opens the door and sees no one in sight. "Hello?" She speaks out loud as she makes her way further inside. "Well, hello there, miss. Didn't think you would actually show your face here again. But look at that; you're even on time. " The man smiles as he looks at the clock.

"Punctuality is a sacred thing in my family. I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name." She notes. "Micky Gibbs, ma'am. What's your name?" He asks. "Gia." She answers shortly. "Just Gia?" He asks with a raised brow. "Just Gia." She repeats it with a soft smile on her lips.

"Well, Gia, you can hang up your coat and start to refill the barrel. That'll be your first task. We'll see about the rest." He gives orders and lets Gia do her work. Gia spends less than five minutes on her task and asks again what she could do, surprising Mickey. "Huh, well, you can clean the last glasses from yesterday, and then the first clients will be coming in." He tells her, slightly wonder-struck, about how serious this strange woman is about her job.

As she is cleaning yesterday's cups and glasses, She hears the double doors open and close. Her face changes to one of slight surprise as she sees the man she saw two days earlier on his black horse come in. This so-called terrifying man, who apparently has no soul, but she is not scared of any men. He comes in and stops in front of her, expecting to see Mr. Gibbs. The only thing separating them was the bar itself. He looks around and takes his cap off, placing it on the bar.

"Who are you?" He asks. His eyes stare back into hers. Gia isn't normally someone who is easily impressed by anyone, but something in his blue-colored eyes makes her very aware of his presence. "Gia, Would you want something to drink, Mr. Shelby?" She asks, looking back down at what she was doing. "A whiskey." He answers dryly while focusing on finding his friend.

"If you're searching for Micky, he's in the back." She muffles her voice as she prepares his whiskey. "Drinking at 8 a.m. is not considered healthy." She says as she turns around to put the whiskey bottle back in its spot and gives him his drink, making once again eye contact.

"I haven't slept, so it's still evening for me. Where are you from? I haven't seen you in here." He asks in a low Birmingham accent as his suspicions about her nature slightly grow. He wonders what would make her so confident to talk to him, as others are scared of even looking at him.

"The big and famous New York. I have been here for a couple of days." She answers him, looking him in the eye at the end of her sentence as she finishes cleaning the last glass.

"And you know who I am?" He questions drinking the last of his drink; he can feel it burning as it makes its way down his gullet. "People talk. You're asking an awful load of questions, Mr. Shelby." She notes this as she puts the glasses away and gives him a tight-lipped smile. She's only been here for a couple of days, and people are already starting to find her suspicious.

He hums and goes to the back of the shop to ask Micky something. That's when she takes a breath she didn't know she needed. He is intense. It's his eyes; his eyes are a calm blue color, but she can feel the fire in them that people talk about.

Tommy did indeed not sleep that night. Every time he tried to close his eyes, he dreamed. But not about calming things. No, they were terrible things. About France, the things he had done, and the men he had killed. It was closer to a nightmare than a normal dream.

To calm himself down, he took snow. At first, it calmed him down. But then the shovels and the screaming came back. He felt like there was no need to sleep anymore, so he stood up before the sun even shined.

Tommy decides to go back in the evening to where he hid the guns he found. He met his uncle there, who explained where the crates should be hidden.

"Is that an agreement?" The uncle asks as he puts his cigarette out. "I changed my mind." Tommy tells him with his voice, which is not louder than a whisper. "You what?" The older man asks, slightly taken back. "I have an alternative strategy." Tommy explains as he looks at his uncle.

"Tell Curly to take her out to the old tobacco wharf. There's a lock-up mooring where we used to keep cigarettes. He knows it. When the boat leaves your yard, it's no longer your concern." Tommy explains as he stares back into the fire. The fire might as well represent him. He's also hungry to expand his limits, and he also hurts the people he touches.

"Have you lost your fucking mind?" Asks, even though he knew that he had lost his mind. "If they want them back this bad, they'll have to pay; that's the way of the world. When fortune drops something valuable into your lap, you don't just dump it on the back of the cut." Tommy looks at his uncle in the hope that he'll somehow understand his motives for his new plan.

"Your blood, Tom. You're going to bring holy hell down on your head." His uncle whispers, concerned. "I'm told he didn't serve. Reserved occupation." Tommy mutters, moving on while throwing his cigarette away in the fire.

"Is this another war you're searching for, Tommy?" His uncle questions. Tommy turns his body fully around and says loud enough for his uncle to hear, "The tobacco wharf. By order of the Peaky Blinders." He puts the keys in his uncle's breast pocket and walks away.

By 10 p.m., the pub was full of men coming to see the new barmaid. Gia went around and gave the men who asked for beer their drink. Two hours later, the pub was ridding itself of its last clients.

"That must have been the best day besides St. Patrick's Day. I'm so tired." Micky Yawns. "You can go home if you want; I'll clean up. Besides, I want to make a good first impression." Gia assures him. "You're sure?" He asks. "Yeah, no problem." She responds. "You're an angel." He smiled, and with that, he was gone. "I'm not sure about that." Gia mutters under her breath.

"You're not sure about what?" A deep voice asked the woman. She didn't recognize the owner of the voice directly. When she turned around, she's surprised to see Tommy standing in the doorway.

"Oh, nothing. Micky said something. You must have crossed him." She explains. "I didn't." He responds dryly, not seeming interested in holding a conversation. She turned back around and started putting the chairs on the tables.

"What are you still doing here?" He asks as he sits in the chair she wants to put on the table next. "Don't you have eyes, Mr. Shelby? I'm closing up." She answers as she turns back around to another table to keep her work going.

"Tommy." He voiced it out loud. "Pardon me?" She utters. "My name is Tommy." He says it with a slight smirk. He then holds his hand out for her to shake. Well, nice to meet you, Tommy." She shakes his hand and turns around, noting the unusual motive.

"What are you doing so late in a pub?" She questions. "The clock just hit midnight. It's not that late." He claims. "If you say so, Tommy." She spoke before turning around to see him looking straight at her.

"I never caught your whole name." He comments as he leans back. "Gia is enough for now." She smirks. "Well enough, Gia, could you give me a bottle of rum?" He asks, which was probably the first time in his life he did. Normally, they either ask him what he wants or give it to him right away.

"Did your mother not gift you with legs and feet, sir?" She asks as she makes her way behind the bar to get a bottle of rum. She comes back to his table and gives him the bottle.

"You know, you're the only person besides my family who talks to me like that." He notices as he takes the bottle from her hands. "Like what?" She asks. "Like you're not scared of me." He takes a swig of the bottle.

"Indeed, I'm not scared of you. I have been around men like you my whole life. I feel pity for you. You must know that no man chooses evil because it is evil. He only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks." She explains, repeating the words her mother told her her whole childhood. "So you think I act like this for happiness?" He asks genuinely, intrigued by her answer. "No, you do all of this in the hope that there will ever be a chance at happiness." She answers.

"I'm done here, Buona Notte Tommy." And with that, she left to go home.