Chapter 37

"Tommy! Whatever is wrong?" Sara furrowed her brow at Thomas' insistence that she brought Jack down into his study.

"Just stay here Sara. Keep an eye on Jack." He demanded, not looking her in the eye as he disappeared into the next room. When he was certain she couldn't hear him, he lifted the handset of the phone to his ear.

Xxxxxxxxx

"Arthur? Have you checked your post?" John's voice sounded down the phone to his eldest brother. "I've just been served the black hand."

Arthur felt his heart stop, but he knew he couldn't make any sound. He couldn't do anything to alert Linda to the situation. He had left her in the sitting room with Ada when the phone had rung. Of all the messages he would have expected to get, this was certainly the last thing on his mind. Thomas had contacted John first and instructed him to speak with the others and warn them. He knew it was imperative for them to be together and being isolated all across the county would leave them vulnerable. But it had to be in Small Heath. They needed to go back. They were protected there. Where they were situated now, they were sitting ducks, waiting to be picked off, one by one.

Xxxxxxxxxx

That evening, Sara sat by Jack's cot, gently singing to soothe him to sleep. Tommy had instructed several of the servants to bring his cot down from the bedroom to the living room where he could keep an eye on them. However, at this moment, Sara was alone, utterly confused at the turn of events. Earlier that day, they had been planning Christmas and now, it was as though he was shutting her out, yet again. He could hear muffled voices coming from his study but she couldn't make out anything he was saying. Sara was aware Ada had come to visit, and despite how good friends they were, she hadn't yet spoken with her since she had arrived. The last few months had been difficult with Ada spending much of her time overseeing the family business in Boston which meant very limited time for them to spend together, and now that she was here, Sara wanted some time with her friend, but Tommy and business was quickly putting a stop to that. Shaking her head, she turned back to her gargling baby boy who was staring up at her and started to sing again.

Xxxxxxxx

"So boss, in light of the changed circumstances, what are you orders?" Ada leaned over the back of the chair, looking up at her brother.

"Changretta knows where we all live. If we stay out in the open, isolated, he'll pick us off one by one. We need to be together in a place where even they won't dare to come."

"You mean back home?" the shock was clear on Ada's face.

Thomas nodded. "Within a four mile radius of the Garrison, every man is a guard or a soldier for us. I'm calling a family meeting. Charlie Strong's yard, Boxing Day. Finn's already there. You tell Polly and Michael. I'll deal with John and Arthur."

"And Esme and Linda?" She questioned.

"Anyone who wants to live to see another Christmas needs to come to where its safe. These bastards will kill kids as well." His voice raised. "And Ada, not a fucking word to Sara."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The phone continued to ring out as Tommy tried desperately to get in touch with John. He looked up at the clock. It was just after ten pm. He had just checked on Sara and was satisfied to see she had fallen asleep on the couch with Jack sleeping soundly in the cot beside her. Frustration was starting to build up in him as he tried John again, to no avail. Picking up the phone again, Thomas waited on the operator.

"Yes, put me through to Maypole 2 4 5"

"Hello?" Arthur's gruffly voice sounded on the other end of the phone.

"Arthur, its Tommy." He spoke with some sense of relief at being able to get in touch with one of his brothers.

"Be quick. They're asleep."

"Family meeting. Charlie's yard. Boxing Day, midday. I can't raise John, but I'll send Michael to get him. If you have to pull a gun on Linda, do it. Merry Christmas." He spoke quickly before hanging up the phone.

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As the night began to wear on, Thomas took his seat in his study. His head was pounding as he tried to work at his desk. The light was dim and the fire burned away beside him. The sound of footsteps on the hardwood floor followed by the brief knock disturbed him. He knew it wasn't his wife as she would certainly never knock so resonating that it could only be the housekeeper, he didn't lift his eyes form the papers in front of him.

"Come."

She appeared in the doorway and took candid steps into the room. "I'm really sorry to bother you again sir, but Chef insists on knowing what time the guests will arrive."

Tommy sighed, removing his glasses irritatingly. This would be the second time Frances had bothered him about this since he had passed on his wife's instructions about having the family around for Christmas dinner. And given the change in events, this was now the last thing he could be bothered dealing with. "Frances, for the last time. Its Johnny Dogs. They're gypsies. They're camped down by the river. When they're ready, they'll walk up. Alright?"

"He says its about preparation Sir." She hated this as much as he did. She had spent long enough in the Shelby house to know when he was stressed, and it was driving her crazy being the go between.

"What is?" Thomas asked.

"He's asked specifically. Will they arrive before the King's speech, or after?"

Tommy's eyes narrowed and his hands clenched together. "You said he was new, this chef. When did he join us?"

"October." She answered.

"October." Tommy repeated, leaning back in his chair. "And he's foreign?"

"He's Italian sir."

"Oh." Tommy's ears pricked up at this information. It all seemed to coincidental.

"He's the best chef we've ever had in the house." She continued. "No shouting or swearing or blaspheming."

"Do we have his references?" Tommy questioned.

"Yes. The only problem has been his assistant." She looked worried.

"What assistant?"

"He brought an assistant with him. Calls him his sous chef."

Thomas's fist clenched slightly. He felt anger raise up inside him. After spending so much time trying to protect his family, he had unwittingly allowed trouble into his own house, easily endangering the lives of his wife and baby son. "Are they still working Frances?"

She nodded. "They will be there till midnight sir."

He thought for a few seconds before turning back to her. "Right. Thank you. Good night. You can go to bed."

She smiled briefly. "Merry Christmas sir."

As she left, Thomas got to his feet and made moves towards a large cupboard at the other side of the room. Searching through the folders, he eventually came to the right one. Placing it back down on his desk, he opened it up and began rifling through the papers until he eventually came to the letters of reference. Automatically, his eyes fell on the letter heading.

San Marco's

He recognised it immediately as belonging to Sabini. No longer willing to hold back, Thomas placed the papers back in the folder and made his way along to the living room. Taking quiet steps inside, he made his way over to the cot. Gazing down, a small smile formed on his face as his son wriggled in his sleep, his arms out stretched above his head. Shifting his gaze to his left, his eyes landed on the sleeping form of his wife lying peacefully on the couch. She shuddered slightly and it was only then he noticed the crumpled blanket lying on the floor. Picking it up, Thomas gently draped it over her before placing a gentle kiss on her temple. Not wanting to risk waking them, he quickly made his way back to the door, stealing one final glance at them before stepping into the hall and closing the door behind him. He was thankful the kitchen was downstairs and at the other end of the house as he didn't want Sara to stumble upon him. His footsteps echoed on the staircase as he made his way down to the kitchen. The staff briefly acknowledged him as he entered. It was only then that Thomas realised he didn't actually know anyone who worked in his kitchen. Stepping up to the first man, he asked his name.

"Max, Mr Shelby." His strong English accent clear to hear.

Satisfied he wasn't the one he was looking for, Thomas patted him on the shoulder and turned his attention to the man sitting at the back of the room next to a large bucket of potatoes.

"Its alright, don't get up." Thomas spoke facetiously.

The man, sensing his error, got to his feet and pulled his cigarette from his mouth, stubbing it out on the ground. As he did so, Thomas looked him over. His sallow skin, dark hair and moustache set him on edge immediately.

"You're new. I'm Mr Shelby."

"Hello Sir." The man smiled, his hands clasped behind his back.

"I haven't taken time to introduce myself."

"Antonio." The man responded.

Thomas glanced down at the bucket of potatoes. "What have you done that's so wrong eh?"

"Excuse me?" he said, shaking his head, not understanding the point.

"A sous chef peeling potatoes."

Antonio smirked. "Its an emergency. Late notice."

Glancing around, Tommy's eyes fell back upon the sous chef. "Oh late notice. Right well, carry on." He started to walk towards the back room of the kitchen before turning back. "Antonio…here. Ten pound. For the late notice." He handed him the note, carefully gauging his reaction. But there was none, other than a brief nod. Satisfied he had the man he was looking for, Thomas made his way back to the next room where the chef was preparing the geese for Christmas dinner. Closing the door behind him, Thomas made his way into the dimly lit room.

"You wanted to know if my guests would arrive before or after the Kings speech, eh?." He watched as the chef lifted the bird across the room, not saying a word. "It'll be after."

As the chef began sharpening his knives, Thomas stepped in front of the table. "How are you?"

"Oh, just worried about tomorrow." He answered, his Italian accent clear.

"Yeah? I'm worried about Antonio."

The chef shrugged and continued on with his work. "You've been here two months and we've not met before. It's my fault. I've been busy. Thomas Shelby." He stated, holding out his hand.

Glancing down at it, the chef hesitated. "My hand has blood."

"Oh mine too." Thomas smirked. As they shook hands, Thomas pulled him closer. "Hey, how much do you pay Antonio?"

"I forget."

"Must be a lot. I just gave him ten pound. Didn't mean a fucking thing to him." Thomas accused. "Or maybe it isn't you that pays him."

Letting go of his hand, Thomas stepped away. "I've been reading up on you. Bertorelli's. Claridge's. You used to work at a place called San Marco's, on Fleet Street. I used to know the man that owned San Marco's. A man called Darby Sabini."

The chef shook his head. "I never met him."

"No. Maybe your assistant, Antonio, maybe he's met him." As he tried to walk away, Thomas was fast on his feet and reached up, wrapping his hand around his throat and slamming him against the nearby wall. "Here's how it is. Antonio was sent from New York. Darby Sabini facilitated. He passed him onto you and told you to bring him into my house. They threatened to kill you if you didn't do it. You want me to dress you like you dressed that fucking stag? You know about me right?"

As the man pleaded with him, he nodded.

"You know what I do. You wanted to know when my guests would arrive because Antonio needed me alone. He's an assassin. The plan is to kill me tomorrow."

He shook his head, gasping for breath under Thomas' tight grip. "They just said bring him here."

Letting go, Thomas stepped away. "Well bring him here."

Knowing he had no choice, the chef tried to catch his breath before shouting through. "Antonio!"

Thomas stood at the side of the door way, awaiting the entrance of the elusive Antonio, a metal hook in his hand. He took a deep breath as the door opened and footsteps sounded. At the sound of his voice directly beside Thomas, he sprung out from behind the wall, plunging the hook into Antonio's shoulder, yanking him across the room, and throwing him across a table of bloody meat. Hauling him back onto the table face down, Thomas pulled out his gun, forcing it onto Antonio's temple.

"You are a black hand! You are a black hand! How many came from New York? How many fuckin' came from New York?"

Shouting in Italian, Thomas was getting extremely irritated and pointed the gun up to the chef. "What did he say? Was it a curse or a number? What did he fucking say? What did he fucking say?"

"He said fuck you!" The chef shouted over the noise.

"Yeah?" Thomas pointed the gun back down to Antonio's temple and pulled the trigger, ignoring the blood now caking his clothes and skin. He allowed the body to drop onto the floor before making his way back to the cowering chef and pointing the gun at him. "The black hand means kill or be killed. You go back to London. You tell Darby Sabini he picked the wrong side in this war. Once we've dealt with the Americans, we'll come for him. Go on. Go! Oi! You tell anyone else, I'll come and find you."

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The gloominess of Small Heath greeted her as though she'd never left. As they arrived back at the house on Watery Lane, Sara pulled her long black shawl tightly around her body. Her husband sat next to her, holding Jack tightly in his lap. He reached over to attempt to hold her hands which sat firmly in her lap but she batted him away, refusing to make eye contact. She knew that if she looked at him, all of the emotions she had building up inside of her would come flooding out and she wasn't willing to appear vulnerable in front of him. She couldn't stomach the fact that John was gone and Thomas was well aware of this. They had grown close over the years. He was the one who had persuaded her to come back when she had first arrived in Small Heath. He reassured her that Thomas needed her in his life. If it wasn't for him, she would likely still be living in London with James, miserable and alone. Her heart suddenly felt empty at the fact he was no longer there and she couldn't help but feel as though her husband was partly to blame for his death. Although, this was something she couldn't be one hundred percent sure on, and he still refused to tell her exactly why John had been gunned down at his own front door. Esme had taken it badly, as one could expect. She had taken the children and fled and Sara couldn't be sure if she would ever see them again. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the car and made her way towards the door, ignoring her husband as she went. Stepping inside, she went straight upstairs to Thomas' old room and collapsed onto the bed, facing the wall, continuing to ignore Thomas as he sat down beside her. Placing Jack back in his pram, Thomas walked back towards the door, closing it behind him and heading downstairs where the family were waiting.

A/N - I'm sorry for the delay in updating. Its been a bit hectic here! And I'm sorry for the slight filler chapter here. Hoping to get the next chapter out shortly and planning a little twist!