Part Ten:

Following the races, I did not want to talk to Tommy ever again. Despite knowing what may transpire, I never dreamed that he would leave me for two hours with that man. The events of the previous days had dulled my intuition to danger. I was nearly assaulted by Billy Kimber. In a short span of time, I had went from Lady Jadwiga of Kraków to a whore with the clap. I knew that he had said what he had to protect me, but it was too late. I was so angry. The nightmares returned and my sullen, cold exterior had made a lasting appearance.

My nasty attitude only furthered in the coming days, as I realized it was near impossible to avoid him. He had made it his mission to engage me in conversation at The Garrison, despite my clipped responses and return to formalities as I had served him. I could tell that my return to calling him Mr. Shelby had bothered him and I secretly felt joy at his pain. Good. He deserved it for giving me to Kimber as if I were his personal whore.

Still, it perplexed me that he was making an effort with me, despite the fact that he knew my ties to Chicago. I didn't know the extent of it, but it was evident that he knew who I really was. It shocked me that he hadn't sent me away. It was if he had cared about me, despite my past. He had a hilarious way of showing it with the disaster that ensued at the races.

Our tension only seemed to overjoy Grace, as she saw her worthy adversary conquered. My absence made it possible for Grace to begin work as the accountant for Arthur and thus by extension, the Shelbys. She had won the silent war between us. Mulling this over, I snorted at this observation as I was filling someone's beer mug. She could have the fucking bastard.

As the twilight turned to the dark of night, Harry bid me a good evening as I began to close The Garrison. I had felt bad for Harry. Everything that he worked for was negotiated out of his hands by the Shelbys. Nothing would ever be the same.

The thunderous knock had broken my sour thoughts half past eleven. I sighed, as I knew who stood on the other side of the door. Against my better judgement, I opened the door. I didn't give a fuck that this was his brother's pub. I would not make it easy for him.

"What the fuck do you want, Mr. Shelby?"

"Now is not the time, Antonina, I need your help."

The urgency in his voice cut me at the quick and I sensed that he was in trouble. I relented my aggression, momentarily.

"Tommy, are you expecting trouble?"

"Yeah."

"At this hour?"

"Midnight is as good as any."

I only had my knife on me. I had left my gun in Chicago when I left for the war. I frantically looked around at anything that could be a weapon. A chair, some bar glasses, and a knife were no match for the oncoming hell that Tommy had likely brought upon himself. What fucking trouble could he be in?

"What the fuck is going on? If you need my help, you must tell me."

"When the St. Andrew's bell strikes midnight two IRA men are going to come through that door. When they have what they want, they plan to kill me. It's your job to stop that happening."

Oh, fuck it was bad.

"You could have given me warning, Tommy. I could have taken you away to safety."

His eyes looked at me warily, scoffing at the idea of hiding. I knew better: Tommy Shelby did not hide.

"I just got the message myself. They want to meet here alone-"

"And barmaids don't count?" How the fuck could I joke at a time like this? I was getting good at this again.

"No. Barmaids don't count. Now you're going to be in the back room. I am going to be sitting there. When I make the toast "barmaids don't count," you're going to come out with this gun raised. You do not shoot. Point. I will do the rest, ya hear?"

He pressed the loaded gun in my hand. He didn't waste his time, showing me how to use it.

He knew me. The real me.

"The police want them alive-"

"You involved the police?"

Now this was an interesting turn of events. The copper bastards and Tommy Shelby working together to defeat the Fenians.

"Yes. Just hold it up and point. Now go."

I rushed to the back room, waiting for my cue. Despite my anger at Tommy, fear suddenly gripped my heart. I could not let him die. I would murder these men in cold blood, if it was the last thing that I would ever do. I would not lose him, like I lost David. My greatest fears had come to life.

Maybe I did love Tommy Shelby despite everything. And he was going to die before me tonight.

I had to remind myself to breathe, willing myself to stay in the moment.

I could hear the muffled voices and the exchanges about the location of guns. I barely made the connection that the Peaky Blinders did have the guns that the copper was looking for. When the cue came, I rushed into the room and saw the IRA man pointing the gun at Tommy. Without a moment's hesitation, my bullet found the space between his eyes.

Pandemonium ensued and it was as if time stood still.

I rushed to shoot the other man, but the ensuing fight had knocked the man's pistol into my head, gashing my forehead. I briefly lost sight, tumbling to the floor. Fucking convenient.

The best shot in Chicago wasted on a goddamned concussion.

I could hear Tommy losing the fight, but I could not make my limbs move to my will. I began to panic as my vision began to grow black. Fuck fuck fuck, please let him live God.

The brutal beating of a man jarred me from my state. As I tried to wipe the blood from my eyes, a man began to lift me up. My animalistic instincts kicked in and my greatest fear was confirmed: Tommy had been the one to lose. I started to fight the executioner, clawing and screaming my lungs out. I would not die without a fight. I cursed the man straight to hell, until I could hear Tommy's voice breaking through to me.

"Antonina, Antonina, Antonina," the executioner had said, as I continued to thrash about like a wild animal.

"TONI. It is me."

My vision had returned to my eyes and I saw it was him clear as day.

Tommy.

He was alive.

Involuntarily, I let out a strangled sob of relief. He gripped my shoulders, piercing my gaze with his blue eyes.

"Antonina, why did you shoot? Why did you shoot?"

"I couldn't lose you, Tommy."

He looked to me and then turned his attention to the dead men that lay in the floor. It surprised me when he took me in his arms. I breathed in his scent, thanking the universe that he was still with me. I had saved him. His voice caressed me, as he spoke.

"So, now you've seen me."

"And you've seen me."

Our embrace was cut short by a commotion outside.

When the cops entered, Tommy's anger boiled over and he yelled at the bastards that they were supposed to come on the sixth chime. The sixth fucking chime. He explained that the men had refused to surrender and they fought like brave men.

"Well he looks like he was killed by a wild fucking animal. Still this never happened and they were never here, who cares?" the copper bastard spoke, indifferent to what we had been through. I scoffed. As if they fucking cared. They left us to die.

"Will you get the bodies out of here?" Tommy said, his gaze turning to me.

"Alright, are they making the lady uncomfortable? I'll leave you two love birds to it then."

My eyes widened at the cop's joke over the dead bodies and my gaze turned to my room upstairs. I knew that I could not and I would not sleep here. I would be a sitting duck. I bit my lip, mulling over who I could turn to for the night.

Tommy sensed my thoughts and took my hand, leading me away from The Garrison, as the coppers had begun to take the bodies away. Numbly, I followed. As we hit the cold March night's air, I involuntarily shivered. In a flash, Tommy had offered me his coat. I took it, murmuring gratitude as I put the oversized coat onto my body.

I pulled his coat close to me, enjoying the smell of smoke and Tommy.

"I am so sorry, Antonina."

I nodded, unsure what exactly he was apologizing for.

For awhile, we walked in total silence. It was not uncomfortable for me though, as we walked. I felt...safe again. I felt nearly whole for the first time in days.

Maybe I was mad.

How could I turn a blind eye to this and murder a man for him? Maybe Antonina Paltrowicz was alive in here, after all.

We arrived at a residence, on Watery Lane. My eyes widened, knowing it was the Shelby home. He sensed my apprehension.

"Antonina, I have no intention on beddin' you tonight. I don't want you to sleep at The Garrison tonight. It is unsafe. I want to protect you tonight."

I wanted to point out the fact that I wouldn't have fucked him if he were last man on earth, but I simply nodded, entering the door that he held open for me. We walked through the home to his study. His family's home was beautiful and large without being grandoise. It reminded me briefly of the betting dens and my family's home in Chicago. A deep pain of nostalgia and longing brought me back to the North Side-but for only a moment.

As he poured whiskey, he noticed my expression, incorrectly guessing that my thoughts had turned to the war, triggered by my murder of the IRA man. I had killed men before, this was nothing to me. I had just missed home, but only briefly.

He brought me my whiskey and he began to clean up the wound that had started to scab over on my forehead. I pulled away from his contact at first, then settled into him. It wasn't the pain. His hands were gentle, though I wouldn't have given a thought about the pain. I had much worse in my life. This gash was no comparison. It was his touch. It felt as if electricity was pulsing through his fingertips, shocking me with every touch.

As I tried not to focus on his hands on me, I focused on the whiskey. The cool liquid burned and warmed my insides. After he finished cleaning my wound, he sat on the small couch next to me, silently toasting his whiskey to me. I smiled in gratitude at him, though I am sure that my smile looked demented with my head wound. I looked around, lost in thought.

As usual, his voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Sometimes, you think that it is all okay. What we went through will be laid in the past, in the fields of Flanders. But then, in the safety of your mind or your work or your home, a moment brings you back," he spoke. When I saw the sight of the man that he had beaten to death, I knew that he was back in the tunnels of France. He beat the man to beat the memories from his head. It seemed that he was more troubled by it than I was. I nodded at his statement, wishing that I could articulate that I knew what he meant. But words failed me. I didn't know why he had brought me here to have a drink with him. I didn't know why he bothered to take care of me, despite the fact that I had saved his life tonight...deviating from the plan.

"Antonina, I need to know why you really shot him."

I sighed, feeling conflicted at his sudden interrogation.

The words came tumbling out. He had seen me murder a man in cold blood tonight. I had only confirmed what he knew. He wanted me to tell him who I really was, but I wasn't ready to face it quite yet. So, I began to explain why I had killed the man so quickly instead.

"Sometimes, I see his face. I feel the terror of his loss. I felt it tonight, as I hid in the backroom. I couldn't let you suffer the fate as Dav-him."

"David Casey, your dead husband."

I couldn't help, but flinch at his knowledge of David's name. Despite my usual defensive impulses, I simply nodded.

"Yes. When I saw the man pointing the gun at your head, I think it brought me back. I had imagined saving David so many times in those trenches and I knew that I had the power to save you. So I did. I would do it again a million times over." I answered quietly, willing him to move on from the subject of David and the war entirely. Tommy sensed this, moving his line of questioning on.

"Where are you really from Antonina?"

This was it. Everything that I had hoped would never surface. It had come to light.

"I am from Chicago. My father is from Kraków and my mother is from Saint Petersburg."

"You speak three languages."

"Yes, Polish, English, and Russian."

"You left Chicago for the war directly?"

"Yes, I did."

"So tell me...how did Antonina Paltrowicz find herself in the Birmingham then, when she had an entire family enterprise in Chicago to return to?"