AN: Warning, Tommy gets very angry at the end of the chapter and it may be slightly triggering to you(slap). The rest of the chapter is fine.

The stands went silent, mouths dropped and cigarettes ignored. Everyone watched the girl, invisible steam circling her head. The precision of the ball hitting the mere cigar almost made her temper redeemable. How she managed to not hit a single person was impressive. The councilman's men waited for a clue to address the situation, but the middle aged, white haired man simply waved off the men, his eyes following her as she stormed out of the stadium, her guardian following at her tail. Thomas Shelby himself was left speechless. A man never short for words, found himself unable to comprehend what had happened. She had fire in her, which pissed him off, but that day? He could not put a single blame on her. They underestimated the young girl's skills and she left them speechless. She did exactly what she needed to do…be memorable. Whether a storm would follow was the question. Thomas Shelby stood, evening out his wrinkled jacket and flicking his smoke to the ground, and followed the girl. She'd been walking at an impressive speed, mumbling under her breath.

Amelia couldn't bear to look at the man next to her, thinking he'd give her a lecture or scold. If the belt wasn't warranted for an office invasion, surely he'd give it to her that night. It was best to give a scorned face and look out the window, the London buildings moving past. He'd helped her from the car at the train station, whispering gently, "come, Amelia." Much to her surprise, he took her hand in his, thumb massaging at her palm. "You want to put your cardigan on? It's cold. Here." They paused together at the entrance of the station, sticking his smoke between his lips to hold it. Kindly, the cardigan was placed on her bare arms. When she'd assume his affection would end, his calloused decorated hands took her cheeks, thumbs swiping the tears under her eyes. "Come, we will take the earlier train home."

On the train, he browsed the articles in the news while Amelia observed the passing scenery. Tears would come and go as she switched between her emotions. Tommy didn't press her, only interrupting her grieving sessions to hand her small chocolates and water. At first, she'd been stubborn, ignoring the sweet, delicious confectionary, but Tommy grinned when her eyes kept glancing at them. "Mmm," he hummed, fingers gravitating to one, fingers playing at the wrapper. Like any child, she quickly grabbed them, protective of her sweets. "Thought so." Amelia did not want to speak, shoving them in her pocket and curling up, looking back out the window. "Hmm, you're not going to speak to me now? That's fine, love. You can rest. When we are home, I'll have Polly make you some lunch."

Since they were not due to arrive back in Birmingham until later, Arthur was not waiting with the car. They walked. Tommy kept her close, hand finding its place back wrapped around hers. He'd hadn't walked that much since he was young, but the air was nice for it minus the urban dust. When entering the Shelby-Gray home, everyone anticipated a great story, but smiles were soon turned to looks of concern. "Go on to bed, Amelia." Softly, he patted her back before taking off his sports jacket, leaving it hanging neatly on the rack. Without looking at anyone, he said, "Colm hadn't exaggerated her temper. Her future husband better hope she doesn't swing frying pans as she hits balls."

Polly stepped forward, confused. "Tommy, what happened?"

"Oddly," he continued, turning to his family, licking at his cigarette before lighting it. A long drag was needed. "Oddly, I'm not angry…unsure if it's the drink I'd been drinking or what, but I'm not going to strangle her. In fact, Finn, bring her a sandwich and some milk, hmm?" Finn wasn't pleased with the order, but he agreed, making his way to the kitchen. Polly was not pleased with the explanation, still lost. Tommy knew everyone was waiting, but he had to sit to even begin to process what had happened. Taking a chair from the table, he sat and leaned forward, running his fingers through his hair. "The ball hit the cigar-"

"Tommy, you're talking crazy," John interjected. "What the fuck happened?"

"Oh, I am getting to that," he said, pointing his finger, humor sprinkled between the cracks in his voice. Complete disbelief! "The man had been holding a half smoked cigar…nearly a fucking nub! Like this!" Pinky up, he pointed to the second knuckled. "Whacked it! Right out of his fucking hands."

"Okay," John sighed, throwing his hands up. "We'll pretend your riddle is coherent."

"Oh, it'd make better sense if it fucking was," he said, a grin tugging up. "Precision like you've never seen. A straight shoot, John. I couldn't be mad at her even if I tried."

"Spit it out, Boy!" Polly snipped. "C'mon, get to it. Did it go well or not?"

"She grabbed everyone's attention," he said instead. "No one had been looking at her, speaking amongst themselves with drink and smoke. Amelia got irritated and right in the fucking middle of the stands, she shot that ball. Where did it land?"

John rubbed at his temple, sighing, "not a clue-"

"She knocked a cigar out of a French councilman's fucking fingers," he explained. "Without hitting anyone. Tell me that is not impressive? It's like shooting a fucking pence off a whiskey cap. Never done before!

Ada, who'd been listening with Karl attached to her breast, said, "so, she left a bad impression. What comes of her now?"

Tommy pointed, "that's it! Didn't hit me before! Can't leave a fucking good one, you leave a bad one."

Meanwhile, upstairs, Finn resorted to eating the sandwich himself on the floor by her door. With a full mouth, he quipped, "I'm gonna eat the other triangle…cheese, corned beef…you want the milk?" While he asked, he started to sip it then decided to down it. Amelia wasn't gonna budge. She was a cranky, stubborn and moody…did he dare say it? Bitch. There, he thought it silently to himself. She was being a bitch! But he'd not understood the humiliation she'd gone through. To him, she was simply being selfish and annoying. "Amelia," he grumbled under his breath. He'd never open the door to a lady's room without knocking. But was Amelia really a lady at this point? He knew men more feminine than that brute. She'd been laying on the floor on her stomach. Absolute drama queen, he thought to himself, sighing.

"I'm done for," she mumbled.

"Tommy don't seem angry-"

"Didn't think he was god of it all-"

"You're being a baby," he scoffed, shoving the last bit of the sandwich in his mouth. Amelia sat up, her hair no longer neatly clipped. Instead it'd make a perfect nest for a bird. A rather large bird at that. Along with the mess and tangle on her head, the rug left a perfect imprint on her cheek. She looked around with a pout. "What?"

"Where is my sandwich?"

"You didn't want it!"

"I didn't say that!" she screamed loud enough for anyone to hear her yell. She reached for the pillow on her bed and tossed it at him. Amelia created the long, tortuous teenage ughhhhhhhhhh! It was a deep, long grumble from the deep pits of her stomach.

Finn took a step back, catching the pillow, keeping it to his chest. "I'll make you another, alright?" Tommy had walked up the stairs without either noticing. He looked over Amelia, not caring that she'd been a little bratty. Finn looked at his older brother, and said, "I 100% support corporal punishment for whatever this is…."

"Come with me," Tommy demanded, grabbing her racket and ball from the floor. "You're doing it again." Amelia grunted, sitting up fully, tilting her head watching the exasperated man with a weird burst of energy. The bewildered, but excited man clapped his hands. "C'mon, Amelia! We got a cigar, we got John…you hit that ball just as you did-"

Polly called up the stairs, "it better be outside, Thomas Shelby-"

"Outside," he said. "C'mon. Let's go!"

Outside, Amelia stood as if death overcame her. She was not pleased, also inventing the eye roll. John had been propped on a chair, positioned perfectly with the cigar. It is important to note that John was also not pleased. He'd have balls shot at him. "Do this, John, do that, John. Where the fuck does it end? Tommy, what the fuck! She gonna hit me fucking eye out me skull, in' she?"

"Do exactly what you did at the stadium, Amelia-"

"Amelia," John interrupted, "please don't."

"John! Did you got to fuckin' war or not?" Tommy yelled, arms open. "Huh? Stop er' whining-"

"Had a helmet, didn't I?"

"Would you feel better if I got a kitchen pot from the press?" Tommy asked.

"Actually, I bloody fucking would, yes. Cover me face."

Tommy sighed, rolling his eyes, looking at Amelia. "I'm telling you, I wouldn't be mad at you if you miss a few centimeters to the left." Amelia and him had a few second standoff. She'd been glaring at him silently, eyes permanently half-rolled up. "Go on," he urged, nodding to John. She sighed, positioning herself for serve. She hit the ball, possibly purposely hitting Tommy Shelby's recently polished Ford Model T. A bit irked, he looked down at her, "you did that on purpose. John! Switch…sit over here."

"John, do this, do that," he mocked under his breath again. When he did, he turned behind him. "Fuck! In front of me car?"

"Exactly." Tommy turned to Amelia, kneeling slightly to match her height. Grabbing her shoulders, he said, "Now, Amelia, you hit that cigar perfectly, I'll give you all the money in my trousers, no questions. Can be anything from shilling to a few pounds! All you have to do is hit the cigar. Got it?" Continuing her senseless moody stance, she simply gave him a look then turned to John.

"Amelia," John started, a bit nervous, but not wanting to show it. "You don't hit me or my car, I'll get you a cat from the farm! In fact, two kittens." Tommy told her if she denied the messy, smelly kittens, he'd give her ten pounds, no questions asked. John retorted with, "two kittens, 10 pounds, and unlimited sweets for a month-"

Tommy leaned into her ear, "fifteen pounds, new tennis shoes, and your very own horse."

Ada rolled her eyes and leaned into Polly, "do they realize they're betting on the same bloody fucking thing? Stupidity."

Amelia positioned her serve, a bit hesitant. John kept moving a bit and it made it difficult to zone into her target. She was not even entirely sure how she did it the first time. She gave it a shot, but it nearly knocked the hat off John's head. He ducked, putting his hand up. "Fuckin', ell. New deal, you give up right now, I'll give you the kittens, chocolate, twenty pounds, and a bloody fucking dog!"

"You hit it next shot," Tommy said. "1 horse, tennis shoes, fifty pounds-"

"The fuckin' ell! That's a fucking lot load-"

"Fifty pounds, Amelia," he grinned in her ear. "Now, c'mon, be a good girl for me and make me proud." Amelia nodded, resuming her position, zoning in on the cigar. By some miracle, she whacked the ball at high speed, hitting the thin line of ash, just breaking off the tip of the cigar. Everyone that's been tired of the charade, now looked shocked. Tommy slowly grinned, looking at the broken piece twitching in the cool wind. "Good girl," he whispered, and to her surprise, Tommy leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Let's get you that money." John sat there for two seconds, his heart pounding in his chest, nearly taking him out.

He rubbed at his chest, "Lord!" He turned to his car to see if it was alright, and it was. "Oh, Esmerelda, papa won't do that again." Like he would a woman or child, he hugged it, caressing its metal body. "Shh, never again."

The following Monday came and Tommy was doing some business at the Garrison when a man walked in. He was of a foreign kind…his suit styled very differently and cool. His eyeglasses were tinted dark and his leather black hair was smoothed down. Harry looked up, broom in hand. Just from the look of the man, he knew who he was looking for. Without question, Harry called for Tommy. One would have thought this man was interested in a certain type of business, and Tommy prepared for some sort of confrontation.

"Hello?" he questioned, taking a seat opposite from the man. The gentlemen removed his sunglasses, folding them and tucking them in his pocket that had also held a silk cloth.

"Mr. Shelby," he greeted, "all of you. Why is that one standing? There's no need…I'm not here for that type of business. Sit, would he?" Tommy looked up at Arthur and nodded for him to take a seat. Hesitantly, he did. "Tommy Shelby, heard your name once or twice. Interesting man you are. Business owning Gypsy." He reached out his hand, "Leo De Luca. I was to catch you at the match in the next couple of weeks, but I was in the area. Wanted to inquire about your girl."

Tommy eased his posture, hand no longer hovering his revolver. "I've heard of you once or twice, I believe."

"I heard through some colleagues your girl made an impression on Friday," he said.

Slowly, he grinned, "yeah?"

"Don't be fooled, it was not well received," he warned, leaning in. "The committee up in Manchester nearly blacklisted her for the infraction."

Arthur looked confused, glancing at John then to Tommy. He was not aware of Amelia's little stunt on the court. "What did she do, Tommy?" Tommy raised his hand, nodding for the man to continue speaking.

But John interjected, snorting, "but they didn't. What changed their minds? Pussy quotas! Have to have enough of them on the court-"

"When you contribute to courts, coaches, and committees substantially over the years, you tend to have a say in who is blacklisted and who isn't," Mr. De Luca noted. "Mr. Shelby, I was very intrigued to hear about her nerve and excellent precision. Couldn't possibly let such a thing happen…I'd like to make an offer, if you will."

"I thought you were sponsoring the French boy," Tommy said, narrowing his eyes. "Hm? What makes a man like you give up a French elite for a Boston girl?"

"Let me tell you, Shelby," he humored, leaning back, laughing with his arms open. "The Italians and British don't share much commonality…but if there is anything we do share, we both fucking can't stand the French!" The three Shelby men hummed and nodded in agreement.

"What's the catch here, De Luca? What do we do? What does she have to do?"

"Come to dinner tonight," he said, handing Tommy a note with his address on it. Tommy commented how he came quite a long way from London assuming a rich man like himself drove. "Took the train, just over three hours. Now, dinner will be at eight. Bring your wife-"

"Fiance-"

"Your fiance and Amelia with an overnight bag," he instructed. "She'll be training on my court tomorrow with a new couch. I will observe her and if all goes well, we will talk numbers-"

"Whoa," John stopped him, hands up. "What exactly is this? You just give a girl money cause she's good at tennis. What's in it for you? Hmm? Get her alone a bit…hm?"

"Not everyone has an agenda, John," he corrected. "In fact, I am very passionate about the sport. I sponsor her, she wears my name. My brand. Every court that shoes touch, I get some incentives, really. But trust me, boy, I give a lot more than I receive from the ordeal-"

"Makes no sense," Arthur hissed. "There's something you want."

"We'll be signing a contract," he said, standing, fixing his suit. "There, Thomas, you will have my word in writing. For now, let's share a meal and drink at my home. I will send a driver for you at the train station. Does Amelia have dinner wear?" Without waiting for Thomas to answer, he took out his wallet and handed the curious man without thinking seventy-five pounds. Some people hadn't made that in a few months, but here he was, giving it like nothing. "Now, I must take my leave. It's nearing noon. I will be looking for you at 8 sharp, hopefully our little arrangement will be pleasant." The two gentlemen shook hands before the Italian left.

"I'll be fucked," Tommy said, looking at the pounds in his hands.

"I don't bloody fucking trust 'em, Tommy," Arthur said, and John nodded in agreement, but did not want to argue with his older brother. Tommy rushed to the back room and snapped his fingers to Grace who'd been reading. Her eyes fluttered up. "We're going to London with Amelia. We're taking the 16:30 train. Come with me."

She pursed her lips, "and are you going to tell me exactly why we are going to London?"

"Grace," he warned. "I need you to be a good mentor to her. You'll go dress shopping with her, dress her real nice. She'll listen to you, Grace!"

"How are you sure?" she quipped, grabbing her coat and bag. "She's not met me, yet, Thomas. She hardly listens to you, nevermind me."

Together, they drove thirty minutes out to the court, where Amelia had been running laps, huffing and puffing, quite annoyed. Her coach was whistling for her to keep going. Each time she'd stop, he added another. Tommy jogged down the bleachers, and asked, "what's going on? I have to pull her from practice! Call her in."

The coach looked back, clearly not happy, pointing to his forehead.

Tommy raised his brow, "words?"

"She threw her fucking racket at my head, Shelby," he yelled. "She'll stay and run these fucking laps until she collapses." Tommy cursed, rubbing his forehead, shaking his head. Fucking, Amelia.

"Listen, I need you to call her in," he said. "That gentleman you were talking about came to my pub. He wants to sponsor her-"

"She's good enough for it," the coach agreed. "But she's got awful people skills, Shelby. Any other coach would have banned her from the fucking court. You're lucky I'm patient." He blew his whistle and called her in. She walked like a slug across the court, wheezing. Tommy looked over at her.

"What?" she hissed at Tommy, and Tommy without thinking, needing a quick fix. Raising his hand, he backhanded her hard enough for her feet to stumble. Amelia needed to hold on to the fence pole to regain balance. Tommy waited for her to straighten herself, and when she looked at him again, he slapped her other cheek just as hard.

"We're going back to London," he warned, grabbing her cheeks with a death grip. She winced, trying wiggle free. Amelia felt her heart race and her mind go fuzzy as Tommy was seething. John's slap was a love tap compared to Tommy's. His felt like a strike of lightning hitting her soft skin. It nearly took her out. "Stop moving!" His voice roared. " . ! Amelia, when we get back to Birmingham, I promise you, you will be sleeping in the horse stable until you learn your fucking lesson. If you still can't change your fucking attitude, your next bed will be in a whore house and you'll be finding yourself a new line of work! On God, I promise you." He bid farewell to the coach and dragged her out by a strong hold on her arm. On the way to the car, "Amelia, one more infraction, one more fucking issue!"

"You're hurting me," she cried, attempting to pry his fingers off her arm.

"Don't like repercussions, do you?" he asked, backing her up against the wall of the entrance building. It was a small corner, wedged tightly out of sight from Grace, her coach, and any workers. His hand dropped to her throat. "I can be two very different men, girl, and it's up to you which one you get. You want nice Tommy, you be a good girl. But if you really want to fucking tempt me, I will do everything in my power to make you fucking listen. Do you like tempting me, Amelia? Hm? Do you enjoy punishment? Cause you really enjoy pushing every fucking button."

Amelia had been shaking so hard, her body was getting numb. When she'd try to speak, the words could not come out. So null to anything, but the pain radiating from her face, she didn't notice when she'd urinated on herself. It trickled down her leg, staining her white socks before pooling around her feet. Tommy's eyes slowly drifted to her lower half, unfazed, he lifted her skirt. "Is your skirt wet?" When she didn't answer, he looked at it. For the most part it was dry unlike her knickers. "Take these off," he said, tugging at her knickers and pulling them down her shaking legs. "Kick them off, come on, Amelia…I'm not interested in looking at you." Impatiently he lifted her foot and pulled them off. Softly, he took his clean handkerchief and wiped her bottom, thighs, and legs before lifting her to sit on a lid covered bin. "We will get you new socks and shoes." Along with her knickers, he tossed the other urine covered things in the bin and carried her to the car.

Tommy would like to say he felt a bit of guilt, but in reality, he was happy, some sense and fear was knocked into her. Intelligent and resourceful, Tommy Shelby knew what was best and if Amelia was always going to be reckless, she really would find herself working on her back. Gently, he put her into the car and immediately, Grace smelled a small tinge of urine.

"What happened?" she asked, looking at her fiance, who was red in the face with frustration and annoyance. Grace turned to the girl, wincing as her face was puffy and Tommy's fingerprints decorated her jaw line.

"Discipline happened, Grace," he said. "Learning we can't throw rackets at people's fucking heads. Learning we can't fucking talk back to the hand that feeds us. Learning that life isn't kind to spoiled, inconsiderate, annoying cunts." With that, he drove home so Amelia could bathe.