Chapter 38

"Mr Shelby, thank god you're back."

Thomas made his way purposely through the factory, throwing away his cigarette as he was met by a panicked Niall Devlin.

"What meetings do I have today?"

He lifted the pieces of paper and began flicking through them. "Erm, well there's a supplier from Coventry at ten, the convenor of the boilermakers Union at eleven and then the Chamber of Commerce at one. But that isn't the thing…."

Thomas lit another cigarette as he listened. "Right, clear a space here, move this car back and then one hundred feet of rope and a bell."

"Rope?" Devlin asked, confused.

"Yep, and a bell."

"Mr Shelby, this place is about to explode." He warned.

"Rope and a bell Devlin. Bonnie, this way." Thomas confirmed, indicating to the young man behind him, ignoring the stark warning Devlin was trying to impart.

Thomas continued walking through the factory with Aberama Gold and his son following closely behind until he reached Billy Mills, a man on his payroll known for his skills in the boxing ring. The fight back against the Italians had begun and despite the families protests, Thomas had enlisted the support of Gold, at a cost. As if he didn't have enough to worry about, the threat of strikes within his factories had continued to grow and he knew Jessie Eden was breathing down his neck. Not only that, in the few days since they had arrived back in Small Heath, his wife had barely spoken two words to him. He suspected she blamed him for Johns death and the fact Michael was holed up in the hospital. Much the same as Polly was doing. The family meeting which secured the peace between the Shelby clan had gone as well as could be expected but he was well aware that Polly continued to blame him for her son's current situation. If only he had managed to get hold of John. He might still be alive and Michael would have had no reason to be at the farmhouse. His vendetta against the Italians was growing by the minute and he knew he wouldn't stop until Luca Changretta was dead, no matter the consequences.

After speaking with Billy Mills and convincing him to fight the young Gold lad, Thomas made his way back to an open area of the factory where Devlin had successfully arranged the set up of a make shift boxing ring. Arthur was in the middle, his unmistakeable voice ringing out around the room as he secured bets on the fight. The bell sounded and the two men started circling the ring.

"The boy knows he can hit back right?" Arthur leaned over the Aberama Gold.

"I told him in the professional game, people want their money's worth. Don't win too fast." He confirmed. "But, if you've seen enough….finish him Bonnie!"

Hearing his fathers instructions, the young lad became a man possessed, raining punches down on the surprised Mills., landing one final blow which knocked him to the ground.

"Fuck me, that was a punch." Arthur smirked. "Whats he got, horseshoes in those gloves or what?"

"Nope." Aberama stated, stepping into the ring. "Just his dad's strength and his mothers temper."

Thomas took a few steps to the side, coming face to face with Bonnie. "Does he have fits?"

"No."

"Asthma?"

"No."

"How's he cut?" Arthur continued the interrogation.

"No ones cut him yet. But his skins thick." Aberama stood beside his son, eyeing up the two Shelby brothers in front of him.

"Does he drink?" Thomas asked.

"Porter. Sometimes."

"How many fights?" He continued.

"Twenty five bare knuckle, all knockouts. Five with gloves in pastures. All knockouts."

"Against Romany fighters?" Arthur questioned.

"That's why they won't let us in the fairs no more. He keeps winning."

Bonnie interjected. "I could fight a fucking tree and knock it out Mr Shelby." He stated confidently.

Arthur grinned at the confident young man in front of him. "I like him."

Devlin appeared behind them, interrupting the conversation briefly. "Mrs Eden's waiting upstairs."

"Alright, I'll be there in a minute." Thomas confirmed.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After the fight, Thomas made his way up the stairs towards his office. He had another battle to deal with, and somehow, he knew this one wouldn't be easy to brush off. He pushed open the door to find Devlin standing there with the unmistakable Jessie Eden. Ignoring them, he made his way to the other end of the room, removing his coat and hanging it up.

"Mr Shelby." Her voice sounded around the office. "I understand you've had a bereavement."

Fuck sake. He thought to himself. "I'm here to talk business."

"Then I'll be blunt."

"As will I." He responded, placing a cigarette in his mouth and taking a seat.

"What you're doing here is robbery." She stated, matter of factly.

Thomas brought his lighter up and lit the cigarette. "Every man is free to leave."

"You cut five shillings from the weekly wage."

"And you said, if I did that, you'd bring every man and woman in all my factories out on strike." He stated, still not looking her way.

"Yes."

"Do you have a whistle?" he finally turned his head to look at her. "If so, blow it."

"I thought at least we might have a discussion, as I do with other owners."

"I'm not other owners." His eyes had once again turned to face the windows which lined the full wall of his office.

"No. You believe because coal is expensive and its been a cold winter, and because wages have been cut over these past twelve months, you think cos of all that nobody will walk out on strike, cos no one can afford to." She folded her arms defensively. "And until recently, that would have been true. But something has changed this past year. A cold wind from the East. People are not afraid anymore."

"I have it on very good authority that the Bolsheviks couldn't organise a fucking picnic." He quipped, quoting his younger sister.

"You know Mr Shelby, its almost as if you want trouble." She smirked, taking a few steps to the side, her arms still crossed in defiance.

"If the rule of law in Birmingham were to break down during this period of turmoil for my family, then yes, that would indeed have its benefits. For reasons you could not understand." He took another drag of his cigarette.

"I've heard rumours. Sport between men."

He was growing increasingly impatient and irritated with her presence. "Just blow your fuckin' whistle, eh."

Left with no other choice, Jessie Eden gathered her things and exited his office, blowing her whistle as she went. Thomas continued to sit as he listened to the unmistakeable noise of his workers downing tools and making their way out of the factory. Eventually, he got to his feet and wandered out to the balcony, listening intently as the usual noise subsided. With nothing else to do, he made his way back to his office. After a while, there was a further knock at his door.

"Yeah, come in."

Devlin appeared, papers in hand. "I did say this would happen." He stated, closing the door behind him.

Thomas glanced up from his desk, exasperated at the comment. "Who's next?" He asked, choosing to ignore his feelings.

Devlin flicked through his papers. "Erm, he's a delegate from the European Council for Trade. He's here to talk about the import of car parts to France."

"Right."

"He's come all the way from Paris. But, given the circumstances, I can send him away." Devlin offered.

"Given what circumstances? Send him in." Thomas insisted, determined that Jessie Eden's wildcat strike wasn't going to prevent him doing any further business.

Rubbing his eyes in exasperation, Thomas awaited his visitor. He took a few steps towards the window and waited until he heard the sound of his door opening. Devlin appeared again with a tall, lean, well dressed gentleman walking slowly behind him.

"Mr Shelby, this is Monsieur Paz, from Paris."

Turning towards the door, Thomas eyed the man as he appeared and immediately, felt cautious. Something wasn't right. Something didn't feel right to him but he couldn't yet put his finger on it.

"I heard you had trouble." The man spoke as Devlin left, closing the door behind him. "Its good of you to see me."

If he wasn't cautious before, he definitely was now. The unmistakeable sound of the Italian accent assaulted his senses but he gave nothing away. His poker face stayed as it had and his fists were kept firmly within his trouser pockets. "You just came from Paris eh?"

The man unbuttoned his jacket and took a few steps to the side, pulling out a nearby chair and sitting down. "You know Paris?"

"I left Paris in a cattle truck." He stated. "They said you were French."

"No, I came here from Paris." He smirked. "That does not mean I'm French. Guess where I'm from."

Pulling his eyes away from the man opposite, Thomas reached towards his jacket hanging up and pulled out his cigarettes. "Well, in my cattle truck from Paris, there were American soldiers. We played cards. They sound like you."

Pulling a toothpick from his inside pocket, he leaned back in his chair. "Did you win?"

"You didn't come on a train. Your suit is pressed. Your shoes are clean. Where do you get your suits made?"

Grinning, he continued to poke the toothpick into his white, straight teeth. "I have a tailor. In New York City. Look…" He opened up his jacket, revealing the inside. "Fenacci. Italian. He's my uncle. He makes suits in a basement in Mott Street. He is my uncle, so every stitch is stitched with blood. I heard you dress well, Mr Shelby. But now I see, not so well as me."

Thomas turned slightly and tapped his cigarette on the nearby ashtray. "You know, I have uncles as well. But they're not the sort of men who would work in a basement with a needle and thread, Mr Changretta."

Now he had his attention. Changretta's eyes slid to the right and landed upon Thomas Shelby. He smiled, continuing to play with the toothpick between his fingers. "I am surprised, how easy it was to get into a room with you."

Reaching behind, Thomas pulled his gun and aimed it towards Changretta. "And now?"

He was unfazed at this response but held up in hands in mock defence. "And now, you should know that during the trouble you had earlier on your factory floor, I sent an accomplice into your office in overalls. He found your gun. And unloaded it." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the bullets which had previously been taken from the gun now pointing at him. Irritated at his carelessness, Thomas dropped the gun down and opened up the chamber, revealing an empty barrel. At this, Changretta began placing the bullets down on the table in front of him.

"Arthur Shelby."

Thomas looked up again and watched him carefully.

"Polly Gray." He placed another bullet down.

"Michael Gray."

Thomas wet his lips, realising the significance of what was happening.

"John Shelby." At the mention of his name, Changretta forced the bullet down and pinged it down the table towards Thomas. "Spent."

"Ada Thorne." He continued. "And finally, Tommy Shelby."

Thomas watched as Changretta got to his feet. "None of you will survive. Your level of security is pitiful. And we are an organisation of a different dimension. I could have killed you when I walked through the door. But, you see, I want you to be the last. I want you to be alive after your entire family is dead. Cos my mother says that is what'll hurt you the most." He continued to walk towards him until there was only a few feet between them. "You people have traditions of honour. As do we. Instead of sending you a black hand, I could have killed you in the night without knowing why. But I want you to know why. And I want to suggest to you that we fight this vendetta with honour."

Placing his gun down on the table, Thomas turned back to him. "No civilians. No children."

"No police." Changretta held his finger up in the air."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Mrs Shelby, I'm afraid your husband is in a meeting at the moment and can't be disturbed." Devlin rushed across the factory floor after his bosses wife. Knowing exactly how strong willed she could be, he knew this would be a seemingly pointless task trying to stop her, but he was well aware that he would face Mr Shelby's wrath for allowing her to interrupt his business meetings, particularly when he had already had a fairly stressful day with his workforce walking out.

"Mr Devlin, I assure you, this won't take long and you can get back to whatever it is that you do." Her irritation was growing by the second as she made her way up the staircase. She had spent the last few hours listening to Polly rant and rave about her issues with Thomas and it was only now that she was finally getting insight into what was going on within the family and what had caused the untimely death of her young brother in law. She couldn't deny the rage she felt at finding out the facts and the fact Thomas had hidden all of this from her and potentially placed her and their young son in danger almost destroyed her. As she reached the doorway, she could see Thomas through the glass. He was standing talking to a tall man but she couldn't see who it was. Ignoring the fact he was likely busy, she pushed down on the door handle and shoved the door open.

"Thomas, I apologise for interrupting, but I need to speak with you urgently."

His eyes widened at the sight of his wife at the door. He couldn't risk her being here. "Sara, not now. Go home." He held up his hand, indicating for her to stop where she was.

"No. Now." She asserted, she glanced over to the man standing in front of her. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she took in his figure. Her mouth slightly gaped as he began to turn towards her, her sight levelling on the large cross tattoo on his neck. He turned his head slightly until his eyes finally met hers. Sara let out a slight gasp, catching Thomas by surprise.

"Luca?"