AN: Bit of a long chapter, but I hope you enjoy! Happy inauguration to the Americans! Kindness will ALWAYS prevail!

While Tommy, Ada, Polly, Michael, and Lizzie were having their company meeting, Lucia had come to the factory to drop off a hefty packet thick with documents. Though she was the consigliere she had declined a place on the Shelby Company board. She and Tommy had agreed that it might offer a level of transparency and assurance for the rest of the family that she wasn't a double agent for the Changretta's.

Either way, Lucia was happy to take a back seat to things, namely legitimate business which never seemed to interest her. It was good to leave Small Heath and see new sights on the way to the factory, always with one eye searching rooftops for gunmen. But there was a sober calm knowing she didn't have to worry about being gunned down or bludgeoned. Luca had promised that she would be the last to die.

Another reason Lucia jumped on an opportunity to run errands was to catch Arthur. He hadn't spoken to her since the family meeting weeks earlier and, quietly frankly, Lucia was surprised he had been able to hold out for so long, what with his new found relationship with God. She was impressed by the number Linda had worked on him in their few years of marriage.

Stalking through the factory, insignificant and invisible to the eyes of the men working at large machines and holding rods double their height, Lucia finally reached the metal stairs leading up the offices with a lungful of smoke. Above her there was the rattling of blinds as a door was slammed shut followed by heavy footsteps on the steel walkway. Lucia looked up to see Arthur, without his coat and usual pressed appearance, round the corner and advance down the stairs towards her. A gold cross hung around his neck, glimmering in the streams of sun coming in through the high windows.

"Are you off to the meeting?" She asked with a smile, hoping to get any answer out of him, but Arthur huffed past without a glance. "I'll get him eventually," Lucia decided. He couldn't ignore her forever. They had been friends for thirty years and Arthur was never one to stay mad for long, with his God or not.

Lucia made her way up to his office and pushed the door in with her shoulder. "Fuckin' hell!" Her head swiveled away from Linda, half-dressed and standing over a bin, cleaning between her legs. Waving a hand over her face, flinching at the stench of sex in the room, Lucia finally managed to say, "I'm glad I ran into you. We can finally talk properly now without the children screaming in our ears."

Linda gristled. "It might sound like screaming to you but it's like music to a real mother's ears."

Unaffected at the not-so-subtle insult at her stint at being an adoptive mother to Tommy's son, Lucia carelessly tossed the bundle of documents onto Arthur's desk and began toward the door out to the factory floor.

"Wait, wait!" Linda shouted before Lucia could turn the door handle. She composed herself, wiped sticky hands clean, and was ready to talk. "I don't want Arthur to end this vendetta."

The Sicilian shrugged. A long enough time had passed for her to come to terms with it herself. "It's tradition."

"It has to be you. Or Tommy. You both started this mess." Linda, only in a delicate silk slip, stood defiantly in front of Lucia. "Take responsibility for it," she demanded.

"It's tradition," Lucia repeated firmly. "If I could have it my way, I would put the bullet in Luca's head."

"Then do it!"

Remaining even-tempered despite the beat of her heart growing faster and faster with every bat of Linda's eyes, Lucia shook her head. "It can't be me." Linda groaned. "It can't be me! I married into this family, just like you! We play by their rules, by their traditions. We need to know our place."

Linda cast her head back in a mocking laugh. "You?" she sneered. "Your place is behind your husband. You're the only one who can change his mind. Don't pretend like you're some helpless wife."

"My place is beside my husband. And that means unhappy compromise. Arthur is the oldest. He has to end this vendetta. Linda," her voice was more sympathetic, "he'll be okay. Arthur is always okay."

"Arthur has suffered -"

"Since the war," Lucia finished with a hint of annoyance. "Yes, I know. I was the one who had the doctor give him barbiturates to help him sleep so he wouldn't hang himself in the middle of the night from nightmares. I have looked after Arthur for years! He is capable of so much more than you can imagine or appreciate." Her jaw set. "If you wanted a good man, you shouldn't have chosen from the worst of them. But you didn't want a good man, did you? You wanted a rich man."

Linda's lips parted to contradict the statement, hands dropping down to feel the expensive pink silk on her own body, but no words came out. While Lucia would have waited a moment longer for Linda to find her next words, the silence was sliced by the ring of the phone.

"Yes?" Lucia brought the receiver to her ear.

"Luc?" Ada's voice questioned from the other side. "Where's Arthur?"

Lucia swiveled on her heel to look out the office windows down to the factory floor where she had last seen him go. "He's not with you? He left a while ago." She spotted the guilt on Linda's face and the half-clothed office sex romp started to make sense.

"We've been waiting over an hour at the hospital. Tommy says -"

"Ada, wait!" The receiver pulled away from her and Lucia listened hard through the clanging of metal and plumes of fire. She had heard gunshots. "Ada, get a car here now." The receiver fell from her fingers and clanked against the side of the desk. "Linda," Lucia instructed as she rummaged through the desk drawers for a gun, "barricade yourself in here. Stay on the phone with Ada. Someone's on their way."

With that, Lucia loaded bullets into the magazine and ran down to the factory floor, listening into the clamors of the machinery for another gunshot. The pistol was concealed in the folds of her skirts when she heard it again. Several rang out from down in the loading docks.

Kicking off her shoes, Lucia tip-toed down the stairs into the dim hall, past reverberatory furnaces and work benches arranged with crucibles. The ground was soaked with paint and she cringed at the feeling of it seeping through her stockings between her toes. With only the light of the furnaces to guide her, Lucia caught a gasp at the top of her throat when she nearly tripped on a man laying lifeless face down in the dirt. She nudged him with her foot to get a better look at his face. There were several gunshot wounds across his chest.

Lucia leaned down and squinted past the darkness. He was an Italian but not one with Sicilian features. She braced herself and prayed to whatever god was listening that Luca hadn't enlisted the help of the 'Ndrangheta, the most feared syndicate operating out of Calabria, Italy. They were rich and ruthless and clever, and a fearsome enemy to face. The fact that the man had died was reason enough to believe he wasn't a 'Ndrangheta. Men of the 'Ndrangheta weren't so reckless and easy to kill. Breathing a sigh of relief, Lucia crept along the brick walls, a finger poised near the trigger, peaking into the shadows where the lights of the furnace didn't reach.

Through the darkness she could make out two men fighting with fists on the ground. The one pressed to the floor was Arthur - she caught the glint of his cross through the thin light. The spot where she crouched wasn't close enough to get a clear aim at the man so Lucia, praying again that she wouldn't miss, quietly slipped closer down the incline, pausing at the slightest noise she made, and extended her arms out in front of her, taking aim. Arthur was putting up a hell of a fight but that hadn't stopped the assassin from groping at the pistol an arm's length away.

For a moment, she considered sprinting forward and kicking the gun away and killing the man point blank, but her paint-soaked, dust-covered feet were firmly anchored to the ground. She wasn't that brave.

Lucia's heart was beating right at her ears, drowning every other sound out until all she could focus on was the task at hand. Her fingers weren't shaking. Her arms weren't weakening. Lucia lips formed an o and a sharp whistle pealed out. Aberama had taught her that. The assassin's head jerked up in surprise and that's when she pulled the trigger.

Though Lucia had intended the bullet to hit the man's forehead, it went straight through his nose and he fell dead on top of Arthur. She ignored the horrible squelching sound of bones breaking and the bullet lodging into soft tissue but she wouldn't forget it. Those sounds and images were starting to form a macabre collection in her brain, and Lucia realized she'd have to face it all sooner or later. She ran to help Arthur to his feet, pushing the body off of him and making certain the man was dead.

"You alright?" she asked while throwing his arm around her shoulder so she could support him back up to the factory floor.

"Those bastards didn't kill me." His voice was heavy and labored from the struggle.

The paint that had covered his face and shirt was starting to soak onto Lucia too. What a sight she'd be when Tommy arrived. "It's a shame there wasn't a pool going because we could have split the winnings like old times. Or you could have died and I could have kept it all for myself," she laughed.

"Ah, shut up, Luc." Arthur's arm curled around her neck so he could lean in to kiss her temple.

Polly and Tommy had just pulled up in two separate vehicles and were waiting with Linda outside, her coat tightly wrapped around herself, when Lucia and Arthur hobbled out looking a terrible sight covered in red from head to toe. While Polly and Linda guided Arthur into the front seat, Tommy ignored them both to race to his wife. He saw the blood all over her feet and lifted her up in his arms.

"You're hurt?"

"No, it's just paint," she assured and eased herself back down to the ground. "We'll need someone to clean up the two bodies at the loading dock."

Polly started the engine in her car and, before she, Linda, and Arthur took off toward Small Heath, threw back over her shoulder, "I'll send out some of our boys" and left Tommy and Lucia standing along the road.

Lucia began back into the factory to hunt down her shoes with Tommy trailing behind. "Two things," she said as she doubled over to snatch her shoes up from the ground.

"I'm listening." To prove this, Tommy chose a cigarette from the tin and brought a light to it, he pulled the smoke into his mouth and was ready to hear what she had to say.

"The men killed, they're not Sicilian. Magaddino is Sicilian."

Tommy furrowed his brows in confusion. "So? It could be Sabini's men. What does it matter who is working for Luca?"

"It matters, Tommy. Luca isn't using proper Sicilian men for this vendetta which means they're either mercenaries or the 'Ndrangheta. And if the 'Ndrangheta has a hand in this, we might as well give up because nobody goes up against them and survives. The 'Ndrangheta they're...they're less hierarchical, more casual than the Cosa Nosta. Their leaders are young and they have no interest in politics and in becoming a pezzonovante. They have no interest in being big shots like MPs, lawyers, and secretaries of state. They are much more blood, Tommy. The men in their clan are from the same family lineage, bound by blood. Their greatest strength is their solidarity and their ruthlessness."

"Other than that, what makes them different?" He lit another cigarette.

"They are bound by their own codes of honor and warfare. Luca might have agreed to no civilians and no children, but…"

Tommy didn't need her to finish. "Let's hope Luca's men are mercenaries. Might be easier that way."

"I hope you're right. If they are mercenaries we can buy them out. But if they're 'Ndrangheta, even our connection with Capone and Solomons won't help us."

"And have you heard from Capone?"

She shook her head no. "Have you heard from Solomons?"

"I have," he said but offered no more information. Lucia knew better than to press.

There was a month of quiet from Luca after the failed attempt on Arthur's life. Whether he was regrouping or lulling the Shelby's into a false sense of security, Lucia didn't feel confident in assuming one or the other. Luca had targeted his first attacks at the Shelby capo bastones, the underbosses, John and Arthur. He would either come back for Arthur or pick off the weakest of the bunch, Ada or Michael. Tommy made sure there were always men with Michael at the hospital and that Ada was with Karl. Though he hadn't completely ruled out the role of the 'Ndrangheta in the vendetta, it was easier on his nerves to believe Luca Changretta was a man of honor and would stick to their agreement.

It was dawn when Tommy Shelby met Alfie Solomons on the streets outside the house on Watery Lane. Alfie held a loaf of bread in the crook of an arm and his walking stick in his other hand.

"Good morning, Alfie."

Gruff as he was, Alfie looked toward the front door expectantly. "Where's your wife?"

"She's getting ready."

"Mmph," was the response and he began towards the house, bread still tucked under his arm. "I'll wait."

Twenty uncomfortable minutes passed between Alfie and Tommy as they sat in the parlor waiting for Lucia. There were no polite remarks on the house or the furnishings. Alfie sat the bread beside him after making sure there were no dents in the golden-brown crust from travel. He checked his pocket watch and mmph-ed again in impatience.

Soon after Lucia came down the stairs. "Hello Alfie."

"'Hello Alfie'? 'Hello Alfie'?!" His face quickly started to redden under the scruffy beard. "After all these years all you can say to me is fuckin' 'Hello Alfie'?"

Lucia stopped at the bottom step and tried again with another greeting. "I've...missed you, Alfie?"

This made Alfie even more worked up. He looked at Tommy. "This one," he jabbed a finger towards Lucia, "comes to me years ago, cryin', yeah, saying 'oh Alfie, Tommy Shelby doesn't love me anymore. I have to go to America. Lend me some money', she says. And I, being the kind and benevolent man I am for poor souls such as herself, I say, 'alright, mate, give me half now and you can pay the rest back once you reach your brother in New York.' Except," Alfie's voice rose almost comically. "Except this pretty little wop doesn't go to America, does she. She goes to fuckin' Sicily!" He turned back to Lucia who was flush with embarrassment. His imitation of her wasn't entirely untrue. "You owe me money!"

Rifling through her purse, she slapped thirty quid into Alfie's palm, "Here." She put another note in his hand, "As interest." And another, "For your troubles." She straightened. "And, just to show I'm a woman of my word," Lucia pinched his jaw between her fingers and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Now we're even. Mazal tov, Alfie."

"Oh, very good," he was talking about the kiss and turned to Tommy. "See, she asked me if we could have a shag before she left -"

"That is simply not true." Lucia rapidly interjected.

"Mmph." Alfie pursed his lips with displeasure, less on the account of being interrupted and more on account of being contradicted, then continued, "I," he made a sweeping gesture to himself. "I said no. 'You're just not kosher, love,' I said. But she insisted, mate. So I made the responsible decision and I said, 'next time you see me, Luce, I'll let you give me a kiss. One kiss. Nothing more.' That's what I said."

Lucia looked over to Tommy, who had patiently listened to the whole story, and was relieved to find him wholly unaffected by the ridiculousness of it all. "If my memory serves correct -"

"It doesn't," Alfie subverted.

Rolling her eyes Lucia continued, "If memory serves correct, that entire conversation happened but the roles were reversed."

"Nah," Alfie shook his head, rejecting her words and making another long-suffering mmph-ing sound again.

Deciding to play along, Lucia shrugged and, with theatrical sadness, said with a strain in her voice, "Ahh. Curse the gods that made me a gentile." It was a heartbreak Lucia quickly recovered from, beaming from ear to ear once her act was dropped. She looked between the two men situated on different couches, each a safe distance from the other. "Tea?"

Alfie accepted and, just as Tommy declined, Charlie came rattling down the stairs like a wild animal. Before he could jump from the fourth steps up and crash to the ground - Charlie always liked how angry Lucia would get when he did it - Lucia caught the child in her arms and swung around, cradling him against herself and peppering kisses along his soft cheeks.

"Let's go make tea," she cooed on the way to the kitchen.

"That's your boy?" Alfie raised his cane and gestured to the kitchen.

Tommy nodded.

"Fine bride you got there then. There are some in my community that don't permit step-mothers to touch the sons of their husband."

"She is a fine bride," Tommy agreed. He could hear his son's peals of laughter coming from the kitchen. If Tommy Shelby were any other man, he would boast endlessly about how generous and sharp and well-connected his wife was, her strength of mind, her endurance through suffering. He took especial pride in how this bitter world hadn't taken away any of her sweetness. If Tommy Shelby were any other man, he would have shouted it from the rooftops so all of Birmingham could hear. He wished Mary Shelby was still alive, they would have talked about Lucia for hours.

Tommy was only broken out of his thoughts when he saw Charlie amble into the parlor, a saucer and teacup clattering in between his small hands. Lucia followed close behind ready to catch the tea or the child if an accident happened. Charlie, already frightened of Alfie Solomons, slowly approached, the teacup tinkering even faster as he did so.

Graciously taking the saucer, unburdening little Charlie, Alfie grunted his thanks. Charlie, having never seen someone so interesting looking in all his young life, was engrossed with the large bushy bread hanging from Alfie's scarred face and the strangeness in his eyes. The poor little boy couldn't stop staring. Unsure of what to do, Alfie grunted again with a lunge, this time a little louder and a little fiercer, sending Charlie sprinting for the safety of Lucia's skirts with a yelp.

"You stupid man!" Lucia snatched the cap clean off Charlie's head and violently smacked Alfie's shoulders with it. "Have you never met a child before?"

Despite the blows, Alfie sipped at his tea leisurely.

Plopping the cap back on Charlie, Lucia ushered him towards the stairs. "Go fetch your coat so we can go to Auntie Linda's."

Charlie's shoulders slumped at the idea of going next door. Billy was still a baby and he was boring. "Can we go to the woods, please? You promised!"

"Later." She shooed him up the stairs. "Off you pop, piccola capra." Little goat.

"You're not coming with us?" Alfie asked, and Tommy noted that it was asked too quickly. Alfie Solomons was never one to be quick about anything. He took his time. The world always moved at the pace Alfie Solomons decided.

Lucia smoothed down the front of her apron. "No, I've lost close to fifty quid doing business with you, Alf. I'll leave the rest to Tommy."

This time Alfie didn't mmph but quietly rose from his seat and held out the loaf of Challah to her. "A wedding gift with my blessing. It's not what you wops are used to but..."

Lucia accepted the immaculately braided loaf, but her eyes lingered on Alfie longer. There was something strange behind his guarded stoicism. It was almost a hint of sadness that weighed heavy on his hunched shoulders. He looked like he was going to envelope over himself and crumple. Before Lucia could ask if he was okay, Tommy put a hand on her elbow to break her gaze from Alfie.

"Don't leave Small Heath until I come back," he instructed.

Much to their relief, Lucia and Charlie returned from Arthur and Linda's house earlier than anticipated. Baby Billy was boring to Charlie and Linda was still cold with Lucia, and poor Ada and Karl resigned to be stuck in between.

Ada had caught Lucia's attention and whispered, "Just get out of here with Charlie. I'll handle Linda. I'll give you a ring if I need you."

Gratefully accepting, Lucia said polite goodbyes and flew off next door with her husband's son bundled in her arms. Dinner from the night before was reheated and used again for lunch.

"When can we go to the forest?" Charlie asked over his plate.

Lucia tousled his mop of hair on her way to the stove. "When your dad gets back."

"When does he get back?"

"I don't know, my little goat."

"Does my dad love me?"

"He does."

"Do you love me?"

"Very much." She brought another forkful of her spaghetti with Siclian pesto to her mouth, hoping it would stop Charlie from continuing into a barrage of questions.

Charlie, sitting deep in thought across the table, studied his own food. "I know it's not my birthday and I've been a good boy, and..."

Holding back her smile, Lucia was ready for anything. "What do you want, Charlie?"

"A cassata for desert! Just a small one. I'll be good all week, I promise! I'll finish all my food and I'll even go to Auntie Linda's without a fuss and I'll play with Billy even though he's boring."

Just like his dad, she thought. "We can get one cannoli on our way back home. Yeah?"

He considered it carefully. "Two cannolis?"

"Fine."

"Then it's a deal," he reached across the take and held out his hand.

Lucia shook it with a proud grin. "You're starting to become a businessman like your dad."

"Do you think I can be as scary as him?"

"Your dad isn't scary all the time."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Not to you. He's just mean sometimes. I like you better."

"Well," she considered his words and was pleased to know she was the favorite. "He might be mean sometimes but he loves you the most. More than me."

Charlie stood up on his chair and put his elbows on the tabletop once Lucia cleared his plate. He sighed heavily. "Maybe you're right." He took another few moments to be pensive before hurdling up the stairs to play with his toy men.

But the relief of silence didn't last long. There was a loud commotion outside on the street and Lucia hurried to swing the front door open. A gaggle of children stood staring up at the giant who came along with Alfie Solomons. He wasn't the lumbering type but heads taller than Alfie and Tommy alike. The car tilted to one side when the large man sat in the back seat. From the door, Lucia watched Alfie settle into the vehicle and soon Tommy walked back to stand by her side.

"There's going to be a fight?" she asked. Tommy nodded. "Between Bonnie Gold and that thing?" He nodded again, hands finding the warmth of his coat pockets. "Ugh, what does he want now?" she groaned and stepped off the sidewalk over the cobbled streets to Alfie's window.

Alfie gestured to her with a waggle of his finger. When she leaned in closer, he said, "Just wanted to say, you look a lot like that brother of yours."

Lucia's body stiffened. Before she could question him, the car lurched forward and sent her stumbling back several steps to save her feet from being crushed under the tyres.

"What did he want?" Tommy asked when she had returned to the door.

She took a deep breath and waved off her husband's concern with a small laugh. "He asked if I'd give him another shot at a shag if you died first."

He followed her into the house, through the front room, and into the parlor where her coat was draped over a couch. "I don't think you should go out."

"Charlie!" Lucia craned her neck towards the stairs before focusing back on her husband. "What do you mean? It'll be fine. Our son has been hounding me to teach him how to talk to trees since Aberama put the idea in his head. Next he'll be asking you how to talk to horses!"

A smile pulled at the hairpin corners of Tommy's lips. He drifted forward and took her hand. "You said our son."

Lucia looked confused. "Did I?" She hadn't noticed.

The rumbling of Charlie's footsteps through the upstairs hall and down the stairs had Tommy and Lucia's head snap up as if they were being ambushed.

"How! How does one little boy make so much noise?" Lucia exclaimed, holding out Charlie's coat so he could slip his arms in. "He gets it from you." she snapped at Tommy. "Like father, like son. Or it's a learned behavior from Arthur - the big brute!"

"Take this with you at least." He followed his wife and son to the door, carefully slipping a gun into her coat pocket so Charlie wouldn't see. "I'll come with you?"

"Don't be silly, Thomas," she looped a finger through his shoulder holster and pulled him in for a kiss. "You don't know how to talk to trees."

He wasn't amused by the joke. "Luc."

"It will be fine," she pressed another kiss to his jaw, sneaking a hand into his pockets to reach the car keys. In a softer voice she added, "I have the benefit of knowing when I'll die. There's a long way to go yet. You stay here and manage your empire. I'm going to take our son for a ride out to the country."

Charlie was all giggles and questions on the drive out of Birmingham. Once the paved road had ended, the dirt path jostled the two occupants of the vehicle up and down further toward the trees until they were surrounded on all sides with just the road cutting through the green ahead of them.

"Do you think the trees will be angry about all the squirrel droppings?"

Lucia laughed and inhaled the fresh country air that rushed through the open windows. "Maybe! I wouldn't want to be covered in droppings. Would you?"

"Nooo," Charlie giggled. He got on his knees to stick his head out the window. The cool breeze blew past his face and through his hair. If Lucia hadn't hooked a finger through the belt loops on his trousers, the little boy surely would have tumbled out of the car and rolled along the soft tufts of grass under the trees. If Charlie was anything like his father, he would have quite enjoyed the fall.

"Careful now, love."

"Okay, mam."

It took all of Lucia's strength not to bring the vehicle to a screeching halt on the middle of the road. Easing her foot of the gas slightly, they continued forward. It could have been an accident, a slip of the tongue, Lucia inferenced. A slip of the tongue in the same way she had said our son to Tommy earlier. She married Tommy and that made Charlie her son too, but she certainly wasn't his mother in the way Grace was. Lucia began to panic. Would Tommy be upset? Would he think Charlie calling her mum was an orchestrated ploy by Lucia to erase any and all memories Grace? Her fingers danced anxiously on the steering wheel until they crossed a wooden bridge and parked in a grassy dell by the river.

Taking her husband's son by the hand, Lucia and Charlie walked into the trees, deep into the foliage past wildflowers and berries until the river running beside them narrowed into a stream. She squatted down next to Charlie and looked out over the grove of trees swaying and singing with the wind.

"Okay, Charlie, if you want to learn how to talk to trees you have to find the one you like first. Look at the way they stand, their branches and leaves. Look at the flowers growing under them and the bugs and animals living on them. Feel the bark - that's where their souls live."

Lucia watched Charlie walk from tree to tree with the same respectful love he showed the horses. There was so much of Tommy in the curve of his nose and the gentleness in his fingers. Her hand floated to the round of her stomach. It was that way from all her years of eating pasta and rich wines and cheeses. Unlike Lizzie's willowy figure or Grace's lithe frame, Lucia was wide-hipped and strong-legged. Even Noni had remarked positively on her child-bearing hips and Lucia, dropping her hand to where her womb would sit, considered an olive-skinned, blue-eyed child that would be a little bit her and a little bit Tommy Shelby. Charlie began toward her, pointing toward a tree, and Lucia shook away the thoughts.

"Did you find one?" she asked, allowed him to pull her to a towering English hornbeam. Its short knotted truck fanned out into several branches, clothed by pale gray bark, extending up into the vaults of heaven. Lucia ran her fingertips over the ridges along the bark. It was an old soul. "This is a good one, Charlie." She lowered down to her haunches and held him close. "Okay, Charlie, this is an old tree and he might need you to repeat yourself. You have to be patient and polite. Yeah?" Charlie nodded enthusiastically. "First, you have to ask if you can sit with him. This is his space and his roots go deep under the soil. You need his permission first."

Charlie took a gentle step closer to the hornbeam, careful not to disturb his roots. "Would it be okay if I sat with you, sir?" He listened carefully into the chirps of birds and the rustle of leaves. A robust gust of wind rattled the branches of the hornbeam sending its elegantly pleated leaves floating down to the ground.

"I think that's a yes." Lucia smiled.

She guided Charlie down so his back was flush with the trunk and his head leaned back to admire the sun twinkling through its dancing boughs. As Lucia taught her husband's son to understand the voice of the trees and respect their song, she wished Tommy could be there to watch Charlie patiently listen into the tittering of squirrels and past the voices of other trees. He would be so proud. She certainly was.

It was only when the chill of late afternoon sent goosebumps down their arms did Lucia and Charlie, hand in hand, walk back down the dell where the stream widened into the river. After two hours of listening, Charlie refused to say what the tree told him or if it said anything at all. Elusive as he was, Lucia didn't press. What's said between hearer and tree in confidence couldn't be broken.

"Why so glum, love?" Lucia asked as they approached the car. "Didn't you have a good time?"

"I did, but…" Charlie wiggled his nose and thought over his words again. "Can we come back again?"

"Certainly. We can bring your dad next time too." Lucia fished through her pockets for the keys with gloved hands. The keys landed on the padded leaves by her feet. As Lucia reached down to pluck it up again, she noticed deep slashes in the tyres. Her back straightened immediately and she reached for the gun Tommy had slipped into her coat pocket. Someone was close. "Charlie," Lucia softly said so as not to scare him and slowly pulled the slide back until she heard a click, "stay behind me and be very quiet."

Lucia knew they - whoever they were - had eyes on her since she and Charlie had left the grove and into the dell. Putting one steady foot in front of the other, she began to round the engine of the car. The heavy pounding of her heartbeat filled her ear and suddenly the chirp of the birds, the babble of the river, and the songs of the trees were muted and dull.

Her eyes flicked toward the bridge over the river. There were no fresh tyre tracks. There were no brushes out of place by the riverside either. There was nothing and yet there was someone somewhere.

An arm lunged out from behind the vehicle, knocking the gun out of her hands and groping for her wrists. With a scream, Lucia kicked and struggled to rip herself away from the body that belonged to the tight grip. Charlie held onto her skirts, confused and equally terrified by the sight unfolding before him.

"Run across the bridge, Charlie!" she screamed. The man tried to close the distance between their bodies and Lucia desperately pulled further away. Just when she thought she could elude the man's grip, her feet slipped in the wet leaves and she collapsed to her knees - making her vulnerable and easy to be overpowered. She struggled to her feet, quickly raking the ground with her eyes to find the gun. Her heartbeat grew louder. It was her only chance. Charlie was struggling toward the bridge with his short legs, slowing down as he looked back to see if she was following close behind.

"Mama!" he began back again with arms outstretched and tears pouring down his face, desperately frightened and wanting only to be in the safety of her arms.

Lucia whipped around to face the man, armed with the sharp end of her keys at ready between her fingers to fend him off again, but he braced himself against the car, grunting and heaving like a wild boar poised to charge forward. He didn't move and neither did Lucia.

"Run, Charlie." Lucia's voice cracked. A sob had caught at her throat. The man didn't move. It was like he was waiting for orders to strike. Charlie collided with the back of her legs, grabbing at her skirts and her blouse, begging her to pick him up.

Seconds passed but it felt like an eternity with her eyes locked with the man. Lucia knew whose order he was waiting for. The chill at the base of her spine was enough to settle it. She waited a split second, dropped the keys, yanked Charlie up in her arms, and sprinted toward the bridge. The back of her shoes - not made for running away from the Cosa Nostra - began slipping from her heels and Lucia couldn't help but let out the sob she held in, clinging to her son just as tightly as he clung to her. Any hope she had to live was fading. Her footsteps landed heavy on the wooden boards making up the bridge.

"Lucia!"

She plowed forward.

"Lucia, stop!" Luca called out.

Lucia stumbled toward the end of the bridge, nearly landing knee first in the mud when her shoe came off of her feet entirely. There was nowhere to go where they wouldn't find her - no secret world between the trunks of hornbeams or convenient coincidences to save her. She felt Charlie's tears soak into the front of her shirt and she slowly turned to face her brother. He pursued her with long strides, quickly closing the space between them. He lifted his gun.

"No!" Lucia screamed, holding Charlie even tighter and feeling him cling to her in fear. "We do not do this with the children! You promised!"

"I'm not going to hurt the child." Luca stopped in front of her and tried to pry Charlie from her arms. His voice was calm. "I'm going to hurt you. Wipe your face."

She struggled to keep Charlie in her grip. Luca was stronger and she was weakened from the first fight. Charlie whimpered behind her, holding onto her ankles for dear life. Lucia felt his warm cheek pressed against her calf.

"Wipe the tears off your fuckin' face," Luca spit out with venom.

"No." She locked her jaw and pulled her shoulders back defiantly.

He raised his gun again. The cold metal stung her forehead. "Wipe your fuckin' face."

"I won't. You can't do this with the children!"

"I don't care!" He roared, pushing the muzzle of the gun roughly into her forehead and sending her head back. "I don't care. You're behind it all. You broke omertà."

"I'm a woman," she snarled back but without as much force as she felt bubbling inside herself. "Omertà doesn't apply to me."

Luca's nostrils flared in anger. If he wanted her dead, she would be dead already. He was hesitating and Lucia could tell. She raised her chin. She was daring him to pull the trigger. The tears were drying to her skin. She was ready to die.

A muffled bang sounded in the distance and was quickly followed by a bullet whizzing past her ear. It ripped through Luca's sleeve and sliced through his skin. The gun flew over the side of the bridge in his surprise and he clamped a hand over the wound, retreating back to where his man waited while keeping his eyes glued to the tree line where the shot came from.

The space between the two Changretta's widened as a hail fire of bullets rained down toward Luca. Lucia had dropped down to the dirty bridge, her body carefully laid over Charlie to protect him from shrapnel and splinters of wood. A car engine started down the road, past the Bentley, and she looked up just in time to see her brother and his man climb inside and peel down the country roads. The back window of the car was shattered with a bullet and the car traveled even faster out of sight.

The bullets stopped, leaving only an echo rising through the trees and into the sky, and Lucia cautiously lifted her head. She sat up with her back to the water and searched the same tree line her brother had. Several figures emerged from the shadows and began toward the bridge.

"Mam." Charlie fell into her chest, his little arms wrapped around her neck, and whispered in her ear, "The tree told me it would happen."

"What?" Lucia breathlessly asked, too distracted by the men who approached her to hear what he had said. "Aberama?"

He shouldered his rifle and held his hand down to her with a smile. "Seems I'm still your guardian angel, little cow," he said in Shelta.

Lucia wiped the fresh tears that threatened to escape her stinging eyes and took his hand.

Preview for chapter 14:

"I want to die," Lucia said into the darkness.

It didn't answer back, but Tommy Shelby did.