Arthur Bigge glared at the barrister Edward Roberts, who had disturbed his peace with the Shelby nuisance. They were now back in his office, the great Thomas Shelby himself standing before them, with all the incriminating papers in his hands.

The barrister cleared his throat, a little nervous to be in his presence. "You gave me your word, Mr. Shelby. We have delivered your family. Now, if you please…" He lit a match and put out his hand, expecting to receive the papers Tommy was holding.

Tommy looked at him closely, his grip tightening on said papers. He wasn't ready to follow through on his promise just yet. He was dealing with some powerful people here and he was sure that once the papers were burned, the king would be influenced to take action against them, either to protect Churchill or make sure that the Shelby family would never pose a threat to them every again.

"These papers must be dealt with, of course. After all, we wouldn't want anyone to discover Mr. Churchill's dealings with the Peaky Blinders…or how the king got himself unknowingly involved in the Russian civil war." Tommy stated but didn't hand them over as the barrister was still waiting, with his hand held out.

Gulping and looking a little uncertain at the situation, the barrister turned to Bigge, who was sitting, bored at his desk. Tommy's blue eyes glanced over at Bigge and waited, expecting for his to receive the message.

Rolling his eyes, Bigge leaned back in his chair and growled, "Alright, we get your point, Mr. Shelby. What do you want? We had a deal. You would deliver the papers and burn them in our presence once your family was freed. What are you waiting for?"

"I am fearful for the safety of this nation. Despite our greatest efforts, the Bolsheviks have won. And I doubt that they would take kindly on the fact that we helped the White Movement fight against them. Do not misunderstand, Mr. Bigge. I love my country. I have fought for it. I have bled for it and I have suffered a long time for it. I do not want to cause trouble for the king…but I love my family more than the country itself." Tommy concluded, now playing with the papers in his hands.

He was trying his patience. Bigge knew that, and his eye was beginning to twitch, as he started tapping his foot on the floor.

"Get to the point, Mr. Shelby." He managed to say in a composed manner.

Tommy smirked a little, seeing as how he was making the barrister incredibly nervous and the king's private secretary annoyed as ever. But he decided to indulge them, so as to not make matters worse. He was on thin ice, and he very well knew that.

"I burn these papers…and yet there is no guarantee that my family will be safe from now on."

"But you have served Mr. Churchill and the Crown very well. That will always be taken into account." The barrister interrupted, getting a Are you fucking kidding me? look from Tommy.

"We had a deal, Mr. Shelby. Now, unless you want real trouble, I suggest you burn those papers right now, as you said you would once your family was freed." Bigge said.

Tommy walked slowly towards the barrister and the candle that was now burning brightly in his hand. He gently placed the papers in the flaming light and watched them darken and turn into ash before his eyes, the king's writing no longer visible and the sigh of relief from the barrister indicating that the danger for them had passed.

Bigge clapped his hands together and stood up. "Thank you. I imagine that shouldn't have been too difficult. And I can assure you that your family is held in high regard by Mr. Churchill for services rendered. As long as innocent civilians are no longer affected by your insidious dealings, you and the rest of your lot have nothing to fear. The Crown will not pass judgment."

Tommy put his hands behind his back and nodded, "I thank you. And my family thanks you as well. And to ensure our close relationship with the Crown proceeds, I feel I should continue to be honest with you. There is another interesting correspondence I have discovered in that box, Mr. Bigge. A letter between Mr. Churchill himself and Desmond Morton, who I believe is a Secret Intelligence Officer, is he not?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The Daily Mail had recently published contents of a supposed letter written by one Grigori Zinoviev, the current president of the Comintern, encouraging the Labour Party to support soviet interests. As a result, the Labour Party lost the election in favor of the Conservatives. There are certain people who believe that the letter is a forgery. However, there are others pointing to a conspiracy to get the people to vote against the Labour party in establishing a new government. And I have clear evidence indicating a Secret Intelligence Officer is responsible for leaking such a letter on the orders of Mr. Churchill."

The silence that followed was mortifying. Bigge was sitting at his desk once more, his lips trembling in disbelief. Tommy was not flinching, whereas the barrister was taking turns, looking at the leader of the Peaky Blinders and then back at the private secretary, in absolute shock.

Suddenly, Bigge surged from his chair, pointing at Tommy and yelling, "YOU ARE LYING!"

Appearing very calm, Tommy held out his hands, "The proof of this conspiracy is not on me, Mr. Bigge. And I can assure you that it will not fall into any hands. As long as you ensure the safety of my family from the Crown's guards."

"Gypsy scum." Bigge spat, putting his hands on his head.

"Are we in agreement?" Tommy asked, his eyes scrunching, testing Bigge's patience.

After five minutes of silence, in which Tommy took to time to light himself a cigarette, Bigge finally looked up at the ceiling and whispered, "Yes. Now, get out of here."

Satisfied with the response, Tommy put out his cigarette and nodded at both the private secretary and the barrister. "Gentlemen. You may inform Mr. Churchill it will be a pleasure to do business with him again."

With that, Tommy took his leave from the office, placing his flat cap on, clearly showing the razor blades pointing out of the tip. It was a good day for business, and the secret concerning the Zinoviev letter guaranteed that the Crown would not be bothering the Shelby family anytime soon.

…

John had taken Esme and the kids and they fled to Arthur's house in London, where Linda was waiting at the door. "What is heaven's name is going on?" The blonde, now eight months pregnant, exclaimed in surprise.

"ARTHUR!" John called out, not even bothering to acknowledge Linda at the door. Esme rolled her eyes, as her four stepchildren rushed inside, shouting and laughing, while she held on to Henry's hand tightly and baby David was in her other arm.

"What are they doing now?" Linda demanded to know and Esme managed to say, "Some nonsense about a letter John got."

"ARTHUR!" John went up the stairs, just as Arthur was coming down, his hair all over the place, as he was trying to get it clean.

"What, John boy? What?"

"Those fuckin' wops sent me a black hand!"

"What?! Who?"

John pulled out the card he received and handed it to Arthur. His older brother's eyes widened, gazing at the black spots on the card which indeed formed a black hand. He took it in his hand and whispered, "Did anyone else get this?"

"Dunno. Have you checked your post?" John asked.

"LINDA!" Arthur yelled out, heading down the stairs to question his wife about any letters he may have received. Sure enough, in the middle of the pile, was the exact same envelope John received at his house. Opening it, another black hand could be seen.

"What is that?" Esme stepped forward to look at the card, trying to take control of the situation, as always.

"We have to tell Tommy." It was all Arthur whispered, as he headed over to the phone.

"NO! You are not going back to the gallows because of him!" screeched Linda, as she went over and tried to take the phone away from him. John had to intervene and pull the blonde away.

"John, let her go! She is pregnant!" Esme insisted, her grip tight on baby David. John rolled his eyes but decided to listen to his wife, finally setting the blonde down, so he could have a talk with his brother.

"Arthur…I don't wanna…I don't trust him no more."

"He had his reasons. This don't mean I forgive him but…he's our brother, John. And if he got the black hand too, he needs to know. We all need to know so we know what to do. Where to go." Arthur said, finally picking up the phone and making the call.

…

Meanwhile, Tommy had his own shit to deal with. After putting up with Lizzie's criticism back at the office about how he let his family walk to the gallows, he went home to find Charlie sick with fever. Mary had called a doctor for him, who suggested bed rest and nothing else.

The kitchen was a mess as well. After he returned home, his housekeeper Mary had constantly informed him about how the chef needed to see him urgently. Tommy rarely walked into the kitchens himself. Things were different after the Russian job. He got a whole lot more money now, more people to do his bidding, so he shouldn't trouble himself.

Annoyed and frustrated with his staff, he lit a cigarette and slowly walked into the kitchen. Somehow, he could sense the danger as soon as he entered. The chef and his assistant started attacking him with knives, purposely ready to kill.

Tommy immediately used the cigarette from his mouth to burn the assistant's eyes, before kneeing the chef in the groin, applying punches to the stomach and finally to the face, knocking him out. Just in time, apparently, because the assistant had soon recovered from the shock as being burned with the cigarette and still, blindly, tried to attack Tommy using a cleaver. Tommy managed to grab it and slashed his throat with it, wiping his face from all the blood that poured out of the Italian.

Tommy, then turned over to the chef and grabbed him from the floor. He was still alive, which meant it was time to get some answers out of him. He had made a mistake in hiring an Italian chef, and now he had to deal with the consequences.

"Who sent you?" Tommy whispered, as he held on to the chef's jacket. When he refused to speak, Tommy applied another punch, nearly breaking his jaw. "WHO?!" he screamed the question in his face this time.

The chef spewed out some blood, finally cracking up and starting to whimper out some answers, "We were just supposed to look around. Spy for him. But yesterday…he got so impatient…he wants you dead, so we told him…we told him we would…we would do it."

"Who? Who gave the order? Tell me, and I'll consider letting you live." Tommy knew he was lying with that statement, but he always managed to get some answers after saying it.

The chef hesitated before finally telling him, "Changretta…Luca Changretta."

Changretta. The name Vicente Changretta came to his mind and Tommy remembered clear as day how much he wanted to torture that man, to rip away his intestines as he was still breathing, to carve out his eyeballs after slicing his tongue. He remembered the taste of revenge, how much he wanted to make that man hurt, like he hurt him. He had been responsible for his wife's death.

But revenge seemed miles away as his brothers decided to be merciful. John spared Mrs. Changretta's life, after receiving clear orders to kill her. To put a bullet in her heart and have her husband watch as it happened…just like he had watched. And then Arthur…the poor bastard…influenced by his pious wife…he decided to deprive him of revenge by giving Vicente a quick death. A shot to the head, and any chance at revenge was gone.

And now, after just a couple of months, Tommy was hearing of a plot against his family. Luca Changretta, the eldest son of Vicente, currently leading the New York Mafia, wanted to avenge his father.

Tommy couldn't understand the incompetence of the chef and his assistant at trying to finish him off, after spying for months. Luca Changretta was either a very stupid man for sending these two, or very clever…simply using them to try to scare him. Or perhaps he wanted Tommy to know that he had been watched this whole time, and that Luca Changretta was coming for him, with his entire organization from New York.

Not bothering to wash away the blood, Tommy stormed out of the kitchen and up the stairs, leading up to the bedroom, where Mary was watching over Charlie. She gasped at seeing him in that state. "Good lord, Mr. Shelby! What has happened?"

"Never mind that, Mary. Have Charlie packed and ready to go."

"Packed? But Mr. Shelby, he is running a fever and the doctor said…"

Tommy rushed forward and placed his hands on her shoulders, shaking her a little. "Now, Mary! Now!"

The old woman's eyes widened, realizing that this was the first time that she was witnessing a desperate Thomas Shelby. Something was wrong and there was no time to waste.

"Mr. Shelby, where am I to…?"

"Charlie and I are going back to Birmingham. Back to Small Heath. Pack your own bags, Mary. You are coming with."

Mary sighed and nodded, closing her eyes and expressed her gratitude for Mr. Shelby letting her keep her job.

Just then, the phone started ringing and Tommy rushed forward to answer it at his desk. At the same time, Mary said, "Oh, Mr. Shelby! A strange letter came for you this morning. There is no writing…"

Tommy was not listening to her, as he picked up the phone and heard his brother's voice.

"Tommy!"

"Arthur! What happened?"

Mary turned around and walked out of his office, to give him some privacy but not before heading downstairs to get the letter that she thought was strange. She had to show it to him. And of course, tend to Charlie.

"The black hand, Tommy. Me and John got two of 'em. And it's from those fuckin' wops. It's a threat, Tom!"

Nodding and closing his eyes, his brother now confirming that the threat was real and it was dangerous.

"Listen to me, Arthur. We are all going back home. Get Linda to pack your bags. They know where we live. They have spies everywhere in London. Small Heath is the only place where we can go."

"What's going on, Tom? You know, don't you?"

"I was attacked in my own fuckin' home by an Italian chef I hired months ago. I finished him off. He said Luca Changretta is behind it, brother."

"Changretta?"

"The eldest son, leading the New York Mafia. This attack was a warning. He's coming for me with all he has, to avenge his father. I need to be ready. Get Linda to leave and I'll call John."

"Nah. John boy is with me, Esme and the kids. They'll get goin' with us."

"Good. Any word from Polly?"

"No. She's in a bad place, Tommy, ever since the…"

"There is no time for that. I'll call Michael, get him to talk some reason into her. And Ada needs to know too. No doubt she and Karl are in danger. And Finn. There is no time for a family meeting, Arthur. They know where we live, they know what we do in London, who we know, everything! Get to Small Heath and we will meet at our usual spot. I still have some unfinished business here at our London office. I'll get to Birmingham as soon as I can. Go, now!"

"Right, Tom. Good luck to ya!"

"Stay safe, brother." Tommy whispered at last, before hanging up the phone. Sweat was dripping from his forehead. He couldn't remember the last time he was this worried.

They have faced several enemies together as a family before, but never one quite like this. The Italian Mafia from New York was a vast organization. And although the Shelby family's power has grown these past years in England, he couldn't be sure that he had a fair chance against an international force. But still, they had home field advantage and his family was depending on him. There was no time to waste.

"Mr. Shelby. This is the letter I was telling you about." Mary entered the office and showed it to him.

Tommy knew what it was. No doubt every family member received one. Ripping it open, the black hand was revealed. But there was more. Scribbled in neat handwriting underneath it was: See you soon, Mr. Shelby.

"Mary, I am going to the office. Some unfinished business. As soon as I get home, I want to see you and Charlie ready to leave. The car will be waiting for us."

The woman nodded frantically, "Yes, sir."

…

After reaching Michael and Ada on the phone, they agreed to leave and to convince Polly as well. Tommy heard some troubling news about his aunt. She had started taking drugs again, to cope with the nightmare she had lived in the gallows. Tommy cursed himself quietly for the situation. He needed her advice more than ever. He couldn't have her acting like this. But there was no time. He needed to leave his London office intact and head back to Small Heath, back to where it all began.

As soon as he entered his office, he felt something off about the place. It was too quiet, and his employees were nowhere in sight. There was probably another strike going on, Tommy thought. No doubt influenced by Jessie Eden. Or…danger was lurking.

Tommy touched the gun that was hanging loosely in his jacket and walked carefully towards his office. There was no one there, thankfully but he was not letting his guard down. He used a key from his pocket to open up a drawer and pull out some important papers, stashing them in his inside pocket in his jacket. Those would come in handy when the time was right.

Small steps were approaching his office. Tommy pulled out his gun and pointed it at the door, just when the person entered. An Italian look, with a toothpick in his mouth. Tommy knew who he was before he could introduce himself.

"Ah, good evening, Mr. Shelby." The man said with an Italian accent, taking off his hat and placing it on the table, unphazed by the fact that Tommy had a gun pointed straight at him. The man sat down at the end of the table and took his time. A power move, Tommy knew all too well. He used it himself when he was confident. Somehow, at that moment, even with a gun pointed at him, Tommy felt powerless, something that has never happened before. Nevertheless, he made his voice sound confident enough.

"Mr. Changretta. I'm afraid your visit will be a short one."

Smirking, the man looked up at him and shook his head with a smirk, pulling out his toothpick and pointing at the gun.

"I heard all about your rise to power here in London, Mr. Shelby. So high that you have started working more and more behind a desk. Your brothers, on the field, on your orders. But there is a problem with that Mr. Shelby. You get so accustomed to sit behind a desk that you forget the simplest things about playing on the field. Like the difference between a loaded gun and an empty one."

Tommy's lips parted, but he tried to keep his face straight, as he checked his gun and sure enough, there were no bullets inside. How could he have missed that? How could he not have felt it?

Luca Changretta's smirk widened as he put his hand forward and showed him the bullets in his palm. How was this possible?

"Your chef did not amount to much. But he served his purpose…to spy…to steal your bullets…and of course, scare you a bit with that attack. If I wanted to kill you, Mr. Shelby, you would have been dead months ago."

Luca crossed his legs and revealed the inside of his jacket, showing Tommy that he was unarmed.

"I heard you dress well, Mr. Shelby. And now that I met you, I can see that you do. But not as good as me." Luca continued speaking, seeing that Tommy had put his gun down and was now staring at him with no emotion whatsoever. He was good at that. Appearing calm even in situations which made him incredibly nervous. He was at home, in England. He was in his own office. And yet Luca Changretta here clearly had the upper hand.

The Italian stood up and whispered looking outside a window, "Your organization is, how you say…pitiful. I wish to avenge my father. But this vendetta must be carried out honorably. And of course, I will leave you last, because my mother says…watching your family die first, will hurt you the most."

Taking a deep breath, and realizing he had no other choice here, Tommy nodded. "An honorable vendetta it is then. No civilians and no children."

Luca pointed his finger at him and added, "No police." Tommy nodded at the request. He was in no position to make any demands. His current plan was to leave this office alive.

A smirk played on Luca's face as he clapped his hands together. "Ah, yes, speaking of children…" He turned to the door, where two of his henchmen were now waiting. "Frederico! Portala qui!" He called out in Italian. The men started shuffling something behind the door and Tommy could not see. His eyebrows furrowed, as Luca continued speaking to him now.

"I know all about your Russian deal. It ended around three months ago, isn't that right?"

Tommy nodded, glaring at him, "That's right."

"Funny thing. I was in Vienna a couple of weeks ago. On business, you can say. I met a very unhappy man there. A couple of drinks at the bar and he told me a lot about his girl. A Russian beauty. A Russian duchess. Holding on to some stolen family jewels."

Tommy said nothing. He kept his expression still, as his stomach lurched. He knew very well who he was talking about.

"And this man…very unhappy man. He confided in me, told me that his woman was already pregnant when they reunited. She had been with someone else. He turned her away. And she was looking for a doctor there, to get rid of her baby. But he didn't want her back, even when she confessed. Even when she told him who."

Luca was approaching Tommy with a gleaming and sadistic look in his eyes, hoping to catch a reaction from his opponent. He got nothing, so he continued. "I wanted a souvenir from Vienna. A very special souvenir. I had my friends bring it to me, when I heard the name from the man's lips." He whispered the last two words. "Tommy Shelby."

At that moment, Frederico and another henchman walked inside, holding on to the Russian duchess who had been Tommy's lover a couple of months before. Tatiana's face was bruised. Her hair was down in waves. Her expensive clothes were ripped and tattered. Her eyes were closed and she looked like she was in pain.

"Still a beauty. Isn't she? And even more beautiful for me, since she carries a prize." Luca stated, as he stepped forward and placed his hand on her belly.