Aristocrats and gangsters have a lot in common.
They're both selfish, get bored easily, and have access to wads of cash they didn't work honestly to get and neither have any interest in bourgeois rules or morality.
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So when...
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The first light of dawn filtered weakly through heavy curtains, casting a soft silver glow in the dim room. Thomas Shelby awoke, his eyelids heavy, his body weary from yet another restless night. He couldn't recall the last time he had enjoyed a full night's sleep.
As usual, he had spent hours tossing and turning, his mind consumed by thoughts of the past, present, and future. The upcoming gala orchestrated by Diana weighed on his mind, filling him with unease and anxiety. With a soft groan, he pushed the blankets aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His hand moved to rub his tired eyes, half-hoping that a bit of magic could wash away his fatigue. Perhaps a genie could grant him a thousand wishes, and life would become what he truly desired. Or maybe it was the pain pills he occasionally took, causing a foggy vision of the world, leading him to see and hear things that weren't there.
The thought crossed his mind that he was beginning to sound like Polly.
Polly.
He felt a pang of guilt for driving her away, something he seemed to do quite often. But this time, his aunt hadn't returned, and he worried that she might never come back after everything that had transpired.
"Mr. Shelby?" He heard a timid knock on the door and sighed. "Mr. Shelby?"
"I'm awake, Mary." His response was curt yet sufficient, and she left without further disturbance. Thomas relished the comforts of his life, the luxury that his wealth afforded him.
The staff, the companionship of women, the drinks—it was a reward for his hard work, but he often felt undeserving of it. He pondered whether his feelings would change if he had been born into wealth or if that sense of undeserving would persist.
This reminded him of a conversation he had earlier in the week when Leonor had convinced him to bring her along to the winery.
"Are you planning to drive there yourself?" Leonor's voice had carried a tone of genuine confusion as she observed him preparing to take the driver's seat. "Really?"
He was on the verge of ignoring her, already starting the car's engine, but his curiosity spoke louder. "Yes, I figured we could use the time to work on your cover, wife. God knows you could use it." He teased, but she remained motionless. "Why do you ask?"
Perhaps you should work on your own cover instead." She crossed her arms, looking away to signal someone nearby. "You married me to gain higher acceptance among my peers." Thomas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in mild annoyance. "Or am I mistaken?"
