Vito was bed-bound and still talking about dying - dying for cigarettes which his wife forbade him from smoking until he could rise from bed himself. It was a wound from the old country that always came to bother him at all the wrong times. As a younger man Vito Jurossi had the great misfortune of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. He had picked up a stray bullet from the 'Ndrangheta - the most dangerous mafia in Italy with "a reaching arm as long as God himself," Vito always said solemnly.
He preached the fear of both God and the mafia into his daughters so they would never get caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong person like he did. Kitty and Greta swore up and down that they'd never get involved with such characters. Kitty was a lot more cautious than her sister though. Secretly, Greta hoped to meet a gangster, even if it was in passing. The fear of God and the mafia meant nothing to her while she lived upstairs from her family's shop with fresh bread on the table each morning.
The day Tommy Shelby found her, she kissed her father good morning and received instructions on how to man the counter of V. Bova Jurossi's Italian Market. Vito told her to never turn her back to customers at the counter if she could help it. He gave her a long list with added descriptions of children and men he suspected of shoplifting. It seemed endless and Greta wondered why he bothered at all trying to stop them. If they were in such a need that they resort to stealing, then she would let them have anything.
"Give a shout, Margherita, if you have any trouble." He pinched her cheek lovingly. "There's a gun in the third drawer under the till for emergencies."
Greta stood bored behind the counter rearranging stale bonbons when she spotted him.
Tommy was looming like a ghost across the street and, in response, she immediately shut the door to her family shop, switched the sign to closed, and thundered up the stairs to the bedroom she shared with her older sister.
Kitty sat on the end of the bed, doubled over a tablecloth she was mending for the neighbors. It was easy work and earned Kitty the pride of adding an extra penny to the family savings. All their extra money was kept in a well-hidden jar behind their bottles of homemade anisette. Kitty always made a show of adding her pennies to the jar by loudly pulling a chair to the shelves along the kitchen wall and dramatically pushing aside the bottles to bring out the money jar.
"What are you doing?" Kitty exclaimed with a frightful jump as Greta stampeded into the room. "Greta!"
The mattress was lifted with a hard yank and Kitty nearly impaled herself on her sewing needle as she was thrown forward from the force. Greta snatched up the switchblade and hid it in the folds of her skirt. She ran out of the room without a word, leaving Kitty with more questions than she had before.
With the knife hidden on her person, Greta rushed back into the store and flung the door open expecting to see Tommy standing there. She wanted to give the knife back. She thought that was why he had come to find her. But only familiar Italian faces passed along the streets.
Confused, and almost disappointed, Greta resumed her place behind the counter. She'd keep the knife in her pocket from now on, she resolved. Just in case she saw that strange Tommy boy again.
Greta quickly found the days passing by slower in V. Bova Jurrosi's Italian Market compared to her time mending with Kitty upstairs. Mothers would bustle in with screaming babies, old men would haggle the prices of olive pomace oil, and children would come in, dirt poor, just to stare at the colorful assortment of candies arranged along the length of the counter. Taking pity on their hungry eyes and salivating mouths, Greta would loudly declare that she had lost a very important document under the counter and that she hoped no one would steal five pieces of candy each when she went looking. As she ducked under the counter she heard delighted giggles and scampering feet approach the counter and rush out the door. Those parts of the day were quite fun.
Sometimes she'd open the third drawer under the till and stare down at the black gun. She dare not touch it. She wasn't that brave. It would cause too much trouble.
But trouble seemed to follow Greta Jurossi. It was well into the afternoon when a tall man swaggered in. He was smarmy and greasy and, at the very sight of him, Greta immediately wished she had at least held the gun in her hand once to get a better feel of it against her skin.
"Just a carton of triple fives, love." He leaned against the counter with one hand and looked over his shoulder, eyeing all the products stacked up along the walls. His oversized head lolled around the shop - clearly planning on stealing more another day if only a little girl stood behind the counters.
Greta needed a stepping stool to reach the packets of State Express 555 cigarettes on the higher shelves. When she began to tell him the price, the man quickly interrupted.
"The old man and I have an arrangement."
"I am not responsible for any arrangement you've made with my father."
"Come on now, girl," he pushed the pack of cigarettes closer to her hand with a wicked and toothy grin.
"You pay the sixpence or you leave empty-handed."
The man shifted irritably where he stood, shedding the easy charisma to reveal whatever lingered underneath. "Or what?" he challenged. "You'll cut off my fingers? A little mouse like you?" He barked out a mocking laugh and covered the cigarette pack with his palm, ready to snatch it up. "A little twig like you can't do anything."
"But I can," a strangely familiar voice spoke from behind them.
Greta looked around the man's body to see Tommy standing at the door. His face was hardened and cold. It wasn't at all the way she vaguely remembered him from the Cut that night long ago. She couldn't tell if the pointed expression on Tommy's face made her excited or afraid.
Tommy stepped into the shop, blue eyes never leaving the man's. "I'll cut off your fingers and I won't stop there." He gestured to the razerblade sewn into his Peaky cap. "I'll slice out your tongue next. Then your ears. And finally gouge out your eyes."
Though she could only see his back, Greta noticed the way the man's body shuddered with anger and became rigid. He turned back to her and carelessly tossed the cigarettes onto the counter, sending it toppling to the ground by Greta's feet.
"I'll be back tomorrow," he growled at her before reeling back to Tommy. "With my boys."
Tommy stared. He was still, emotionless, shocking to observe. "And I'll bring mine."
Greta's heart fell at the words. So much for avoiding him.
The man pushed off the counter to stand toe to toe with Tommy, glaring down with cruel anger. They sized one another up and all Greta could do was watch on. Slowly, Tommy moved his body between the man and the counter where she stood. With one last look between Tommy and Greta, the man spat on the ground and threw his hands up in the air on the way out.
"You didn't have to do that," Greta snapped at Tommy, snatching the carton from the ground. "We deal with our own people here. Don't need any help from outsiders."
Tommy came to lean against the counter and watched her carefully replace the cigarette package with the rest. He hadn't expected her to fall over herself in thanks but a smile might have sufficed.
"People like him can't be allowed to get away with it."
Greta chuckled mirthlessly. "Isn't that what you people do?"
"You people?" Tommy repeated stiffly. He wondered how she was able to spot his gypsy heritage so quickly and his heart nearly sank to his stomach in disappointment.
Greta gestured to his cap. "People who sew razor blades into their caps. Ruffians and thugs."
A rush of relief blew between his nostrils. Tommy offered her a wry grin in response. "You really should be more careful of what you say to dangerous people like me."
He wasn't the threatening figure that seemed to fill the entire shop anymore. Greta now looked at the same bright eyed fool she met at the Cut. He stood before her with the same shy smile.
She nearly offered up a genuine laugh in jest. "If you're dangerous then I surely am too. What do you plan on doing to that man?"
"With a razer sewn into my cap, I'm sure you can use your imagination."
Greta tried to frown distastefully, just as her father would tell her to do when dealing with gangsters, but, as much as she tried, she couldn't swallow the smile creeping across her face. "Lucky for me, I've been told I have a very active imagination."
Tommy stood upright and watched as color rose to her cheeks. "I'll stay until you close up."
"You don't have to do that."
"I know." He wanted to.
They didn't talk much for the last two hours when the Jurrosi shop stood open. Greta busied herself with customers or intently concentrated on arranging products just so. Anything to avoid looking at him. Tommy leaned against the end of the counter, watching customers, watching passersby, watching her trying not to watch him.
When the open sign was turned to closed, Greta turned to face him head on, tilting her chin up to appear polite and proper.
"You can chose whatever you want. Food, cigarettes, liqueur. Whatever we have on our shelves."
Tommy looked out at the little shop with its crates and tins and bottles of olive oil. He shook his head. "I don't want anything."
"As gratitude from my family," Greta insisted.
Tommy shook his head then held still, staring down at her, separated by the wooden counter between them. "There is one thing I'd like."
Greta braced herself for whatever it was. Her knees began to wobble but she locked it in place, grateful for the large space keeping them apart.
"Your name."
She began to hesitate but realized there really was no point with him standing in her family's shop. "Greta," she finally said.
Tommy smiled. "Greta," he repeated. The brush of air through his lips as he said it was a shock of excitement. His stomach jumped at the very feel of it. "Greta Jurrosi."
"It's only fair I know your surname in return."
There would be an equal equity of information. What he knew about her, Greta resolved to know about him.
"Shelby."
She wouldn't dare test his name on her tongue. Instead, Greta silently nodded.
Tommy Shelby fixed her with another smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that made him appear older but handsomely boyish at the same. He gravitated towards the door, hands shoved into his trouser pockets, before turning back to her.
"I'll be seeing you tomorrow, Greta Jurossi."