Author's Note : Chapter 4! Sorry for the delay I've been very busy :) Enjoy
IV | GUILTY BY ASSOCIATION
Nechells were, in fact, a rather peaceful neighbourhood for all the twenty-and-two years of Caterina Cardinale's life. There would be an occasional pub brawl or a violent beating as a result of an unpaid debt, courtesy of Cardinale debt collectors, but other than that the most noise was created by flocks of children chasing through the streets.
And yet, for the second time in the same week its streets were plunged into chaos and frenzy as police officers swarmed into their homes pulling the men from their shops and their beds, overturning their pockets and cabinets for any sign of communist agenda.
Caterina had been returning from the company warehouse by the canal where she oversaw the sealing of the shipment bound for London. After months of pursuit she finally found a man willing to buy several expensive paintings she confiscated as a warning from one of the prominent clients she offered her protection to.
It was not her fault the interest rate was so high, she would tell the clients, it was the market. Not her fault they didn't read the tiny lettering in the contract.
Most came to their senses after the first warning - a flat tire of their car or one of her men following them around to keep them on their toes. Some were not so wise, like Lady Montague who was now a Rembrandt and a Turner short.
"Che cazzo..." The cars following her halted as she climbed out of her own, determined to find the answer to the mess at hand.
Several officers still lingered about, looking smug on their horses as the the inhabitants tried to pull together their possessions, some thrown out of the window, fruit and vegetables on the stalls turned over and soiled.
"Oi!" She marched over, pointing a threatening finger at the officer. "Who the fuck ordered this?"
The man in the uniform look at her lazily, as if she was dirt on his shoe that he wanted to get rid of. "Miss Cardinale, stay silent and comply."
"You get the fuck out of my neighbourhood." She spat on the ground in front of him, the officer's lip curling in disgust.
"Italian heathens." He muttered. Waiving a hand at his colleagues, they cleared from the streets, leaving the mayhem behind.
She ran a hand through her hair, a thousand thoughts running through her hair. The old sod somehow found out about the deal.
Her feet carried her down the street. Between a butcher's shop and a chemist rose a three story Victorian house, flowers adorning the windows and a green door between two pillars. Two men stood in front, in a heated argument.
Halting beside them she tossed the car keys to the younger of the two. "Put her in the garage." she called, not acknowledging the look of pure terror the boy had.
"If you scratch her I'll gut you." There was no doubt she actually meant it - her Bentley was her prized possession, the first thing she bought from her own money.
The other man was Giuseppe Bianchini, but that name was rarely used. Instead he answered to Mazza, which meant a club or a mace in Italian, quite obviously indicating his prowess in using the weapon. He was her father's cousin, once or twice removed - she could care less - and thus a man of trust in their organization.
"They overturned two restaurants and took five men on suspicion of being communists."
"Well if they are there's nothing I can do. You know how I feel about these new revolutionary ideas in my neighborhood." She said casually, trying hide the fact that she was troubled by the ordeal.
"Very bad for business." She pulled the recently acquired wad of money, reluctantly handing it over to Mazza. There goes my Rembrandt.
"Get some men and distribute these for damage repair."
Not waiting for his reply she climbed up the stairs. The entrance hall opened into an anteroom that led to the living room on the left and kitchen on the right. The sound of door closing echoed through the empty house. She sighed softly, dropping the coat from her aching shoulders, heels off and already forgotten by the entrance.
A wad of letters awaited her at the dinning table, most addressed to the company name. She flicked through them, softly tapping towards the spacious living room. She hesitated for a moment and them threw several into the fireplace. The paper of the envelopes curled and glowed, becoming one with the burning embers.
"Maria!"
A clash could be heard from somewhere in the house, a string of Italian curses following shortly behind. It brought a flicker of smile to her lips.
A short and stout woman of about sixty bounded into the living room. Her graying hair was disheveled and from her apron littered with stains peaked out a ladle and a wooden spoon.
"Have the cursed policemen taken anything?"
"No cara, I put the papers in the safe box." Maria huffed, seating herself in one of the armchairs. A cloth was slung around her stout neck, which she used to pat the sweat from her brow. Squinting, she noticed the papers turning into ashes in the fireplace. "Are those your father's letters again?"
"Oh yes."
"I see much of Vittorina in you. Not just the looks." Caterina unconsciously winced at the mention of her late mother. Eleven years had passed but the wound was still fresh like it was yesterday.
"She was strong and fierce, better than that little Napolitano of your father."
Cat snorted at the woman's open criticism. "He's Sicilian on his mother's side you know. Not entirely rotten" She glanced back, smiling.
Maria waved the cloth around as if dismissing such possibility. "Beh, a fool. I don't know how he charmed her."
"Dov'รจ mio fratello?" She couldn't remember the last time she saw him.
"Went to collect un debito, to Liverpool I think. He seemed almost happy when he left."
She rolled her eyed in exasperation. "Of course he was." He's probably beating someone to death right now.
Maria pursed her thin lips. "No more family dinners. You work too much, Francesco is never home and neither is that father of yours."
Caterina's heart broke at the face her old housekeeper made. She had been a part of the family for as long as she could remember, acting as a second mother to her. She read her a story before she went to sleep and cooked her favorite meals, she kissed her goodnight and patched her scraped up knees. Vittoria never had time for that.
"Well I'll be home for dinner." She spun around and soundly kissed the older woman's cheek, the latter eliciting a surprised squeak.
"And if someone needs me I'll be in the office." She called over her shoulder, disappearing up the stairs.
"Your father's office, cara?" The old woman called after her, a smug smile on her face. She already knew the answer.
"Maria, you cheeky woman! I'd say it's my office now, si?"
The old woman chuckled softly, folding her arms and leaning back into the comfortable armchair.
By the end of the afternoon, a walking storm in the form of Polly Gray sweeped in, tugging a disheveled Ada by her side. Hardly glancing up from the papers, she nodded a few times to the man in front of her.
"Un momento." She scribbled her signature on the papers, both her and the man rising to shake hands. With a tip of his hat to the ladies and a large wad of papers underneath his arm, he disappeared through the doors.
Caterina fell back into her chair. "I just bought a distillery. Father's going to murder me." The look on her face was hardly troubled - a triumphant grin. And I could care less.
Polly nudged the girl stood on her left with an elbow to her side. "Go on, tell her."
"Tell me what?" Noticing the tense look about them, she straightened up, eyes flickering between the two Shelby women.
Ada Shelby's face turned from pale as marble to blushing rose before she blurted out. "I'm pregnant."
For a moment she felt as if all the air had been knocked from her lungs. "Should I be congratulating you or hitting you over the head?"
"Oh stop it both of you, alright." The only Shelby daughter sulked into one of her velvet office chairs, crossing her hands like a petulant child.
"Ada, who's the father?" She was still trying to wrap her head around the fact Ada was seeing someone, a fact she was not aware of, and now she was expecting a child? Her wild, cheery friend Ada?
"Freddie Thorne."
At that revelation Caterina groaned in pain and clutched her head, letting it hit the dark cherry wood of her desk.
"Of all the people in Britain, you had to pick a communist agitator on the run from law!" She stared in disbelief. "By the Lord you really are a Shelby."
"And you're fraternizing with the Shelby's, what does that make you?" Ada bit back.
"I hate you."
"No you don't." Chirped Ada.
"Why didn't you tell me you two are involved? I thought we're friends, Ada." Her voice had gotten quieter, losing the anger it held moments ago.
"Because he's a bloody communist!"
"Well obviously! You think I would rat you out?" Going around the desk she grabbed both sides of Ada's face, making the other woman blink rapidly in confusion.
"Ada," She stated calmly. "I love you like a sister, and if you love him - well, I'll turn a blind eye to that fact. As long as he doesn't talk about fuckin' Bolsheviks and Marx during dinner."
The two dissolved into giggles. Aunt Polly watched the girls she considered her daughters, worry etched on her brow.
"We're going to Cardiff, on the day after tomorrow, to see a woman." The strain in her smile revealed her nerves and the underlying intention of the trip. She enveloped both girls in a tight embrace.
"What'd you say, a girls day the three of us? "
Extracting herself from Polly's grip she turned back to her desk. "I have to disappoint you, I have business." She reluctantly admitted, genuinely disappointed she would miss an outing with the two women she cared the most. She wanted to be there for Ada - no woman should go through such thing alone.
Ada perked up, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "With Tommy?"
"...Maybe."
"What are you two planning? It's those bloody guns innit? He should've gotten rid of 'em, I told him."
The maid must have brought the tea at some point because Cat caught herself staring at the porcelain teacup, suddenly far too interested in the way her little spoon created whirlpools, making the bits of dissolving sugar dance around the cup.
She sighed. "Listen, we've got a common enemy; he wants to start legitimate and I can help him, but I need help to get rid of Billy Kimber. So Tommy gets the bets and I get booze distribution on tracks." She tried to look anywhere else instead of Polly's furious stare.
"The two of you will get yourself killed."
Caterina bit the inside of her cheek, almost to the point of drawing blood.
"I know, Pol." She muttered. "But no risk, no profit. No?"
"A bullet with your name on it?" She grimaced, tracing the letters engraved into the side of the bullet. "Quite a straightforward message I say. You sure you can wage a war between three fronts?"
"I'm working on it." He took it back, stuffing it in his coat pocket.
The pub was full of life - men jollily bursting into song after their fourth or fifth pint, laughter and smoke and gallons of ale - behind the closed door of their private booth. His pint was only half gone but he was already lighting his fourth cigarette.
She leaned on her hand, the other tracing shapes on a crystal glass filled with gin. "How's that horse of yours? I'd love to see her."
A look of pride crossed his face, lighting up his blue eyes and stretching a smile across his lips. "She's a beauty that one. A month or two with Curly and she'll win me races like those rich steeds."
A throaty chuckle escaped her lips. "Tommy Shelby - you sound positively in love."
The dark haired man shook his head. There was something sinister and dark in the way he said his next words. Something broken, too.
"Nah, don't do love, darling."
They lapsed into comfortable silence. Thomas fidgeted with the lighter in his hand, a faraway look in his eyes. Then he met her eyes over the table.
"Come to the stables tomorrow. We'll take the horses out, catch some fresh air out of the city."
An hour more passed. The sounds of merriment dimmed down as the clock neared midnight. Thomas left, excusing himself over some business that had to be taken care of.
She transferred herself to the bar then, waiting for the last of the patrons to finish their drinks and stumble out of the pub and into the bleak night.
A quite flushed Grace took the bar stool next to her. "He asked me to go to the races with him. To Cheltenham." There was no doubt over who she was talking about.
It was all planned out perfectly ; he would take Grace in pretense of her bringing class into his appearance while Caterina would go with Kimber, listening in on his intel in the process. And yet something stirred inside of her. What if he actually wanted to go with Grace?
The Irishwoman furrowed her brows tentatively. "You're not mad?"
"Why would I be?" Her voice sounded odd to her ears, strained.
"Well I thought - I mean.. The two of you are so close. My mistake." The blonde stammered trying to dig herself out of the awkward situation.
She waved it off, instead plastering a wide smile to her face. "I say it calls for shopping."
She helped Grace to her feat, grabbing their coats. The barmaid shut the lights, enveloping the pub into darkness. When she locked the front, Caterina entwined their arms, the duo strutting down the Garrison Lane like two schoolgirls.
"Can't be seen at Chetlenham wearing something I've already worn, that would be preposterous." She imitated the way all those posh ladies simpered at the races, their laughs echoing in the deserted streets of Small Heath.
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