METHOD OF MADNESS ━ 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲 ¹ (Under editing)

𝒾. 𝐹𝑜𝓊𝓇: grand entrance

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : feel something - jaymes young

⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

i. four: ❝grand entrance❞

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Small Heath, Birmingham

The straw-blonde woman stood by the roadside, her cigarette casting a faint glow in the chilly evening air. She bounced her feet on the pavement, the rhythm echoing the throb of her heart as she waited for the man of the hour to arrive.

"Mr. Shelby, it's been ten minutes. What have you been up to?" She queried, smoke curling from her lips as she spoke, her gaze fixed on the approaching figure of Thomas Shelby.

"Aunt Pol needed a word." He replied, extracting his own cigarette from a back pocket, offering one to Marianna before lighting both.

He observed her flick the barely finished butt of her previous smoke away before accepting the one he offered. A hint of amusement danced in his eyes, but it was met with a lack of levity in her voice. "Planning my demise, are we? Bloody hell."

As she glanced around the neighbourhood, memories flooded her mind. The heated exchange with Thomas was still fresh, the sting of their confrontation lingering.

Their meeting outside the betting shop, away from prying eyes, was no coincidence. Despite their clash, there was an unspoken desire to be alone, to address the tension that simmered between them.

"If I were planning a murder, I certainly wouldn't do it in front of my own establishment. Terrible for business." Thomas remarked, his tone unusually gentle in the privacy of their conversation.

The nightly breeze tousled her fiery tresses as she turned to face the man before her. His gaze lingered on her neckline, trailing down to the exposed cleavage of her attire.

"Mr. Shelby," she began, her tone firm, "I came here to collect payment, not to be ogled."

Thomas couldn't suppress a smile, his eyes almost crinkling at the corners as he tucked his hands into his pockets to shield them from the chill. "It's a bit distracting, Mar."

"Not my fucking doing Can't get your head out of your damn pants. Perhaps you should try lifting your gaze." She retorted, mimicking his gesture with an open palm before him.

The man before her rolled his eyes, a faint grin still playing on his lips as he fished out the payment from his pocket. Marianna took advantage of the moment to study his face; there was a weariness in his eyes, a heaviness that she recognized all too well.

She had noticed earlier that his expression seemed worn, perhaps from the same sleepless nights that plagued the rest of them who had returned.

Just a few nights ago, she had heard Diego's quiet sobs from the room across the hall, prompting her to sit with him and share a cup of hot tea as they discussed his struggles; she would rather listen to her cousin's harrowing experiences than dwell on the torment she endured, thanks to the relentless voices in her mind.