XXXII BET ON US

THOMAS SHELBY TOOK EVERY MOMENT after the war as a debt he never took up, but the one he had to pay back all the same.

And to whom? To God, for letting him live even after he prayed day and night for him to end his suffering, down in the endless abyss of tunnels, of damp earth and even damper prospects. To life itself, perhaps, even though it paved his way with barbed wire and hedges, even when it took and took and asked for more, threw him into the mud and left him to fight his way back up with bare hands and gritted teeth.

No more climbing, not this time, only mud.

Eye for an eye, life for a life. It was Death that would come as a pale rider to avenge all the lives that stained his hands since France, a debt collector of the imminent kind.

Was it because he didn't pray enough? No, God rarely had anything to do with bastards like him.

Thomas Shelby knew Death was inevitable even before they forced him to his knees in the muddy field somewhere outside Epsom and pointed a loaded gun to his head. He had seen it many times, all its forms and shapes, felt it fill up his lungs and his brains.

Once, he would have welcomed it like an old friend.

Now, however, it was only regret that collected like a familiar stranger. Everything, he had nearly everything, right there in his hands and now it's disappeared like a quicksand through his hollow grip.

As Thomas kneeled deep in the mud — it stained his suit, the cold soil soaking greedily into the fabric, turning his stomach with memories he so long tried to suppress and yet here they were again, wrapping their pale hand around his throat — he tried to recall some prayer or another, some of those that Polly tried to engrave into their brains back when they were little and the most of their worries revolved around the rain and the sun.

None came to his mind save the foreboding tune of a Christmas carol they sang back in the trenches, the Small Heath Rifles, a promise to be recited over each of their graves.

How funny it was, that he'd have to say the words for himself.

Thomas Shelby was a selfish man, yes, because there was only one person on his mind, the love of his life to whom he promised he would return to, no matter the cost, no matter how many lives he had to take to taste her lips again, to hold her tight and never let go again. He promised her the world and yet there he was, kneeling, waiting.

Thomas waited for a gunshot with his eyes closed firmly shut, ready to die with her name on his lips.

8 HOURS EARLIER
DARBY DAY, LONDON

OUT OF ALL THE POSSIBLE DAYS it could choose from, London traffic decided to be utterly chaotic on May 31st, or as it was most commonly known in the elite circles of England, the Epsom Darby Day. Caterina's Bentley made a sharp u-turn through the crowded streets of London, a bounty of curses leaving the brunette's mouth as she narrowly dodged yet another pedestrian.

It was not hard to spot the ragtag group sporting flat caps, crowded over a very familiar trio on the side of the road. There was Johnny Dogs with his kin, John and Charlie leaning on the side of the truck.

She parked right behind their shabby truck, quick to hit the brakes and slam the car door behind her. The one man she was looking for was standing in the middle of the group, smoking his cigarette as he explained something.

"Tommy!"

His head snapped up, clear eyes widening at her appearance. Caterina hadn't seen him for days, neither of them knowing if the other was well, cleaning up messes in their own domains, him off to London and dealing with Alfie, and her pacifying Birmingham's Italian population.

Thomas moved in her direction, making the men around him part like the Red Sea, meeting her in the middle. In a matter of moments her hands were around his neck, lips pressing eagerly against his in relief. The lit cigarette fell out of his hand, one resting on her waist and the other finding its way into her bouncing hair.

All the longing, all the trepidation that bloomed in their hearts vanished and poured passion into their embrace, a clash of lips and teeth, painful and feverish and content. Cigarette smoke and a faint scent of peppermint, it was a combination she could never be sick of, not if it was him, never if it was him.

Their reunion was cut short by a very offended, "Oi!"

The two lovers detached from each other, only to come face to face with the group watching them wide-eyed and jaws nearly touching the floor.

"When the fuck did that happen?" John coughed out after he nearly choked on the toothpick perpetually stuck to the corner of his mouth.

"How long have you been keeping this from us, you fuckers?"

Seemingly nothing could erase Tommy's smug smirk as he rested one of his arms around his girlfriend's waist, a small, seemingly unimportant gesture that helped him stay anchored with his trail of thoughts. "Ah, it's been a few months, hasn't it?"

Cat shared his smile, thinking back to all the secret moments they shared over the last months, the hiding only adding to the flame — the wildfire — that was their budding relationship.

The silence suddenly turned into cheers of delight, the loudest of them being Arthur. "I knew it! Pay up, pay up, lads," he took off his hat, going around the circle to collect the money of the other's who bet on Tommy and Cat.

Cat raised an amused brow his way. "You bet on when we're getting together?"

"Godammit, Esme and I missed it by two months," groaned John, taking a bob out of his pocket and putting it into Arthur's flat cap.

"Told ya I have a nose for it," the eldest Shelby winked slyly at Cat, making her roll her eyes.

"Good to see you too, Arthur. How was prison?"

The eldest Shelby laughed heartily. "Oh, fuck you!" he reached forward to wrap one of his incredibly long arms around her shoulders. "Come 'ere, sister."

"Well done, Captain," Johnny Dogs gave Tommy a pat on the shoulder. "Ya better treat her well else we'll come for ya balls."

"Captain?" Tommy quirked an amused eyebrow

"Eh, we promoted you. The boys and I figured you're no longer like a Sargeant Major. Ya got your girl," he sent Cat an over exaggerated wink, "Use your fancy words. I'd say you're more like a captain these days."

"Fine, I'll take it as a compliment. Just don't bloody shoot me," he chuckled before dropping a quick kiss on Cat's lips and motioning for the boys it was time to leave.

"Let's go out of here, the Lee's are waiting for us halfway there. Finn, you ride with Cat," he instructed his youngest brother, making Finn groan and the rest of the men laugh.

Caterina shook her head before throwing a hand over Finn's shoulders and leading him to her car. "You're with me, laddie, come on," she ruffled his hair, bending down slightly so no one could hear her whisper in his ear.

"I'll even let you hold a gun if you stop pouting." Safe to say, Finn was smiling like a child in a sweetshop all the way to Epsom.

IN A FIELD, SOMEWHERE outside London, Tommy was propped on the bonnet of his car, gun sling thrown over his shoulder and his girl standing proudly on his side.

"Gentlemen, my lady, today, we are not fucking about," he started. "I hope you've all obeyed instructions and brought loaded firearms with you," his cool eyes scanned the crowd and nodded in aprooval once they held up their guns and rifles.

"Very good. You will all know that if you are lifted on a racetrack these days with a loaded weapon, you get 20 years. That's all right. Today, you won't get lifted. Because today, there will be no coppers around to lift you," noticing their confused expressions, Tommy explained. "At exactly three, there will be an incident in the owners' enclosure and all the coppers on the track will be diverted. All of them. They will be looking for someone. So you will be free to operate at will."

"Looking for who?" Arthur piped up from the side.

"Me. They will be looking for me," he paused slightly, feeling Cat's hand slip in his own and sqeezing it in reassurance.

"Now, while the coppers are busy with me, you will make your move on Sabini's pitches. You will confiscate his takings, you'll destroy his licences, and you do it at gunpoint. He usually has police protection, so they won't be armed."

Caterina nodded in agreement on his side. "If anything happens, I have my men stationed all around the track in case we have any problems," she gave her own sleech that very morning, in the place that once used to be the company's headquarters. It was a place filled only with regret now. "They'll be burning Solomons' liquor licenses, so you boys might have a nice bonding moment."

"We should aim to complete the takeover without a shot being fired, understood? And remember, the licences are more important than the takings," Tommy dusted off his pants and got down from the car. "All right. Before the fun begins, you can all lay ten bob on Nom de Guerre. I hear she's going to win."

A cheer went through the group, a few happy sounding Romani curses coming from the Lee's.

Caterina clapped her hands while John went around, collecting bets. "Only beer beforehand, boys, and plenty of time for rum and whisky after," she ordered lightly.

"And remember, do not make a move until 3:00. When the coppers leave. That is all." Tommy dismissed the crowd, as he took Caterina's hand in his own, tugging her closer into his side. She took a pack of smokes out of his front pocket without a word, lighting hers before she passed it back to him.

As the remainder of their force dispersed and made their way into the trucks, Arthur approached his brother who was just lighting a fresh cigarette. "Incident? What are you going to do that's going to make every copper at the Derby look the other way?" Despite his unyielding trust in Thomas, Arthur couldn't help but notice his tense posture, the way he tapped his fingers against every surface he could find.

Instead of answering Thomas threw him a weak smile. "Trust me, brother," he exhaled the smoke out of his lungs.

The Italian couldn't help the ever growing spot of worry growing at the nape of her neck, slowly spreading over her every nerve. "That's what we usually fear the most," she added quietly.

Feeling the irregular beat of Tommy's racing heart underneath her hands, she pressed her cheek against his chest, enjoying the last moments of solitude before they set off to the Darby, and quite possibly, to their doom.

CATERINA WAS JUST PLACING a bet on Nom de Guerre when out of the corner of her eye she spotted a long awaited guest enter the tent. Field Marshal Henry Rusell shared a drink with a fellow soldier, both of them in distinct uniforms that separated them from the common people, before he strolled towards the owner's box where all the high profile guests could warch the race in peace without mingling with the lower class.

As the Field Marshal moved, so did Tommy.

What if it was all a grand set-up, bound to end up with Tommy six feet under regardless of the job being done or not? If Tommy settled his bills, who was it to say Campbell didn't do the very same thing, arranging someone to kill her lover even if he himself were killed? The worry gnawed eagerly on her nerves, twisting her stomach unpleasantly.

She took her paper slip form the bookie and pocketed it, making her way through the crowd and after Tommy who was disappearing out of the tent.

"Tommy, wa–stop for a second," she called after him, trying to keep up with his pace. She finally reached him at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the owners' enclosure, out of breath.

"Not now, love," he replied, eyes flickering over to Russell at the top of the stairs, the Field Marshal already tipsy from the whiskey he had downed at the bar.

"I just need a minute more," she urged him, a desperate look in his eyes. All she wanted was a minute more, something good to hold onto while she waited.

Tommy sighed lightly, taking her hand and leading her into a secluded corner beneath the steps, away from any prying eyes and ears. "Cat, it's about to start, you know what happens if I don't do this," he faced her again when he let go of her hand, flicking his eyes upwards every few moments so as not to lose sight of Russell.

"We went through it together—"

"And yet you still refuse to tell me how will you do it," Caterina whispered furiously, crossing her arms over her chest. "I need to know so I can intervene if something goes wrong."

No one save Tommy Shelby could think that this was a something he could deal with all on his own. It was always him against the whole world, and now just as he was starting to let her hold the cards, he had returned to his one man crusade.

"Nothing will go wrong," he reassured her faintly, throwing the rest of his cigarette on the ground.

Caterina let out a frustrated sigh at his stubbornness. "So you want me to write it down for you? You want me to say it? I'll fuckin' say it–" her hands grabbed the lapels of his suit, pulling him slightly downwards and forcing his cerulean blues to look straight into her whiskey coloured eyes.

"–I love you, Thomas fuckin' Shelby. And I'll be damned if I let you slip through my fingers again." Her lips trembled involuntarily, and she had to bite down on it, hard, lest her heart burst out of the confines of her chest.

Tommy's eyes softened. "Listen to me," he reached up to wipe a stray tear that escaped her eye, cupping her face,"Cat, listen to me. When all of this is over, and I promise you that's today, we'll talk about the future, aye? Our future."

The woman's breathing stopped, tensing underneath his grip.

"Our future?"

"Us," he promised fiercely, ducking down and capturing her lips in a long kiss, filling it with all that remained unspoken, left to be said in a thousand languages when he came back.

"Tommy?" she whispered against his lips when they parted, their foreheads still touching. They could've stayed there for an eternity, and neither would have minded.

"Come back to me."

"I'd burn the whole fuckin' England down to come back to you."

IN THE OWNER'S BOX overlooking the stadium filled to the brim with the rich and the poor alike, Tommy Shelby stared out of the magnificent french window at the crowd milling around Sabini's and Solomons' bookies.

He heard her heels click even before he could see her in the reflection of the glass, a dark figure that kept staring into the back of his head with unhidden contempt.

"You didn't even have the decency to tell her you're doing this?"

Tommy's voice is a mixture of exhaustion and exasperation. "Lizzie," he turned to look at the woman standing behind him, dressed in her finest evening clothes, a frown marring her elegant features. "Please don't lecture me on relationship honesty. You'll get your pay for the day."

A tense silence enveloped them, Tommy trying to persuade her with the same cold stare he used on Alfie, the ruthless negotiator. But Lizzie Stark would never truly bend to the wills of a man.

"I am not doing this for you," she dismissed him with a wave of her hand, fishing through her purse for the engraved cigarette holder Cat gave her for her birthday.

"I know. I am sorry," there was an inkling of honest regret when he addressed the woman Cat held in such high regards. A dash of shame because he was using her, again, his employee who wanted to leave her past behind so desperately.

"Don't you say it, Thomas," her dark eyes left no place for discussion. "You'll never be satisfied. And I'll be damned if I let her spiral into that destructive trench of yours."

THE CLOCK STRUCK THREE, the false gunshot signaled the start, and suddenly all the policemen stationed around the racetrack disappeared into the owners' enclosure.

It was time for work.

While the Blinders and Lee boys made their way around the bookies, Caterina signalled her men to follow her example and take over the liquor stands. She herself took the liberty of rattling the first one.

Only one bartender was currently behind the bar, an older man with a thick moustache and pudgy arms, quietly washing the glasses and whistling a cheery tune. Adjusting her coat, Caterina strolled casually behind the bar with an elegant smile on her features.

The man spotted her just as he was nearing him. "Sorry' madam, are you lost? You can't be here– " he said politely, until he felt the unmistakeable coldness of a gun touch his leg.

He raised his eyes slowly from his leg, to the woman who was now grinning in his face. "I'm gonna ask you very carefully, sweetheart, to retrieve the license you keep in the middle cupboard under the bar," she said as is she was making small talk.

"What license?"

The brunette rolled her eyes dramatically. "Please, carino, d'you think I was born yesterday?" He could recognise her Italian accent, but he was sure she did not belong to Sabini's gang. His boss was supposed to be in an alliance with him, against the Birmingham– oh. A look of recognition, and then terror crossed his face.

The cold metal of the gun dug deeper into his leg. He whimpered. "Don't even try making a fool out of me. This gun is positioned on your femoral artery. If you try reaching for anything else except the license, the bullet will rupture it and you will bleed out in less than five minutes."

She wouldn't deny that there was something awfully sadistic, and yet entirely satisfying in making men squirm under her fist; watching as their adam's apple bobbed and their breaths turned ragged and shallow; watching as they turned a shade of ashen grey and sickly green in the face; watching as they tried to quietly mutter a Hail Mary, as if it would save them from the she-devil that had come to claim their life.

"Who—Who are you?" The bartender shuddered once he passed her the paper with an official stamp and a signature. She ripped it in a quick flick of her wrist and then proceeded to retrieve a lighter from her pocket.

The license burned in her hand, and from the other side of the flames she met his watery eyes. "You worst nightmare."

SATISFIED WITH HOW THE DAY was progressing, Caterina made her way through the people, searching for any familiar faces. Luckily, she had just spotted an empty seat in the courtyard when Finn passed her by, a furious look on his face.

"Finn, hey," she reached forward, grabbing his hand before he could leave her sight. "What happened?"

The boy in questioned scrunched up his flat cap, throwing if forcefully onto the ground.

"I'm sick of this! I'm not a baby anymore, I'm fourteen! By that age those three did all they do now and I'm not even allowed to go to the Garrison without someone breathing down my neck," he ranted, turning red and pink from the amount of frustration in his posture.

Caterina's eyes softened at his disheveled appearance, leading him to sit down for a while. "Talk to your brother, Finn."

The fourteen-year-old simply rolled his eyes. "Yeah, this family is sure famous for their emotional talks," he scoffed.

"D'you want me to talk to him?"

"No, I–" he paused to compose himself, pursing his lips in contemplation. "I want to do something on me own. I don't know what yet, but I can't deal with my brothers anymore."

"That's my boy," she dropped into the chair beside him, taking a moment to breathe properly. And yet, the nagging feeling that something was going terribly wrong plaguing her like a terrible itch. She checked her watch again.

"It's nearly four already. Have you seen Tommy?" Finn shook his head with a no.

"Right, hold this," she passed him the leather satchel slung over her shoulders, the boy almost dropping to the ground at the weight of its contents.

Ever the curious one, Finn took a peak into the bag — it was filled to the brim with guns and ammunition. "Wha–what–" he stumbled over his words, closing it tightly and whiping his head around, hoping no one saw it.

Guns, and ammo, and knives! Finn sweated underneath his cap. What if a policeman, what if, I can't–

Entirely unconcerned, Caterina was already several feet away, leaving a very panicked Finn Shelby clutching at the satchel as if his life depended on it. "I'm off to find your brother, don't get into any trouble."