nothing we desired. peaky blinders

SIX

𝑁𝑂𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝑊𝐸 𝐷𝐸𝑆𝐼𝑅𝐸𝐷
the black hand

Thomas Shelby slid from the driver's seat of the car in a flurry of a black coat and a fist full of crumpled paper. His eyes slid to Ada- to where she stood on the porch of Arthur's farmhouse, arms wrapped around herself, lips pulled into a grim line. That look alone said she had too much to hold in, too much that she would eventually let out. The direction of her gaze held no secret in what she would eventually lecture him about. Ada watched the very girl he'd come to observe.

Dilara sat at the edge of the field, black dress falling in piles around her feet. A chair had been set amongst the tall grass, now used so often that the legs had begun to sink into the mud. There were speckles of that same dirt staining her skirts, but she didn't seem to care. Dila had cared about little since Amir had run away.

Tommy let out a sigh as he came to stand beside his sister. The paper in his hand seemed to burn. His family might not have yet forgiven him, but they would be forced to when the formidable news arrived upon their doorsteps.

Ada turned to him with her heavy gaze. "She's depressed, Tommy," she said finally, leaving the wind to be all that spoke for a moment before she started again, "Arthur says she just sits there, day after day until it's too dark to look at anything else."

"It's not the same. He didn't die."

But Tommy knew it wasn't true. He knew what it felt like to be alive but not quite living, to have survived but still feel as good as dead inside where it mattered. That bullet meant for Amir might have well hit her instead. Dila looked like a walking corpse, hung in funeral blacks and face as gaunt as a skeleton.

"He may as well have. She wishes him dead," she said, though her eyes had left the girl to instead watch him carefully. It was an obvious observation, but Tommy ignored her. "You know how it is. Keep a bird caged long enough and it forgets how to fly. She's no different. She's not like us. Her wings are bigger, can fly further than Birmingham, than England."

"And what about when people come looking for her?" Ada continued, shaking her head and finally looking away, to the mournful woman on the hill. "She wasn't one of the Lee girls from the camp, finding herself a wealthy man. She comes from money herself, just look at her. A girl like that has a family."

Ada was sure of herself, as she often was, but when Tommy looked at Dilara he saw otherwise. He saw a girl who had lost and lost and lost.

"This will all be over soon," he said, then unfurled the crumpled paper and handed it over to her. Ada took one look at the black hand and swore in a way that only a Shelby could.

"It'll all be over soon... Christ, for better or for worse, Tommy?" Ada said, shaking her head. "Soon never means soon when it comes from you."

Dila struggled against the shiver that raked up her body as Tommy began toward her down the hill. She pulled her layers over her shoulders, pushing further against the bench.

"Come to toy with me more?"

Tommy only blinked down at her, not bothering to take the space that was left beside her on the old bench. He was not a man to stay in one place long enough. Not now that most of his brothers refused to speak to him. But then men she'd surrounded herself with thanks to Amir were wandering creatures, with no need for such a thing as a family- in their opinion, anyway.

"You want to go home, yes?"

It had not quite been what she was expecting from him. But home was something she wished for. Which home, she wasn't overly sure. There came an uncertainty. There was no guarantee that her Aunt Mathilde would welcome her back after misusing her trust so obviously.

"Something like that," she resigned herself to say, watching him with narrowed eyes.

Tommy looked at her as if he knew something, with a gaze that was observing her so thoroughly. He seemed to decide on something as he pulled out a piece of paper from his inside pocket and lay it on her lap. For a moment, she didn't touch it. The wind licked at the edges of the paper, flicking up to reveal flashes of black paint.

With timid hands, she unfurled it, eyes flashing upwards to stare at him in reproach. The black hand was revealed to the sky. Dila knew what it meant. Swiftly, she balled the paper up and threw it at him.

"This has nothing to do with me," she snapped, venom on her tongue. "I want no part of it."

"It's too late for that," he said. With his wife dead and Amir a guilty part in it, there was no way she would be free of such plain torment. "you've been here long enough."

"By no fault of my own."

"Perhaps not," he began, levelling her with a stern stare. He still wore black, though on him it looked right. "But you have a role in this regardless."

"How could I possibly help?" Dila exclaimed, shaking her head and pointing to the crumpled paper that lay helplessly by his feet. "You know what that means, don't you? The black hand. They're coming for you all."

"Then we'll come for them too. They can't get to us if they're dead."

Dila watched I'm with wide eyes, leaning back against the bench with her hands clutched against the black lace of her dress. She knew who they were, of course. The Italians. The Changrettas. The men who'd killed Grace Shelby. Tommy had no idea was he was going up against.

"And how do you think you'll do this, hm?" She stood then with a face of thunder. "This is the Sicilian Mafia, Thomas, not some local gang who think they're big enough to take up against you. When they come, you won't know."

His expression said he'd underestimated her, had missed something in his observations. But Dilara kept her cards close, hidden.

"It's not me who is going to find him."

Now his face betrayed nothing, but she knew what he implied. Dila didn't want to believe it.

"You don't mean..."

"You speak Italian, you know the world in a capacity none of us could."

Dila thought of all she'd learned in the past year- of her self and the world. It was not hard to understand his way of thinking. That didn't mean she had to like it.

"Tommy-" she began, but he cut her off, rubbing his palm against his tight jaw.

"You have no money, no papers," he said, and she knew he was right. Amir had left her stuck. "You're right. I have no business with you, Dilara. Do this and I can arrange your journey home, wherever that may be. You're free to stay here otherwise, of course."

"If I can get to him, what stops you from doing so too?"

"It's not that easy," Tommy said. He picked the paper from the floor and pocketed it. "You said so yourself they're bigger, organised. We'd never get close enough to kill him."

Dila remained silent for a moment, staring across the scene of unending fields in front of them. It would have been peaceful, as it had been every other day she'd sat out there, had it not been for Tommy Shelby's grave announcement.

"I take that as acceptance then," he said when she had no answer.

Dila could only nod slowly, tucking her face into her chest. "I don't know what I'm getting into. But yes," she said. There was no other option. "I accept."

"Good." He have one curt nod before he turned to leave, having achieved what he sought. "I'll have everything arranged."

"Tommy," she called after him, watching his head turn slightly. "Him?"

He had barely spoken of them, of the Italians. It was mostly him, whoever it was that was the true threat, who she had been tasked to find.

"Luca Changretta."

<3
here we gooooo