mozzafiato ➝ peaky blinders

dodici

Although Michael had been released from the hospital, he was still considerably weakened from his wound. Attacking Gianna Changretta just hours ago probably hadn't helped his healing.

So, until he regained his strength, he was staying at Watery Lane, where Polly could watch over him. 

John's funeral was to be held soon, and he didn't have a lot of distractions. While Polly swore she wasn't going to let him out of her sight, she wasn't home all too often. So, on the many occasions he was left alone in the house, all he could do was think about how it could have been - should have been - him. John should have lived. 

He had been staring into space for what felt like hours. There was nobody around to take his mind off things. He tried everything: reading the newspaper over and over, flicking through a book he found on the shelf, just pacing around and touching things. Nothing helped. He had had no choice but to succumb to his thoughts. 

"What did you think of her, Michael?"

Michael's head lifted. He was sat at the kitchen table, a cigarette in his hand. It seemed to have been lit for a while, yet he hadn't even taken a drag. He stared at it for a moment. Then, sighing inwardly, he stubbed it out in the ashtray before him.

"Sorry, Tom?" he said slowly. He didn't have the energy for talking.

Tommy stood in the doorway, his cap in one hand and a cigarette in the other, staring down at him.

"You mean the Changretta?" he answered, his words slightly staggered and uncertain.

"Yes," Tommy said lowly, his eyelids flickering. The rest of his face remained completely stoic. Michael couldn't quite tell whether his cousin was interrogating him or not.

"Well, what do you think?" he said flatly. 

"Well, you never know. Boys who pull on girls plaits often just want their attention," Tommy replied, and strode into the room, his gait confident.

Michael twitched an eyebrow up, and cleared his throat. 

Tommy set his hat down on the table, stuck his cigarette between his teeth, and, resting his hands on the edge, leaned against it. His eyes met his cousin's. "I don't want to ask again, Michael."

The boy drew a deep breath, feeling uncomfortable under Tommy's piercing gaze. He scanned his face, his body language, but couldn't find any tells of what his cousin's motivations were.

"Well... she's unusual. Rough. Spent too much time around men," he said, mirroring Tommy's blank expression. But he wasn't as talented as his cousin at his infamous poker face; Tommy could read the lad's emotions with ease.

"Hm," Tommy grunted. But he seemed like he was expecting more.

Michael cleared his throat, rolling his cigarette in his fingers. He was trying to think of more to say, which was quite a task under Tommy's scrutinising gaze. "Polly told me about the factory. She certainly knows how to fight. And - "

"Do you think she's pretty?" Tommy cut in.

Michael stopped short, and dipped his chin, looking up at his cousin with shock. "You what?"

Tommy remained silent. He wasn't one to repeat himself. He merely examined Michael with those hard eyes, waiting.

Michael's lips pressed into a thin line, and lifted his head slowly. "Why do you ask?" he said nonchalantly. It was all he could do to prevent a girlish blush from colouring his cheeks.

"Answer the question, Michael," was all Tommy said.

"Yes. Sure, but - "

"Good," Tommy interrupted again, and Michael sat back in his chair, eyes raising heavenwards. "That's a good starting point. Make the job a bit easier for you."

"What job?" Michael asked, raising his hands into the air before letting them flop back onto the armrests of his chair - a weary gesture, one of someone far beyond his years.

For a moment, Tommy said nothing; his eyes left Michael's for the first time in their exchange as he ground his cigarette in the ashtray.

Then, his eyes flitting back to Michael, the Shelby leader stubbed the cigarette, and pointed a calloused finger at the lad.

"You, Michael Gray, are going to be the Changretta girl's new mate."

"No - " Michael already started, but Tommy paid him no heed.

"You're going to take her out for drinks, lunch, whatever," he continued. He stomped on his cigarette without breaking his eyes away from Michael's, grinding it into the floor. "Take her back to warm your bed if you want - although you will do so at great risk of being bumped up to the top of Luca Changretta's death list."

"Tommy, no, I don't want to breathe the same air as - "

"And when you do, you're going to find out as much as you can about her."

"Are you forgetting that her family fucking killed - "

"Stuff about her father, her family, her favourite fucking brand of cigarettes. Anything and everything you can squeeze out of her. Anything that might help us. And anything that might suggest she isn't what she says she is."

"Tommy, I'm not gonna - " Michael said, raising his voice to try and shut Tommy up. But the eldest Shelby never let anyone one-up him, whether it was in a brawl, drinking game, or argument.

The man's face didn't change, but his shoulders squared, and he slammed his hands onto the table with a violent bang that echoed throughout the office, causing the lad to flinch.

"Yes, you fucking are," Tommy bellowed, leaning forward onto his hands, nearing his face to Michael's in a gesture menacing enough to make the latter lean away cautiously.

"You bloody well are," he said again, stabbing a finger into Michael's face. "If you're too scared to interact with someone of the opposite sex, which I know you bloody aren't, I don't give a fuck if you'd rather beat information out of her. But since her father would probably off you if you did, I think you'd prefer to take the friendly route."

Michael stared into Tommy's face

"And just to remind you, Michael. Gianna Changretta wants nothing to do with her father. She resents them for whatever reason. So, chances are she isn't an infiltrator. I'm making the choice to trust her. And if she does something to make me regret that choice, I'll kill her. Simple as that."

"At least tell me why you're trusting her," Michael said coolly.

"She's our leverage, Michael. Thought a smart lad like you would have figured that out on your own," Tommy murmured, resuming his usual cool tone as he pushed off the table, standing up straight.

He swiped up his hat, Michael's eyes following him as he did. 

Then, he turned to leave.

Just as he reached the door, though, Michael called after him.

"I'm just wondering what made you involve with a Changretta with the Blinders," he said. Tommy paused, but didn't turn around. "You're either very clever or very dense."

After taking a moment to process what he had heard, Tommy glanced over his shoulder, and fixed a fiery gaze on Michael. His cousin had never spoken to him like this; hell, no one ever had. Not just because of respect. It was because they didn't dare to.

"Nothing I have ever done has been without reason, Michael Gray," he said, his voice rumbling in his chest.

Then, he strode out, leaving Michael alone and fuming.