There was only a handful of minutes left until two in the morning when Lucia rolled out of her empty marriage bed and shuffled down to Tommy's office. A dim glow of light emanated through the frosted glass on his door and Lucia, rubbing the sleep from the corners of her eyes, pushed it in without knocking. They could all do away with courtesies so early in the morning.

Tommy, standing over his desk, looked up when the glass rattled and the door swung open. His wife entered the office in a plain cotton nightgown, a strap falling off one shoulder, drifting in like some somnolent goddess.

"You didn't come to bed," she observed on her way to the decanter to pour herself a drink. It would help her wake up faster.

"No," he shook his head, hands propped on either side of his hips. He swept his eyes over his desk to make sure everything was in place. The wires to the phone were connected and it sat on the middle of the tabletop. The chair was in place for Lucia to sit. He would position himself on a couch further down the room when the call took place. "Hello," Tommy greeted his wife with a quick swipe under her lip. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," she confidently answered, side-stepping past him to sit at the desk, and finished her drink. "These bloody Americans - making us call after their supper. Six hours behind us!"

Tommy held a cigarette at the corner of his mouth to say, "Sacrifices need to be made."

"Easy for you to say," she scowled, "you never sleep. You don't need to put your son to sleep either." The phone rang at the top of the hour exactly. "At least they're punctual." Lucia counted out five seconds before bringing the receiver to her ear.

The negotiations were beginning.

"Bona sira." Lucia switched to Sicilian for the start of the conversation. It was a test to gauge Lombardo's proficiency. He had been in America for a very long time but remembering his roots was important. "Signore Lombardo?" she asked into the receiver with the sweetest lilt in her voice.

The line was quiet for several moments before a rough voice cut through. "Cut the shit. None of these power games."

Lucia's eyes met Tommy's. She straightened in her seat. There would be no games. "Alright," she answered back in English. These Chicago men were even more gruff, uncouth, and tactless than she had been told. Even more so than Alfie.

"My grandmother said she knows you. I phoned her in Scopello."

"Yes, she was very kind."

"She told me you looked after her and her goats when you came from Erice for a new start. Said you were like a granddaughter to her." Lombardo's voice was like gravel and the same venom from earlier was still undercutting each word. "For that, you have my gratitude." There was another pause. "Are you speaking for your husband?"

"I am not speaking on behalf of my husband just as you are not speaking on behalf of your Don. We are two consiglieres speaking to each other."

Antonio Lombardo scoffed. "A woman can't be a consigliere. Strike one."

From his place on the couch, Tommy watched the color drain from Lucia's face. She bit the inside of her cheek. He saw her eyes shifting back and forth, calculating, looking for the right course of action to pursue. Lucia was smart; she chose silence. Tommy stood and made a gesture whether he should take the phone but she shook her head. She managed to find new words.

"In the year that Capone has been boss of the Chicago Outfit, I have been incredibly impressed with his ferocity. You have my respect. I — "

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with your respect?" Lombardo laughed, cruelly and without ceasing. "Strike two, Signora Shelby."

Lucia's fist clenched in her lap. It was all she could do from not shaking in anger. What a relief that she hadn't married him. Deciding to shift her approach one last time before surrendering the phone to Tommy's waiting hands, Lucia started mirroring the same forceful poison in her own voice.

"Alright, asshole, the business is bootlegging. Since the start of prohibition, Mr. Shelby has been transporting five hundred bottles of single malt scotch whiskey in the same crates as car parts. These exports are going to Boston, and the New York families, already too wealthy and self-important, are benefiting from it. We are offering you these products at a reduced rate to be delivered to ports in Baltimore, Norfolk, and Charleston. Baltimore, so crates can be shipped along the railroads for faster delivery. Norfolk and Charleston, so you can beat other families to the land. Plus, there's good business in those south-eastern ports. Sailors are bored and have spare cash. Speakeasies for gambling and," she spit the last word out, "prostitution."

Antonio Lombardo released a grunt at the end of the line followed by a length of silence. "Why do you come to us? What have we done to deserve Mr. Shelby's generosity?"

Tommy expectantly studied his wife's impassive face to gauge any idea of what was being said on the other end of the conversation.

"You're real full-bodied men. Not like those New York pezzonovantes. I am offering you an advantageous friendship with a man who has Winston Churchill in his pocket and fifty percent of the profits." The persistent silence on the other end assured Lucia that she had piqued Lombardo's interest. "We, of course, would make assurances that all deliveries will arrive on time with minimal damage. Any car parts you have no use of can be transported to Detroit and all profits you can keep." She leaned forward in the seat, bringing her voice closer to the brass candlestick speaker, almost daring them, "Is Mr. Capone amenable to this?"

There was a muffle as though a hand was clamped over the handheld receiver, and a new voice spoke from the line. "We've checked your background, Mrs. Shelby." Capone's voice was brusque and guttural, the Brooklyn accent still very prominent despite his years in Chicago. "You're on the wrong side of a vendetta. Magaddino is providing arms for your brother and that cocksucker fucker Sabini is protecting him. You married the man who murdered your family, and now you're making deals with us? You're a bitch with no honor."

Lucia didn't answer. There was nothing to gain by refuting a universal truth. "I may be a bitch with no honour, but I'm a bitch that can make you even richer. Give you more power and leverage to extend your business out of Chicago."

"What's to stop the New Yorkers from snuffing us out?"

"New York," she scoffed. "They see you as ruffians, mad dogs, black sheep. They're more likely to go down to Miami for the drug trade. Maryland, Virginia, South Carolina are the prime middle grounds. Control the Baltimore-Ohio railway, and you'll control lines to Cincinnati, St. Louis, Pittsburgh, Toledo, and whatever the fuck exists in West Virginia and Kentucky."

"And for all this generosity, all you want from us is?"

"All we want, Mr. Capone, is your friendship." After a beat she offhandedly added, "and occasional access to said ports under your protection. With your discretion, of course."

Capone grunted, still unimpressed. "Your husband. He's, what, Irish Catholic?"

She looked up at Tommy. "Yes, he is."

"My wife is Irish Catholic. My parents," he continued in the same casual pace, drawing out vowels in ways Lucia couldn't possibly replicate or comprehend how. "My parents figured for an Italian boy, an Irish wife was seen as a status symbol. Plus those micks fuck the best."

"Indeed they do," she answered flatly despite the smirk thrown towards her husband.

"Put him on. I made a decision."

Lucia finally held the receiver out to Tommy. It was her turn to pace across the room in worry, listening to one side of a conversation. With trembling hands, she refilled her glass with whiskey and stayed close to the bottle until the phone call ended. It was close to four in the morning, and the shadows of dawn started across the skies over Birmingham.

When Tommy hung the receiver back, Lucia incredulously asked, "He agreed?"

He nodded and quickly slipped his arms through his coat sleeves.

"We get fifty percent?" Her voice was breathless from all the whiskey. "I thought he'd try to negotiate down. I added so much other shit in just to throw him off the numbers."

"He agreed anyways. You did good." Tommy put a gun in his shoulder holster and took the glass from her hand to set on a side table. His expression was blank but Lucia felt something coming. Taking her face, Tommy placed a kiss over her brows, her eyes, her nose and her jaw, and finally to her lips. He leaned back to drink her in. "I should have married you years ago." He brought their lips together again. "We're going out this afternoon. Buy a dress. An expensive dress." Tommy's eyes dropped down to her mouth, her jaw, the perfect curve of her throat.

"Why an expensive dress?"

"So I can tear it off of you."

Lucia's eyes widened and all she could do was nod in agreement. "You're not going to sleep?"

Tommy adjusted the shoulders of his coat and opened the door to his office. "Capone wants the first shipment sent out today."

"Do you want me to come help?"

"No, I'll wake Arthur. Go back to bed and find that dress in the morning."

"His accent was so peculiar, wasn't it?" Whether it was the whiskey or just morbid curiosity, Lucia suddenly hung her lips into a pout, eyes squinted, and brought her neck forward in a lazy droop, "'Iham Ahl Cahpone." Tommy's bark of laughter was all she needed to keep the exaggerated imitation going. "'Iah like loose women bhat I like my Irish Cahtolic wife bettah.'" Lucia straightened and switched to her normal cadence with a successful grin.

"Is he suddenly a cowboy?"

Lucia recoiled in offense, blowing out a scoff that sent wisps of mostly alcohol into the space between them, and shrugged in agreement. "I'll keep working on it. He's not so bad."

"No, he's not." Tommy, hands buried in the pockets of his coat, didn't stop his lips from twisting into a broader smile to match hers. A moment of quiet passed as Lucia caught her breath and Tommy admired as she did so. "You did good."

"With the voice, you mean?" she asked.

Tommy shook his head and shrugged at the same time. "With everything. I should have married you years ago."

"You married me at the right time." Lucia stepped forward to pull the collar closer up to his neck and buttoned the coat closed over his chest. He wouldn't catch his death of cold - not if she had any control over it. "Come back soon. You need to sleep. If you're going to tear apart a pretty dress of my choosing, I expect rigorous lovemaking."

In the morning, nearing noon, Lucia stood in front of the mirror and pulled at the pleated gown draped across her body. Pretty brown beads were stitched along the sides of the gown and around the sleeves, and the French provincial green hue of the silk seemed to lighten her olive skin. After another look at herself, mostly to admire the gown, Lucia breathed out a contented sigh. She tied a gold embossed belt around her waist and smoothed the pleated skirts down over her stomach. The silk gracefully contoured to the curves of her breasts and her hips, narrowing down her legs to her ankles. Tommy would enjoy tearing anything off of her but especially this. It was made by a Spaniard, Mariano Fortuny, in Italy. She had been attracted to the rich green of the silk. It reminded her of the trees surrounding Birdie Boswell's caravans. It was like her; made in Italy but colored Mincéirí.

There was a knock at the door. Before Lucia could answer, Polly let herself in. "Tommy's waiting downstairs."

"He hasn't slept for a fuckin' minute."

"Dirty words for such a pretty girl. He won't be able to close his eyes once he sees you." A small smile threatened to brighten Polly's usually dour face as she walked toward the vanity. "He told me about the deal this morning. We're all proud of you." She tapped the tip of her finger on a tube lipstick and gently pinched Lucia's cheeks to tint the skin a rosier red. "You've made your bones with us, as you Italians say." The smile was spreading now. "Welcome to the family, love."

Down in the kitchen, Tommy lounged back at the table, nursing a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other, all while fighting off the sleep that pulled at his eyelids. But when he saw Lucia the drink was abandoned, the cigarette was tamped out, and sleep seemed so far away. He had promised to rip the dress off of her but now, with her standing in front of him, Tommy Shelby didn't even want to touch her in fear she'd disappear entirely between his fingers.

Lucia ran her hand down the pleated gown and looked expectantly up. "How does it look?"

Tommy didn't answer. Couldn't. A warmth pulled at his chest that no cigarette or strong liquor could replicate. He looked at Lucia and nothing else existed. Suddenly he was the man who would shout her praises from the rooftops. And suddenly he was like the crows who couldn't leave a place without finding the one thing to bring back to her. All Tommy Shelby could do was nod enthusiastically until he found his words. "Beautiful."

"You look dead tired." Her fingers carded through the tussock of hair that fell over his forehead. "Did the shipment go out?" He nodded and sat back at the table for another moment of rest before he had to be up again. Lucia closed in, almost floating forward, guiding his arms around her waist and his head against the soft pillow of her stomach. "Good things are in motion, It'll get better now," she sighed, rubbing soothing circles at the nape of his neck. The tightly cut hair thrummed under the graze of her fingertips. "Maybe you should sleep."

Tommy shook his head no, burying his face deeper into her warmth and tightening his hold on her body. "Some bad things are in motion too." The words were muffled into the silk pleats. "I need your help with it, all of it. Please."

"You don't have to ask," she leaned down to kiss the top of his head, nudging his chin up. "What do you need me to do?" Jokingly, she added, "If you want me to kill for you, I'll need twenty-four hours notice."

Despite the exhaustion in Tommy's eyes, Lucia could tell that was indeed what he needed her to do and she didn't have twenty-four hours to make a decision. The cigarette tin fished from his coat pocket felt cold to the touch, but the warm smoke rolled around her tongue and Lucia braced herself for whatever he had in mind.

"I've put guns in the backseat of the car. We're going to drive into an ambush."

Lucia shuddered. There was a pause while she took another pull and motioned him to go on.

"We've got our men and the Lees on rooftops with your Molotov's. Alfie said your brother came in with eleven men. If you couldn't recognize the ones in the factory, then Luca ran out the men he trusts and is now working with mercenaries."

"Not the 'Ndrangheta?"

"No, Alfie would have said."

"Well," she scoffed and a puff of smoke settled in the small between them, "Alfie's an opportunistic bastard even if his bread is well-baked." The Challah had been eaten almost immediately. "Why don't we just buy them out? Sell 'em to Capone?"

"We'll wait for an opportune moment for that, eh? You might have to do some killing today." Tommy leaned away and slid a rough hand behind her calf to lift her foot up to his knee. She found his shoulder to keep balanced, bracing herself against the excitement sparking from his sudden touch as his fingers travelled up her leg. Tommy pushed aside the silk and caressed the soft skin under her thigh.

"This," Lucia, already panting in anticipation, started, "isn't the right place to tear my clothes off. As much as I would like you to have me on the table."

With his free hand, Tommy brought up a drop leg holster and began strapping it around her thigh.

"Oh," she flatly observed, disappointed. "If we get out of this ambush alive, I'll insist on the lovemaking I've been promised."

He pulled the last strap firmly in place, kissed the inside of her thigh for good measure, and agreed full heartedly, "you'll get it."

She could feel the warmth of his palm through the silk. A quick fuck on the table didn't seem like a bad idea for a moment. But Tommy caught the wicked glimmer in her eyes and, before Lucia could flop her mouth open to make the suggestion, he smoothed down her dress and made his way toward the back door. Any other day he would have cleared the table and thrown her on it but, today, his bones were soaked with exhaustion and she was looking too beautiful to touch.

Before following her husband into the chilly car, Lucia lifted the hem of the gown to avoid mud and horse manure and bought an apple from the fruit vendor at the corner of Watery Lane. Tommy gave her a look when she sat by his side.

"Killing makes me hungry," she explained.

"Firstly, you've killed two men in your life. That's not enough to make a generalization like that. Second, you didn't get me an apple?"

She laughed and gathered her skirts again, one hand outstretched, palm up. "Give me money, I'll get you one." With a theatrical scoff she stepped out on the street again. "If you're going to treat me like a maid, you better —"

"Fuck you like one," Tommy finished. It was on her list of things to have him do to her. "Yeah, yeah, I remember. Hurry up, it's almost time."

Lucia was all smiles when she came back and the car jolted forward. She carefully placed both apples in the glove compartment, making a silent request to the heavenly forces at work that the car wouldn't explode during the ambush and eviscerate the fruit. She was hungry. "I don't give you enough credit for listening to me." She stroked the back of his neck again, completely forgetting the precarious situation they were going into as he drove around corners and narrow alleyways. "I want to try being a nurse again."

"Absolutely not, Luc." His eyes scanned the rooftops to take account of where the Blinders were situated. "The war nearly killed me and you would have finished the job if you had your way."

"You didn't tell me that I had to compress your chest slowly. Am I at fault if Queen Alexandra's Imperial Nursing Service rejected my application?"

"You nearly broke my fuckin' ribs." Tommy spotted a car following close behind. He pressed forward, navigating back towards the overlap of Nechells and Small Heath where all the Blinders were waiting.

"I'd like to say that my rescue kisses were administered with excellent precision." Lucia had spotted the vehicle, too, through the side mirror and reached into the back seat expecting to pull out pistols, revolvers, and rifles. Instead there were two large Thompson submachine guns. "Holy shit."

"Leave those," Tommy instructed. "Load the handguns in the bag next to 'em."

If Tommy's voice hadn't been strained with tension, Lucia would have made a lewd joke about yet another role she'd like to play in his bed but found herself too busy loading magazines with bullets and putting them into his coat pocket. She kept one for herself.

Her fingertips outlined the shape of the gun strapped to her thigh. As long as Tommy kept driving, she wouldn't have to worry. As long as Tommy kept driving, he would be close and he could protect her. Pangs of fear and worry only set in when the car slowed to a halt in front of a large tenement building. Laundry lines with white sheets flapped overhead. It was her old apartment complex.

"Are you scared?" he asked, taking her hand as they walked toward the building, each with their own weapon hidden away on their person.

"No," she lied but quickly amended her answer to a truthful, "Yes."

As they went up the stairs, the second car squealed to a stop. Tommy's grip tightened around her fingers. At the top of the first landing he pulled her to his chest and placed an innocent kiss on her jaw - he used the movement to approximate Luca's distance from them. They were playing the role of honeymooning lovers, and Lucia couldn't help but tremble as Tommy led her up the next flight of stairs. And then the next. And the next.

"Stay inside, ma'am," he said to the women collecting their sheets and aprons from the line.

When Tommy heard the sound of feet on the stairs below them, his pace quickened. Lucia nearly tripped over the blocked heel of her shoes paired with the elegant beaded hem. Tommy continued, almost at a run. He pulled his wife along with one hand and brought out a knife with the other. At the corner of two long open air halls lined with apartment doors, coincidentally the same floor Lucia had once lived on, Tommy stopped and leaned over to slice the expensive silk grown from her knees down. He tossed the fabric over the side of the railing.

Appalled, Lucia cried out, "if I knew that was what you meant by tearing me out of my clothes, I wouldn't have paid a small fortune for this damn dress!" Admittedly, it was easier to move without the pleated skirts. All she had to do was throw the shoes down to the pavement too. If she aimed correctly, it might go through the windshield of Luca's car. The opportunity to unburden herself came when Tommy yanked her into an empty unit.

Lucia immediately kicked off her shoes and peeled away her stockings.

Tommy wanted to chastise her. He wanted to say she'd catch her death of cold without shoes, but they didn't have the time and he was abundantly grateful that she was willing to throw herself in harm's way with him. Instead, he took her face between his hands, kissed her for what felt like the first time, and finally said, "They'll come after you. Lead them up, then you go down. Our boys up top will take care of the rest." He put his knife in her pocket, touched the holster on her thigh, and cocked the handgun before placing it in her cold fingers. The footsteps outside were getting louder and Tommy's words were coming out faster. He kissed her again and pressed the car keys into her palm. "When you get down, get the Thompson and run it to me on my signal."

"Okay." Lucia nodded vigorously, not wanting to let go of him when he moved toward the door.

Tommy threw one last look at her. "I love you."

"And I love you," she replied.

Her rapidly beating heart dropped to her stomach when he disappeared out the door and down the stoop. She counted down from ten in preparation to burst out onto the narrow halls where her brother's men could easily pick her off. Just as she bolted to the door, the deafening blast of bullets echoed from the direction Tommy went.

"Holy shit!" Lucia clapped her hands over her ears and stumbled back into the empty flat. She could even hear empty shells tinkering at his feet as they fell. Tommy would later tell her that it was a Lewis machine gun, made out of Birmingham, with a pan magazine fitting close to a hundred rounds, that could fire off 550 rounds per minute. Soon after, suppressive fire followed from Luca and the five men with him. She would be dead on sight if she stepped foot outside.

When the shrill whistle of bullet rounds had subsided, Lucia dropped her palms from her ears and made ready to throw herself out of the unit once more. She should have used the chaos of the Lewis machine gun to relocate because when she stepped foot out the door, she collided head on with one of her brother's men. It was for the best. If he hadn't run into Lucia his rifle wouldn't have fallen over the side of the balcony and it would have been significantly easier to take aim at Tommy Shelby.

"Vafangool!" the man bellowed when he looked down to see his rifle on the streets below. Fuck you!

Lucia regained her sense of direction and pulled the handgun from her coat pockets. "Ah, vafangool you!" The man was Sicilian but, if she had taken that into account and hadn't put two bullet holes in his chest, he would have strangled her with his bare hands. Without having enough time to check if he was dead and say a prayer over his body, Lucia glanced through the rusted metal bars on the guardrail to see one man dead in the mud and, quite by accident, caught her brother's eyes. "Fuck!"

Luca didn't miss a beat. "I'm coming for you, little Luci!" His heavy footsteps rattled the metal beams welded securely along the stairwell.

Lucia's eyes swept over the building, hoping to catch sight of Tommy on a corner or firing off another machine gun from a higher floor. But Lucia didn't see him. She scrambled to her feet and ran toward the first set of stairs that would take her higher up. Lead them up, then you go down. The soles of her feet stung as it slapped down against the frozen concrete and the metal stairway. Frustrated by the heaviness of her coat, she shoved the car keys and Tommy's switchblade into her brassiere, held the handgun firmly in her hand, and shed the coat entirely. She regretted the decision almost immediately when a sharp gust of wind blew through the halls and easily passed through the thin, now tattered, silk wrapped over her body.

While Luca was prowling around laundry and over the body of his dead comrade in pursuit of his sister, a storm of gunfire echoed through the hall on the other side of the building where Tommy was bursting up stairs and through doors, hauling an MP-28 rifle with him. Bullets blew towards him, shattering glass and splitting the corners of bricks, sending shards of glass, dust, and bits of burning metal into the air around him. By chance Tommy looked across the stoop and spotted the green of Lucia's gown. She was bounding up the stairwell two steps at a time to put enough space between herself and her brother. She was going too high up. She'd be cornered. Tommy rattled gunfire through bedsheets to kill the Italians behind it.

"Luc! Go back down!" he tried to scream, waving his arms in an attempt to get her attention. Instead, Luca sent bullets raining towards him and Tommy ducked around the corner, searching the rooftops for any sight of Arthur and the Lees.

Lucia's breath was turning ragged. She realized she would have to turn around eventually and shoot down at her brother and receive shots back at her. At the last floor, she raced across the hall to the second set of stairs to rush back down again. It was more a game of cat and mouse, and soon, when Luca inevitably caught up, she'd be gobbled up and spit out. Hiding behind a curve in the brick wall, Lucia peeked back. She couldn't see Luca. There were too many shirts and sheets hanging in the way. She gripped the gun tightly between her shaking fingers.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," she muttered under her breath, desperately looking around to see where she could escape to without being cornered and shot down upon. There was no sound of Luca's footsteps, but she dared not peek around to make sure. Her feet burned from the cold. Without thinking, she sprinted toward the stairwell just in time to miss Luca's bullets which turned the supportive bricks to dust.

"Killing you would be a mercy, Lucia!" he roared after her.

Breathless and filled with adrenaline, Lucia ran inside the building away from the open air. There were more places to hide inside - more places to take a breather. She stumbled down curved staircases. There were four more flights left to get down to the car. Lucia slapped a hand to her breast to feel for the keys. Despite her jostling and jumping, it was still there.

The halls were dimly lit. She could hear babies crying and mother's praying behind the doors she passed. The gunshots had stopped and every time Lucia's bare feet skid against the dirty floor the sound pounded against the walls, hollow and empty. A long staircase broke the line of apartments and Lucia cautiously peered behind her then down to the next floor. Proceeding forward, she pressed her back to the wall and raced down as quietly as she could. The moment her foot landed off the last stair a hand shot out from around the corner and clamped over her mouth.

"It's just me."

Lucia twisted her head far enough back to recognize Tommy. Her muscles relaxed momentarily - rather prematurely because shots rumbled from the floors above down on them. Tommy yanked his wife back and folded his body over hers. A ricocheted bullet nearly caught him through the neck but whizzed past their ears and lodged itself into the soft drywall. Tommy grabbed the gun from her hand and abandoned his empty rifle to the dust littered ground.

"I'll take care of the rest. Go to the car. Wait for my signal," he hurriedly instructed, pushing her toward the end of the hall which would safely take her down to the back of the building and closest to where the car was parked.

Though gunshots continued to ring behind her, Lucia hurried down the remaining flights of stairs and faced the door that led out. With a steady hand, she slowly turned the handle and peeked out. Her hand snaked up her dress to unbutton the holster on her leg and bring the gun close to her body, at ready, in case she was charged at by the enemy. Slipping back out in the cold, she passed abandoned tables covered with tools and soot-covered canisters. An open space of twenty feet laid out between Lucia and the car. The two men who had remained by Luca's car had been reduced to one when he had called for backup. Considering shooting the man, Lucia hesitated a moment. That's when a shot from the rooftop rang out and the man slumped dead onto the ground.

"Arthur," Lucia grinned and ran out into the open, gesturing up with a wave of her hands that it was her. Johnny Dogs, perched on the rooftop beside Arthur, waved back. Arriving beside Tommy's car, Lucia stuck a hand into her brassiere to fish for the keys. Her heart sank when she only felt the knife. There wasn't enough time to retrace her steps. The key could have fallen along the staircase or the hallway or in the mud and trampled under her weight. There wasn't enough time to find out which it was. She scanned the ground for anything heavy enough to break the window. With no luck, she took a few steps back, aimed, and fired a round through the laminated glass. It shattered out like a series of overlaid cobwebs. Lucia put another shot through, braced her fist against her chest and broke through the fractured glass. A searing pain went down her arm as she reached into the sharp glass in to unlock the door.

Hauling the Thompson gun into her free arm first, Lucia snatched out the fifty round drum and clicked it in place. She struggled with balancing the weapon between her arms though it weighed a little under fifteen pounds. It was only halfway up her walk toward the building did Lucia notice the reason for her struggling; shards of glass poked out from her elbow, deep scratches down her forearm, and a ugly splotch of blood already stained the side of her pretty green dress. Wherever he was in the world, Lucia said a quick apology out loud to Mariano Fortuny for ruining his beautiful design.

A sharp whistle pealed out from around the back of the building. It was Tommy's signal. Lucia, unable to feel the cold mud under her feet, took off towards the sound. If Tommy hadn't caught her by the waist as she rounded a corner, she surely would have fallen back on the ground and sent a spray of bullets up to him. Tommy yanked the gun from her hands, pushed her out of sight behind a tower of barrels and boxes, and showered a round of bullets just where Luca and his last two men stood behind a wall and dropped back down beside Lucia. With a pained yelp, another one of Luca's men caught the bullet and collapsed. It was two against two now.

Luca fired into the tower of boxes and crates in vain, his drum of ammunition completely empty, he threw his weapon to the ground and stepped forward, seething with anger, "I know you own all the cops in this fucking town! But you'll be dead before they get here."

Tommy lunged up to his feet.

"Tommy, don't!" Lucia tried and failed to grab onto his coat before he stood to face Luca head on.

A dull quiet settled in the dirty, trashed alleyway. Lucia looked up toward the rooftops to see the corners of sleeves and the glint of rifle barrels advance. The crate closest to her was filled with paint cans, opened and easily combustible. If she assumed correct, Arthur and Johnny Dogs were lighting Molotov cocktails and were getting ready to drop it down between them and Luca. There was no chance to warn them otherwise. All she could do was count down from five.

Four.

Several arms extended out over the rooftops with lit bottles in their hands.

Two.

The fall.

One.

Impact.

Lucia sprung out from behind the boxes, grabbed the back of Tommy's collar and yanked him to the ground just as two shots rang out. Several splashes of flames went up, separating the Shelby's from the Changretta's, licking at the boxes and wooden crates Lucia had been hiding behind. From above, several shots were fired down on Luca and he quickly retreated back, past the tenements, leaving behind his fallen men.

Rolling out from under Tommy, covered on one side with mud from her black hair to the heels of her feet, Lucia tried her best to pull him upright and make a run for shelter, but the fiery petrol and oil concoction spread through the barrels, the boxes, and licked at the paint too quickly for Lucia and Tommy to take cover behind the car first. The crate of paints caught light and an ear-splitting bang threw them both several meters forward, beating down splinters of wood and rocks and metal down behind them - turning into black flumes rising towards the gray skies.

When Lucia managed to raise her chin from the ground it felt like she had been punched in the back of the head with a large fist. Her eyes ached and her body too. On the bright side, she thought, she couldn't feel the pain in her elbow or the numbness below her ankles. Lucia turned her head to look for Tommy but he had already crawled toward her, relief replacing the terror in his eyes. He pulled her into his lap and held on tight, rocking back and forth to ease the fear that had caught hold of him.

"I thought I lost you." He wiped the streaks of mud from her cheek and pressed his forehead to hers.

From around the corner, Arthur and Johnny Dogs ran forward and pulled Tommy and Lucia to their feet. "The coppers are coming. We gotta go!"

"I lost the keys." Lucia struggled to say but, with a small smile, Tommy held up the keys she had dropped in the hall.

Clamoring into the vehicle with Johnny behind the wheel, Tommy beside him, and Arthur supporting Lucia in the back, they sped back down to Small Heath. Blasting into the ambush had bought them a few weeks while Luca reorganized. That would give the Blinders enough time to establish their business in America and strangle Luca's supply source in New York. Tommy twisted around. Lucia was slumped against Arthur's shoulder, fighting off fatigue from the blast.

Arthur pressed a kiss to her temple and nodded assuredly at his brother. "She's alright."

"Consigliere of mine." Tommy was hungry for another victory. He waited until his wife raised her heavy head. "What's next?"

AN: Terms, Phrases & People:

pezzonovantes: This translated directly to "0.90 caliber." It's used to mean big shot or someone with a lot of influence.

make your bones: To achieve status and respect. It's originally an American English term so not historically accurate to mid-1920s Birmingham, but it's a nod to The Godfather by Mario Puzo which I've used as reference material.

Vafangool: The Sicilian form of the Italian vaffanculo or "fuck you/off". This phrase was used in the 1972 film The Godfather. It was delivered brilliantly by Talia Shire who played Connie Corleone.

Mariano Fortuny was a real fashion designer with his own couture house in the early 1900s. The gowns he designed are really gorgeous and were even displayed at The Met at one point. (I'm glad this is all just fiction because if Tommy really look a knife to haute couture I would strangle him.)

Preview for chapter 16:

"I want a tattoo," she slurred. "Just like yours."

"What?" Tommy laughed. "Why?"

"Because Polly said I've made my bones. After...how long in this family?" She tried tallying the years on her fingertips but quickly lost count. "How old am I? How old are you? What year is it? We're so old. Half our life gone already. That is why I want a tattoo."