#Charlotte Changretta

[vivianleighwishesshewasme]

The Italian Beasts Beauty-17

Charlotte Changretta's hormones are making Luca enjoy taking meeting. (sassy Charlotte)

Hormones and cannolis

Luca's pov

“I brought you your favorite pastries.” I offered her a little brown sack hoping my offering would appease my little blonde goddess.  She snatched the bag like a starved animal as I waited for her to  check the tribute, see if it was sufficient.

It seemed to be because she started munching, allowing me time to maneuver behind her as I gently rubbed her hips and back. Her body was aching and this kid wasn’t even the size of a pea yet. 

She was barely pregnant but already she was so uncomfortable and I felt bad for her honestly. Charlotte was short and a petite little thing. I can only imagine what her fragile body was feeling right now. 

She couldn’t get the morning, or all day sickness, as she appropriately called it,to ease up.  All morning and night she was in the bathroom on the floor, her arms draped over the porcelain as she emptied her already void stomach.

I would try to hold her hair back and rub her lower back. Sometimes it was appreciated, other times I was worried I’d pull back stubs, my hands taken off. 

She’d threaten, then apologize and cry. 

 Her Aunt in Birmingham had recommended ginger tea, it helped but she was grumpy and sore all the time. Truthfully I was worried about her. I hadn’t really been around the women in my life when they’d been pregnant so I really didn't have much to compare it to. 

She was miserable though and now seemed to be annoyed by my touch.

“That's what got me into this mess.” she said between bites. I chuckled into her hair. 

“All pregnancies are different Tesoro. Ma said I was a dream, Angelo, not so much.” She snorted at my statement. She’d been reading a book on pregnancy,birth and child rearing. She may have read that statement but it doesn’t mean she understood, yet. I had no doubt we’d have a ton of kids with her libido. 

“Oh, there won't be anymore pregnancies, you had enough kids. I’m taking Polly’s tea contraception recipe after this baby comes out.” She seemed resolute but I knew better. I’d seen several ladies in my own family that seemed to dislike babies or hell, even men, but once they held that little bundle of joy their whole attitudes changed. 

“Oh, don't say that, you may change your mind once you hold our baby.” I was sure she would. 

“Why don't you get pregnant then and carry the baby?” A pout adorned her face, her full lips coating in powdered sugar. I chuckled at her suggestion and wiped away the sugar. All the sweetness I was probably gonna get from her lips until this baby came out. 

“That ain't the way God designed it Angel.” I wish I could take away her pain. I hated feeling helpless. 

“We’ll God clearly….” I felt bad shoving the cream filled pastry into her mouth, Charlotte was more irritable than ever. Didn’t need to drag her to confession anytime soon. He hated going out right now. Smell aversion, the doctor called it. 

Can only imagine what incense would do to her stomach. Maybe the holy water would calm her down, who knows. 

I walked down the hall grateful to be locked in my office all day. I loved my little English Rabbit but honestly I’d rather face down a loaded gun right now then be in the same room as her. 

“Coward.” She called out while my door closed to my office. She wasn’t wrong at that moment. 

“Come on, you're half Italian, enjoy what your papa wants to feed you.” In truth I loved to eat anything Italian, Pastries, pastas, bread and on occasion my husband. 

We’ll taste him at least. 

Oh, if my body didn’t ache I’d begging him to fuck my attitude out of me. 

Ada and Audry assured me that hormones and being uncomfortable were part of creating a baby. 

I now understood why Ada had only had one. 

Since my husband was held up in his office I had to find something to do with myself today besides going back to bed. 

Maybe I’d call Audrey and she can teach me to knit. 

I felt my stomach lurch, the call would have to wait. It was time for me to sit on a cold marble floor for a while and lose my breakfast. 

This baby better be the cutest baby in all of New York, no the world.

[red-riding-wood]

Absolutely in love with this moodboard that @lebz93 made for White Ribbon!

I know I've raved about this already but I'm going to again. The colour palette is actual perfection; red, black and white all carry heavy symbolism in the story. And the piano and the roses are beautiful (and of course Adrien), and the snake looking like it's going to bite her is so cool (and back at it again with the sssymbolism)! And the way the ribbon bleeds into his collar. I love it so much and again thank you. <3 Such a lovely gift and genuinely exactly what I needed to open my messages to with everything that's been going on.

[heronposting]

Does anyone love Luca Changretta as much as I do? Here is an excerpt I’m composing which is likely to expand into a little slow burn short story.

“What are you doing for the rest of the night, baby?”

“Dancing with you?”

Luca smiled. “Yes you are, doll. Yes you certainly are.”

Luca took my hand and led me to the dance floor. The band was playing an up tempo jazz piece. Everyone was doing some form of quickstep, and we kept pace. When the next song—a slow one—began, Luca pulled me in close. He held my waist with his left hand and my hand with his right. He was quite tall but led the dance elegantly.

I looked into his dark brown eyes with an expression that I hoped depicted innocence and infatuation. My left hand, resting on his shoulder, caressed the material of his jacket.

“This is beautiful,” I murmured, admiring it as much as I was deliberately stroking his ego.

“Yes it is. Finally a woman who recognizes good taste.”

Luca brought me even closer until there was no space between us. I had to focus not to tread on him. I glanced at his lips, then found his eye contact again. Unsure if it was a good idea to do so, I moved my hand to the side of his neck where his cross tattoo was. Luca barely reacted, but he looked at me intensely. I put both my arms around his neck and let him hold me for the rest of the song. His hands were wrapped tightly, and a bit indecently, around my waist.

“What are we drinking?” I asked as the song ended.

“Champagne,” Luca said.

“Sure.”

Luca’s hand never left the small of my back as we went back to the bar and sat together.

“It’s Charlotte, by the way,” I said, extending my hand to him.

Luca half smiled, taking my hand and kissing it.

“A pleasure, Charlotte.”

His voice was husky, almost raspy. As he sipped the champagne, he covertly turned his wrist outward, revealing his Black Hand tattoo. He placed the flute delicately onto the bar.

“And do you know who I am, Charlotte?”

“No,” I lied. “Not until you tell me.”

“I’m the kind of man that you don’t wanna get too close to.

“What if I do?”

I tried to give my question a flirtatious tone without being too coy.

“Sweet innocent girl like you. You’re playing with fire,” he said provocatively. “Luca,” he added.

“Luca…” I pondered aloud. “Like luce. Light.”

Surprise crossed his face, softening his features. That meant something to you, you bastard. I got you.

“That’s right, sweetheart. La Luce.”

“Speaking of…” I said, taking out a cigarette.

He lit it for me with a match, saying nothing. The tension finally ebbed as we smoked and drank our champagne. I observed Luca’s right hand in the low light of the bar. He had two gold rings with black stones, one on his pinky and the other on his index finger. There was the Black Hand of course, then a 6 on his thumb, and I could make out another small cross. I wondered what other tattoos he was hiding. If all went to plan, I would find out.

“Let’s get outta here,” said Luca, gathering his coat and hat.

“Where to?” I asked.

As he helped me with my coat, Luca said, “anywhere to get a decent drink in this fuckin town.”

“What do you prefer?”

“If I had my choice? Italian goddamn wine. Vino. This champagne is swill.”

He grimaced.

“Well, it’s your lucky night. I have some Italian wine at home.”

“What.” Luca made the che vuoi hand gesture. “You’re fucking joking.”

“Barolo.”

He sucked his teeth and looked at me in amazement.

“You got Barolo?”

“Well I used to have a few bottles. Now I have two. But I’d be happy to open one for you, Luca.”

“Doll…where have you been? I mean where the fuck have you been?” Luca shook his head. “Come on.”

We walked into the chilly Birmingham air. It must have been approaching midnight. I started to lead us to my flat when Luca suddenly steered me into an alley.

“Can I kiss you?” Luca asked roughly, already leaning in.

I gave him a small smile in answer, tilting my chin up. Luca kissed me hard, tasting of champagne. He held the back of my head and pressed me against the wall. I closed my eyes and kissed him the way I wanted to kiss Tommy. Luca made a quiet, low sound in his throat.

Are you that desperate? Maybe it’s been a while. Doesn’t matter. That just makes my job easier.

He reached inside my coat to feel the silk of my dress. His hand brushed over my breast, surprising me and making my breath catch, which only encouraged him. We started kissing again. He moved his hand down over my stomach to my hip, then he circled his arm around my back.

I needed to get him to the flat. I reached out and found his belt, pulling on it to let him know where I was about to touch him. Luca grabbed my ass while I felt his arousal with my hand.

“Fuck…mi ecciti,” he groaned. You’re turning me on.

“Luca, please. Let’s go. Andiamo.”

“Say please like that again.”

“Please, Luca?”

“Yeah, that sounds nice in your mouth, doll.”

We broke apart, straightening our coats as we stepped back onto to the street. I took Luca’s arm again and we started walking towards my temporary flat. We barely made it in the door and up the stairs before Luca was on me again. He practically tore off my jacket and felt my breasts in earnest, with both hands.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how nice this dress is. You’re the only woman in this town who knows how to dress.”

He started to unbutton me.

“It’s silk,” I said.

“Italian?”

“What else?”

He hummed in approval.

“I need it off of you. Now.”

Finally we got my dress off. I was naked underneath except for my stockings. Luca grabbed me by the shoulders and looked me up and down approvingly. Hungrily.

“On your knees, doll face.”

I did as he asked and knelt. Luca undid his belt and took out his cock.

Pretend it’s Tommy. It’s just Tommy, it’s Tommy, I thought as I took him in my mouth.

[ilovefinncole]

Peaky Blinders Series 4 Episode 2: Heathens

As the Shelby’s come to terms with shocking events, a bold new enemy makes his move.

[darkdaze76]

Peaky Blinders - Dangerous

[nightwingshero]

multiple of fives for dahlia?

Thank you hun!!! It’s under the cut!

Where did they grow up? What was it like? Were they happy there?

Dahlia grew up in Birmingham for part of her life and then in London up until she was of age. Her younger part of her childhood was poor, but she was happy. Dahlia was raised by her father Charlie Strong, and with help from Polly Grey alongside the Shelby children, growing super close to Tommy and Arthur, even Ada and John, but she didn’t stay too long after her mother died. Once she was taken by the Parish, she was put with an older woman, a rich widow who only took Dahlia in as a charity case and determined to mold her into her own image. Dahlia was a mix of the daughter she never had and a companion to keep her company, and the woman loved the idea of her taking in a poor child and giving her “culture”. Dahlia hated it, in all honesty, she missed her family and would rebel when she could (part of how she got into dancing burlesque and cabaret). But that all aside, Dahlia can’t say anything against the education she received, which she later uses to Tommy’s advantage for the family business. She wasn’t happy until she came of age, and snuck out, returning to Birmingham right before Tommy, Arthur, and John went off to war. 

What did they dream of doing when they grew up? How and why did it change, if it did?

I don’t think Dahlia had particular dreams when growing up. She would run around in meadows when she was young, and would day dream with Tommy about their family having something more and being something bigger. But she mostly dreamed of freedom and doing what she wanted, being fancy and having more than what they had. After she’s taken, her main dream is to just return home to her family. Dahlia is a free spirit at heart, she hates being trapped and the society she was thrown into was exactly that: a gilded cage. I suppose her dream is just freedom and to have to power to have it. 

What kind of people do they usually interact with? Who are their friends, the people they look up to/trust, and who are their “associates”?

Dahlia has a tight circle, she doesn’t trust easily, and that circle is mostly her family and Lizzie Stark. She does have a best friend named Charlotte “Cheri” (Arthur calls her Queenie, it annoys the hell out of her), a fellow dancer in London. She later also grows close to Ruth Solomons, Alfie’s sister-in-law. She does look up to Aunt Polly, seeing her as a mother figure and someone she learns from the most. She’s very social and charismatic, she does great in social gatherings and settings, but she keeps people at a distance with her boundaries firmly in place. With her being a member of the Peaky Blinders, her associates mostly come from their group, using the men to do whatever it is she needs them to, and a lot of times, she will take Isaiah (and even Finn) under her wing to keep them from getting into too much trouble. Once Alfie “dies”, the bakery is left to her, and so she works with Ollie and Aflie’s brother to continue to run it. 

What do they always carry with them and why?

She always has a hat pin, just like Polly, so she can stab and threaten people if she is put in a situation. But soon, she just starts carrying a pistol to be extra safe after Sabini’s attempt on her life. Dahlia also carries a lighter because sometimes a woman needs a smoke or you never know, offering someone a light can open doors for opportunity. Dahlia is prepared for the worst, and is very well-aware of the dangers their line of work brings. Besides, Tommy doesn’t want her running around unprotected, and Dahlia has no issue with carrying firearms despite Ada’s disapproval. 

Did they get married or have a family? Why? If otherwise, why not?

Yes, she marries Alfie and they have a daughter: Rosalie. Honestly, their wedding is a small thing, and its after Luca Changretta uses Dahlia as leverage to strike the deal with Alfie to betray Tommy. Alfie is pretty well aware that Tommy will come after him for it, so he proposes rather impulsively (in Aflie’s manner, of course, can’t be too sappy now), and it’s in the guise of offering Dahlia and her family protection (since they’ll be united and such), and of course because he does love her. The real reasoning behind it is that Dahlia will inherit his “bakery” and home with them being married, leaving her well-off and taken care of. Alfie promises a honeymoon (after the war is over with the Italian mob) in Margate together. After his apparent death, only then does Dahlia find out that she’s pregnant with Rosalie. She continues to help run the bakery with Alfie’s brother and sister-in-law (and Ollie, can’t forget him), taking the first few months to grieve, of course. It takes her months to speak to Tommy, only coming back around for the wedding between him and Lizzie, but eventually she does move in with them and helps with the kids. Alfie does reunite with Dahlia and meets Rosie, and Tommy leaves them with Alfie in Margate to keep them safe while he goes after Oswald Mosley. Rosie is raised Jewish, to respect Alfie’s religion and culture, Dahlia’s way of having Rosie as close to her father as she can get while she believes he’s dead.

How do they want to be remembered after they die?

Dahlia has never really thought of that, if I’m being honest. The only future she considers is the big picture in Tommy’s visions for their family and business, she’s rather ambitious. She doesn’t want to be a legend or anything, she just wants her family to be happy and comfortable, and to be able to have the power to own her own freedom so-to-speak (it was hard for women back then, you know?). Dahlia lives in the moment for many years, up until she becomes a mother and starts to focus on her own family. In which, she wants to be remembered as a loving mother, a good friend, and someone who cherished her family selflessly. 

[amostimprobabledream]

My thoughts on Peaky Blinders...

Now I’ve finished Season Five, I wanted to get out my thoughts/ideas/opinions regarding the show. So strap in! - So first of all, the fucking cinematopgraphy in this series is gorgeous. You could take almost any scene and it looks like a painting. The lighting, the way it’s staged, it’s all just so visually pleasing to look at. My inner film student was just sighing dreamily at the shot composition. There’s a shot of John, Arthur and Tommy walking somewhere and you could fucking frame it and put it in your wall. - CILLIAN MURPHY, CILLIAN MURPHY, CILLIAN MURPHY. I mean, I always knew he was a good actor and also a pretty one, I think the role I remember him best in is Batman Begins, but holy shit, I never realised how hot he is until like two months ago. I know he apparently hates his Tommy haircut, but good lord, he can pull it off. The cheekbones! The eyes! The eyelashes! The sexy voice! Needless to say I saw him and immediately developed the biggest fucking crush. Apparently when I talk about Tommy to people my face goes pink. Thank you so much, show, for enlightening me to this human. Tommy is such a fantastic character, and I do wonder if another actor could pull him off quite as well. So much debate over his actions, motives, mindset, etc. I could probably write essays about the complexities of Tommy, but I won’t because this is a long-ass post anyway. He’s such a boss and I would die for him. - I actually really like Arthur??? So the very first clip of PB I ever saw was accidental, when I happened to turn the TV on and the Blinders were taking over the Eden Club and Arthur was glassing a guy in the face. I thought, “Oh, he’s probably like the dangerous thug character everyone is scared of.” (I didn’t know he’s Tommy’s brother at the time.) But actually he’s kind of endearing despite being the Shelby’s pitbull? Idk, the concept of the “failure” elder brother, how Arthur is the character the verbalises PTSD the most out of everyone, how one minute he can be lashing out like a rabid bear and then sobbing like a kid the next... I’m always like, “Oh, Arthur,” because you can see he wants to be a better person, but he just...doesn’t know how. - JOOOHN. I miss him! And it’s weird because in the early parts of the Season John doesn’t DO much but tag around after Tommy and Arthur, but his marriage to Esme is actually So Good and again, he’s actually kind of a softboi under the hard gangster act. (Also his “Do THIS, John, Do THAT, John, KILL YOUR FOOKIN’ TEACHER, JOHN!” is so fucking good.) He kind of provides a lightness when contrasted to Tommy and Arthur that I really do miss, because the last two Seasons have been very grim and I think John’s absence has something to do with it. I liked Esme too, even if she’s a stroppy bitch, her love for John but resentment of her role in the family and also she’s HELLA PRETTY. I’m sad her character has gone for now, but at least she wasn’t killed off. - I also love Ada a lot - I was really shocked when I read that Sophie Rundle hasn’t been acting all that long before she got the part in PB, because honestly she’s very good! And her concept again is a fun one - the only girl in a family of violent gangster boys. (Or as Freddy puts it, “The only princess”, which she is.) Having said that, I’m not sure how I feel about Ada’s character arc over the course of the season. In One she came off as kind of childish and still sort of stuck in her Rebellious Teen phase, then she became a mother and Freddie died, then in Season Two she’s trying to distance herself from the family and go legit, then in Season Four and Five she’s helping run the business and taking money from Tommy. Idk, I wish she’d play a more major role like her brothers because her motivations seem to change based on what the screenwriter wants, not what feels natural for her. Plus it annoys me that Ada blamed Ben Younger’s death on Tommy, but Tommy gets a lot of blame for things that aren’t his fault so I guess he’s used to it. Still, Ada is still a lot of fun when she does get to play a big role and gets some great lines later on. “Tommy Shelby is going to stop a revolution with his cock.” - POLLY, MY QUEEN! Easily the best woman on the show (sorry, Ada) and such a fucking badass. She’s definitely the voice of reason within the family and conflicting loyalty is a really interesting theme that gets explored with her, between her arguing nephews and niece, between her family or whether she wants to marry again and leave, her relationship with Michael, it’s all so great. Helen McRory is such a brilliant addition to the show. Also I love that Polly kinda represents women taking over after all the men went away to war and now they’re back, but the women aren’t just going to creep back into the house - World War One changed the workplace forever for women and I think Polly being the second in command after Tommy reflects that really well. - I think overall my favourite seasons have been Seasons One, Two and Four, I tend to find I get a bit bored in Peaky Blinders whenever it gets especially heavy on politics like in Season Three and Five and I admittedly kind of miss the simplicity of the early days of the show when it was about horse-racing, but the Changretta vs Shelby feud was genuinely really gripping and Adrien Brody was also Very Good. (I mean, I couldn’t take him seriously because of Brodyquest, but I like him a lot.) - I HATE GRACE. There, I said it. And honestly I have SO MUCH to say on why I hate her and also why I think she is the epitome of bad writing that has happened on this show that I might as well save it for a whole nother post, but Tommy and Grace’s relationship always felt so unnatural and forced to me, like they are in love because the screenwriter said so - Grace is the only woman Tommy knows who isn’t related to him and also because it pisses off Campbell. Like, she was tolerable if highly irritating in Season One, but then Two came along and she just got worse and worse. She’s annoyingly convinced she’s better than everyone else, pulls off a LOT of questionable shit that NO-ONE except Polly ever pulls her up on and Tommy repeatedly pining over a woman who lied to him and betrayed him makes no goddamn sense. I wish Stephen Knight would just let him get over her, because her showing up over and over again in the show after the bitch died two Seasons ago is so infuriating I want to throw my remote at the TV. The best bit of Season Three was someone finally putting a bullet in her, honestly. /rant - On that note, I really wish that they’d use May properly. She was introduced in Season Two and honestly her chemistry with Tommy is about a thousand times more believable than anything he had with Guuuhrayce and also May doesn’t consistently talk in that annoying, breathy voice and also she doesn’t shamelessly manipulate Tommy constantly. It’s too bad Stephen Knight couldn’t get Charlotte Riley back for Season Three owing to her pregnancy, because I think the trajectory of the show would have been very different. But her scene where she spoke about her husband and tried to hide that she was crying? So good. The fucking Face Tommy gives her when she asks for a mixer in her gin? Priceless. Agh - May’s been chronically underused in the show but she keeps getting mentioned every now and then, so I’m hoping there are plans for her to come back in Season Six. I really like her and I honestly think Tommy/May has been the best relationship he’s had, because it’s the only one that’s felt A) Natural and B) Equal. - Lizzie Stark. Okay, so I have mixed feelings about Lizzie. I liked her in Seasons One and Two, because she was this down-on-her-luck woman who was treated like crap by everyone, but she wasn’t wholly without her own flaws or personality - she did lie to John and Tommy did act in his brother’s best interests to tell him the truth. The scenes she had with Tommy in Season Two when he promotes her to his secretary were honestly very cute and my heart broke for her when that solider nearly (?) raped her in Season Two and she cried in John’s arms. But over time she’s started to irritate me. I know that people feel bad for her because Tommy honestly does treat her badly at times, though other times she’s also one of the few people he’s nice to, their relationship is complicated. But truthfully I don’t see Tommy/Lizzie every working out properly because Lizzie was a whore. She’s always been Tommy’s inferior and while I do think he cares for her, she never seems to think it’s enough. He doesn’t love her enough and she’s never satisfied with it and she’s always resentful of him. But you can’t FORCE someone to love you and it’s interesting that the minute she learned she was pregnant, you could see her thinking of how to make this work. She pulled the Baby Trap on him just like Grace did and got married like she wanted, but Tommy still doesn’t truly see her as his equal. And honestly, I don’t think she’s smart enough for him. Add that to Lizzie being EXTREMELY petty to other women (including her being really rude to May and slut-shaming her - bit rich from you, isn’t it, Lizzie?), and I don’t think they have a healthy relationship. I do like little Ruby a lot (way more than Charles, who is a spoiled brat because he’s Grace’s son and has a martyred dead mummy), but honestly I don’t see Tommy/Lizzie working out. I just hope that she doesn’t leave and take Ruby, I think it’d break Tommy to have his daughter taken away from him. - Alfie Solomons. So...I have to confess I have mixed feelings about Alfie. I liked him in Season Two because he’s batshit crazy, Tom Hardy is clearly having the time of his life and it’s refreshing to have a rival to Tommy who isn’t cartoonishly evil like Billy Kimber or Sabini. He ties into Season Two very well and yeah, I can see why he’s so popular. Also he’s pretty attractive, so that always helps. But. Alfie is starting to come across a bit like a creator’s pet to me. He consistently betrays Tommy every goddamn Season and while I know the fandom love to joke about this, it’s pretty inexplicable that Tommy would bother to continue to do business with him after being burned so many times and now it turns out he’s alive. Why? Why bring Alfie back? I feel like he was brought back because he’s a fan favourite and to add another suspect to who betrayed Tommy. I don’t hate Alfie at all, but I am starting to wish he’d face actual consequences for his actions, considering every Peaky Blinders character who fucks with the Peaky Blinders tend to suffer horribly for it, but not Alfie...for some reason. - Michael. Okay so Michael’s actor is pretty damn good and I thought it was cute that he and John’s actors are actually brother irl - you can see the resemblance. And honestly bringing back Polly’s missing kids was a really clever idea because there’s a family tie, but one that isn’t so strong you can always be sure of where his loyalties lie. His subplot with Father Hughes in Season Three was both very sad and very well done - I was cheering him on the whole way. But Season Five has made my opinion of Michael take a dramatic nosedive. He’s gone from sorta-sympathetic to an entitled brat almost overnight. I get he’s probably salty about being banished to America by Tommy in Season Four, but where has this sudden desire to rule the company come from? How did he meet Gina? Is he lying about Gina being pregnant because he figured it’d win him sympathy? I don’t know. He’s changed so drastically, and when Polly gave him that slap, I think she was doing what everyone wanted to. It’s too bad they just wrote Anna off as being dead, though, Michael having a sister and Polly a daughter would have been interesting. - The music?? Is so good?? I love it! Especially the themesong, obviously, but so much of it is always ON POINT. It makes me wanna buy the entire soundtrack. - Unpopular opinion, but I think Campbell was the best antagonist of the show, mainly because he was a vile person but still believable and had the best dynamic with Tommy.  - Season Five was honestly kind of hit-and-miss for me, it seemed like a lot of people are pissed at Tommy for fairly silly reasons in the beginning and I just didn’t find the political subplot all that interesting...but I still will definitely tune into Season Six. (Also these are all just opinions, so please don’t send me hate if you don’t like something I’ve said. Ain’t nobody got time for that.)

[kwebtv]

Peaky Blinders - BBC Two / BBC  One - September 12, 2013 - Present

Periodl Drama (24 episodes to date)

Running Time:  60 minutes

Stars:

Cillian Murphy as Thomas 'Tommy' Shelby 

Helen McCrory as Polly (Elizabeth) Gray, née Shelby

Paul Anderson as Arthur Shelby, Jr.

Sam Neill as Chester Campbell (series 1–2)

Annabelle Wallis as Grace Shelby née Burgess (series 1–3).

Joe Cole as John Shelby (series 1–4).

Sophie Rundle as Ada Thorne, née Shelby

Finn Cole as Michael Gray (series 2–present)

Harry Kirton as Finn Shelby (series 2–present)

Natasha O'Keeffe as Lizzie Shelby née Stark

Ned Dennehy as Charlie Strong

Packy Lee as Johnny Dogs.

Ian Peck as Curly

Benjamin Zephaniah as Jeremiah Jesus

Jordan Bolger as Isaiah Jesus (series 2–present)

Aimee-Ffion Edwards as Esme Shelby, née Lee (series 1–4)

Kate Phillips as Linda Shelby (series 3–present)

Tom Hardy as Alfie Solomons (series 2–4)

Adrien Brody as Luca Changretta (series 4)

Aidan Gillen as Aberama Gold (series 4–5)

Charlotte Riley as May Carleton (series 2, 4).

Paddy Considine as Father John Hughes (series 3)

Noah Taylor as Derby Sabini (series 2)

Charlie Creed-Miles as Billy Kimber (series 1)

Charlie Murphy as Jessie Eden (series 4 -5)

Gaite Jansen as Grand Duchess Tatiana Petrovna (series 3)

Iddo Goldberg as Freddie Thorne (series 1)

Alexander Siddig as Ruben Oliver (series 3)

Jack Rowan as Bonnie Gold (series 4–5)

Tommy Flanagan as Arthur Shelby, Sr.  (series 1)

[fathersonholygore]

BBC Two’s Peaky Blinders Season 4, Episode 4: “Dangerous” Directed by David Caffrey Written by Steven Knight

* For a recap & review of the previous episode, “Blackbird” – click here * For a recap & review of the next episode, “The Duel” – click here Mrs. Ross (Erin Shanagher) comes to see Tommy (Cillian Murphy); mother of the boy Arthur (Paul Anderson) killed boxing. It’s coming up on her boy’s birthday, so she’s not feeling great. Also could be the fact that Luca Changretta (Adrien Brody) and the Mafia are using her as a way to get at the Shelby family. The woman wants to invite Arthur to a small get-together at her home, as a “gesture” of forgiveness. Hmm. Hopefully our lad’s paranoia is high, with the Italians looking to kill them all. The head of the Shelby clan’s no slouch. He’s got the Blinders together, along with Johnny Dogs (Packy Lee), arming themselves, studying all the exits and entrances to Artillery Square, where Arthur will be for the get-together. At midday Arthur goes over to the woman’s home, and she invites him in after checking him for weapons. Just in case, y’know? They have a seat, it’s also more than obvious she’s nervous. She asks him about the rumours he’s “welcomed Jesus” into his life, his wife, so on. She wonders if he feels redeemed. And he tells her: “We both know that forgiveness is out of my hands.” Outside, all the boys are watching, positioned at various places in the Square. Then they see a girl Mrs. Ross sends from her house, waving to men in the alley. However, it’s just a decoy. At the very same time, Michael (Finn Cole) is about to be attacked at the hospital; the real target. Luca himself puts a bullet in one of the Blinders watching his room. Then he steps in for a word with the young, injured man. He puts a gun to his forehead, pulls the trigger, and it doesn’t fire. He didn’t load it. All he says before he leaves is “tell your mother we have a deal.” Oh, shit. Polly (Helen McCrory) is truly turning this into a shit show. Tommy gets a call out to Charlie (Ned Dennehy) to get word to Bonnie Gold (Jack Rowan) about Italians headed their way. When Luca and his men get out into some lonely forest, they find an accident blocking the road. They’re fed up waiting and get out to take care of it themselves, but the bobby on the scene refuses to let them. Luca feels paranoid, telling his driver to go. Except the driver’s throat is already cut. Now gunfire from the trees rains down, as the gypsies try taking out all the Italians. Luca gets away, but Aberama (Aidan Gillen) and his boys got a couple of the gangsters. At the hospital, Michael is pissed with his mother. He asks Pol about the deal. She rambles about “strategic war between families” and all that, revealing herself to her son. He isn’t happy. She believes they’re in over their heads, the only way to get out? Turn on her own family, apparently. “We‘re gypsies, we‘re already underground.” We see May Carleton (Charlotte Riley) come into Birmingham by boat to see Tom, horse business. She’s impressed with his horse, as well. She needs a few papers signed for ownership. Although maybe it isn’t the only reason she came. Either way, she’s realising that nothing, not the death of a wife, a brother, will ever change Mr. Shelby into anybody else than he’s ever been. Simultaneously, Lizzie (Natasha O’Keeffe) is sniffing around, trying to keep her man from straying too far, as is his nature. Luca gets in touch with Pol, making sure she knows they can get to her boy at any point in time, anywhere. So she has to make sure Tommy winds up in the palm of their hand. She’s kicking around the office, looking for him now. She winds up with Lizzie, reading leaves for her, so long as she gets to see Tommy’s diary. Pol knows he’s free on Friday. Will she plot something horrible? AND, is Lizzie pregnant with a Shelby? At the gym, King Maine (Daniel Fearn) says that young Bonnie is ready for the ring, even if he’s a bit of a cocky little shite. Still, the lad is prepared, and so Tom’s got a fight setup in Camden Town, against a man called Goliath (Dino Kelly). Later, Tommy and May go see the distillery he’s setup while they’re back in Small Heath. He explains the booze business they’re gearing up, asking for her opinion on his recipes. She has a taste of gin; “too sweet.” Thus begins a bit of intimacy, though it’s short lived. Ada (Sophie Rundle) goes to a Communist Party meeting flaunting her married named Thorne, inviting Jessie Eden (Charlie Murphy) for a drink. All under the guise that she’s the more reasonable Shelby. But certainly Ada isn’t there on her own. She’s been sent by the boss, her big brother, to offer “parity.” What do they want for the deal? Tommy supposedly wants to talk with Jessie about “socialism and revolution.” Ah, we’re finally getting some Alfie Solomons (Tom Hardy) again! He’s dropped into Small Heath with Goliath, the boxer, who’s more than worthy of the name. Alfie and Tommy have a chat about gin and rum, and Italians, too. He advises the gin’s not sweet enough. After that they get talking about Luca, his men. Quite an antagonistic conversation, as usual. The baker’s still got a saucy mouth. “Sicilians, they don‘t trust nobody haven‘t fucked a goat on the morning of their first pubic hair, they‘ve got traditions.”

So the boxing match is a go. That’s not all Tommy’s got on his mind. He’s got no time to stop being paranoid, not now. He can tell Michael knows more than he lets on. And though he doesn’t know Aunt Pol is working against him, he definitely understands something is about to happen. And as Tommy heads off down the road, Luca, a truckload of his men, are headed off behind him, tons of guns in tow. Man, Peaky Blinders is just a masterpiece of a series! Every episode is solid, never once have I been bored. Even in the quieter moments, the intensity is always there. Love the dialogue, too. Cracking stuff. “The Duel” is next, the penultimate Season 4 episode already.

Peaky Blinders – Season 4, Episode 4: “Dangerous” BBC Two's Peaky Blinders Season 4, Episode 4: "Dangerous" Directed by David Caffrey…

[snarkyoracle]

Peaky Blinders Season 4 Premiere Date

The fourth season of Peaky Blinders will return to Netflix in the US on December 21.

 The six-episode series from Caryn Mandabach Productions and Tiger Aspect stars Paul Anderson, Helen McCrory, Tom Hardy, and Charlotte Riley appearing for the first time since Season 2 as May Carleton. They are joined by Adrien Brody as Luca Changretta; Charlie Murphy as Jessie Eden and Game of Thrones alum…

[red-riding-wood]

Another creation by @lebz93 for White Ribbon and it's STUNNING. Inspired by Chapter Nine and the dance metaphor. Okay, I'm gonna try and not gush too much this time, but, I can't get over how perfect the background image is for them and the coat and the gloves on the right look so cool. Ahh, I love this more than my loopy 1 AM brain can properly express, thank you <3

[mischievouslittlecreature]

@red-riding-wood I am SO SORRY it has taken me so long to get around to reading this, Red! Feel free to boo me for being a bad mutual 😅

I loved the first scene between Charlotte and Tommy! They relationship is so interested and complex, and it was lovely to get some more backstory and details about her relationship with her brother.

Something had pulled me here; for whatever reason, Small Heath, with all of its bad men and its relentless bloodshed, had whispered thoughts of a throne to me.

This is such a perfect and intriguing insight into Charlotte and her psyche/motives. I love the idea of something almost supernatural combined with her own ambition drawing her towards Small Heath.

Whatever was going on, it was surely better off in red hands than white. 

sdfgdjshgkjdsgh THIS IS SO GOOD RED I DON'T EVEN HAVE WORDS.

The way that you built up the tension leading to the church sequence was so good. I could really feel Charlotte's anxiety and I loved how she was trying to comfort both herself and the horse. And the sexual tension/dance between her and Luca is just *muah* it's so good. You've done such an amazing job keeping them on the knife's edge of flirtation while maintaining an aspect of sinisterness and I love it. That ending has me on the edge of my seat! I really can't wait to see what happens next!

OC: Charlotte Griffin

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Summary: Charlotte Griffin, on a quest to emerge from her family's dark shadow, becomes a spy in a gang war that puts her loyalties and desires into question as she grows closer to the man who is meant to be her enemy.

WARNINGS for whole story: eventual explicit sexual content and references, explicit violence and gore, mentions of physical abuse, language, ethnic slurs

The steel of the revolver was cold as my fingers brushed its trigger guard, Thomas pressing its handle to the palm of my hand. My fingers curled around it tentatively, though I hoped that he did not notice this. The last time I had held a gun, it had been my twin brother by my side.

“This is a revolver,” he said. “Six shot. Always hold your finger above the trigger until you’re ready to fire.”

Though it could hardly be called a smile, my lip quirked at that. Alexander’s choice of weapon had been a revolver, and the weight felt familiar in my hand, as did the sight of the chamber. But I did not want to talk about such things.

Thomas pulled a small box of ammunition from his pocket, and withdrew a brass bullet.

I cocked a brow at him as words began to form on his lips, and I said, “The next thing I know, you’re going to tell me this is a bullet.”

Thomas hesitated, the brass between his fingertips glinting in the light of the afternoon sun. His eyes seemed to glitter, and the quirk of his lip mirrored mine as he examined me.

“Those are .455 rounds,” he said, and handed one to me. The bullet was even colder against my fingertips, and though they itched to slot it into place, I awaited Thomas’ instruction patiently.

“Now…” he said. “… you see this on the side? You pull that, break it open, and load your bullets.”

Alexander’s revolver had been a Colt .45. An American model, a single action that required each round to be chambered individually. I’d never used a break-action, though I’d known it to be my father’s weapon of choice. Something sinister seemed to crawl its way to the bright of my soul as I did as Thomas asked, smothering the light. I hoped he did not notice the way my fingers trembled as I loaded the sixth bullet.

“All right, close it like that, now – yes, just like that. Now, you’re live.”

“I don’t need to cock the hammer?” I asked, my thumb hovering over the mechanism.

Like Luca, Thomas always seemed to take his time before answering, even if he knew his response. He was currently lighting a cigarette, dragging it along his bottom lip in the way I’d learned to be a habit of his. Only when a puff was blown and his lighter was placed back in his pocket did he say,

“No.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes – I was perhaps becoming too comfortable around him, letting my guard down in a way a spy should not, especially not a spy who dared dance with the enemy – and I situated myself so that the targets were in sight, the winds cordially still today so not a leaf rustled in the apple trees alongside the gongs.

Thomas came to stand beside me as I aimed, a cloud of smoke encircling him, his eyes shadowed by the cap he wore and still squinting against the sun, his thoughts hidden past his inscrutable countenance.   

The Webley kicked hard, though it wasn’t the kick that startled me, but rather, the memory it attempted to drag me into, of Alexander’s body pressed against my spine and his hands hovering over mine to steady my aim, of his chiming laugh when I started crying and shaking, of the warmth of his loving hands as he took the cold gun from me and brought me into his arms.  

“It’s not going to hurt you,” he’d told me. “Only those you point it at.”

Thomas side-eyed me, his lip curling into a tiny smirk that seemed to both humiliate and infuriate me. Unlike Alexander, his amusement was more smug than it was playful, though I was not a child anymore. And I was determined that he didn’t see me as such, that he didn’t see me as the little posh girl from London who was too frightened to shoot a gun.

“I’m all right,” I said, a little too defensively, and I attempted to steady my shaking hand as I eyed the gong; the bullet had hit the outer edge. “Let me try again.”

I sucked in a breath, and I banished the memories of Alexander, letting his warmth and his lovely laugh fade away, letting the cold bite of the winter air seize my marrow past my coat and flesh and bone, letting my boots sink into the soil of the pasture, letting the sounds of birds whelm the silence. And on my exhale, I squeezed the trigger.

I recovered better this time from the recoil, and my eyes remained focused on my target, on the bullet that had crept just an inch or two closer to the bullseye.

Thomas’ smirk remained.

I took another shot. And another.

And his smirk waned. And while my flesh crawled and while I knew, from the screaming light in my soul, that I should not have been pleased, my own lip tugged into the slightest of smiles, the hot rush of adrenaline spiking my veins.

Only when the sixth shot was fired and I lowered the Webley did my chest heave a tremulous breath, and I swallowed against a knotted throat, as if forcing back the doubt and the pressure, and, most important of all, the memories.

Thomas stepped forward, making his way to the front of the range, and I followed as he mumbled past his cigarette,

“So, when did you learn to shoot, eh?”

As we came further to the gong, my eyes raked across the impressions the bullets had made, all offset from the bullseye by perhaps a few centimetres. Not perfect, but far from awful.

“You don’t reckon it’s beginner’s luck?” I said, coming to stand by the gongs.

“Not with that grouping.” Thomas pointed with his cigarette to the impressions left by the bullets.

I swallowed again, and studied my grouping so I did not have to meet his eye as I said, “My brother taught me.”

The slightest whisper of breezes stirred the wisps of hair from my eyes, and  I shivered beneath my thick overcoat.

“I hear you have a lot of brothers.”

The unease in my hesitation was palpable, so much so that I knew Thomas could sense it. Anyone could. I had been trying so hard not to think of Alexander and his mischievous blue eyes and his warm embrace.

“My twin brother. Alexander,” I said past the ever-growing knot in my throat. “He used to say I needed to learn, to protect myself from bad men.”

“Bad men.” He mulled over the word, before quirking his lip. I met his eyes to find a glitter in their aquamarine depths. “Like me?”

“Yes,” I said, having found the irony in my business here but only tasting it on my tongue now. “Like you.”

“Your brother was wise.” Thomas handed me six more bullets.

“He was.” I swung my head away from his gaze as I reloaded the Webley. “Reckless, but, clever. He caught on faster than anyone in that family. Including me.” I slotted the last bullet into place with lead in my gut, eager to change the subject from my brother if only to someone who hadn’t left a fracture in my soul. “Except for maybe my cousin. The only one who seemed to get away. Granted, she went to live with the Gypsies – that’s what my brother said. She likely went mad.”

“But you stayed.”

The Webley snapped shut, and another silence fell between us. I found myself looking him in the eye again only to find an unexpected intrigue in bright blues.

“I stayed.”

“And why did you stay?”

“For my brothers, mostly,” I answered in earnest, my tone taking on a grave note as I said my next words, “My father was a bad man, Mr. Shelby. They needed me.”

“And yet, here you are.”

My lip quirked. And I spared myself one moment and one moment alone to feel an amount of guilt for having left. Who was there now to take care of Ivan when he drank too much? Who was there to keep the others safe?

No one, and yet… there wouldn’t have been even if I’d stayed. My father would’ve found a suitor for me eventually, would’ve married me off to form some allegiance with the Solomons or the Sabinis.

“I started to listen to my ambitions rather than my heart,” I told Thomas, knowing full well that the threat of an unhappy marriage wasn’t the only thing that drove me away. Something had pulled me here; for whatever reason, Small Heath, with all of its bad men and its relentless bloodshed, had whispered thoughts of a throne to me.

Though, I didn’t necessarily want to tell Thomas these thoughts, either. The last thing I needed was to have him suspicious of me desiring more than what he was offering. So, I changed the subject,

“And who taught you to shoot, Mr. Shelby?”

A puff of smoke spiced the winter air, and he rolled the cigarette between his fingers, gaze fixating somewhere on the distance as if I had ceased to exist. He didn’t look me in the eye when he finally said,

“Let’s head back, shall we? See if we can group all your shots.” Cigarette wedged back in his teeth, he turned, black coat swishing at his heels, but I kept my feet planted in the sodden earth.

“Was it your father?” I called to him, raising my voice over the faint bluster of the wind as he walked away. “Most men learn from their fathers.”

He stopped, head sinking just below his shoulders, as if the weight of the world was finally beginning to bury him. I yearned to witness his countenance, to learn what emotions he hid beneath those eyes of frozen tides. And he turned, slowly, his cigarette cast to the earth and stubbed out with the toe of his boot, as if the taste were suddenly foul.

The cap rose to reveal those aquamarine eyes, and when he looked at me, I thought I almost detected a rage burning in those icy depths. “My father was a bad man.”

“Worse than you?” I cocked a brow.

Thomas Shelby nodded, slowly, the flame of rage flickered out, as if silenced by the winds, silver fragments of his eyes a hollow vestige of what once had been, just like the tendrils of smoke that rose from beneath the toe of his boot.

“Worse than me.”

Though eager to pry, I allowed another silence to stretch between us. I found that there was more to learn about people from the spaces between which they spoke than their actual words, but his eyes were squinted tight against the glare of the setting sun, and the peak of his cap still shadowed them in a mysterious dark that was fitting of his cryptic nature.

“That reminds me,” I said, tone shifting as I walked forward, deciding to release his gaze so as not to make my curiosity overly known. “I wanted to ask your permission to take a day or so to visit London. I have business there. But I can be back as soon as I can.”

“What sort of business?” he asked as I fell into stride beside him, and a breath slowly hissed from my nose as I recalled Aberama’s threat, as the golden line of the horizon winked like that of the citrine amulet I would need to fetch.

“Business with bad men,” I said, and caught his gaze out of the corner of my eye. Something flickered through it that was too fleeting to catch, and it ate at the pit of my stomach. But I clarified, the word bitter on my tongue, “Family.”

“Very well, Charlotte. We can go over the details when we get inside.”

And across the sprawling acres, a maid in black and white waved a frantic hand in the air to catch our attention, the other clutching at her skirts as she rushed from Arrow House. Frances, as I recalled, her withered frame unmistakable even at this distance.

A look passed between Thomas and I, and I pressed the weight of the revolver back into his gloved hand. Whatever was going on, it was surely better off in red hands than white. 

---

I tried not to betray the way my hand trembled around the phone as I set it down on the finely veneered cedar-wood desk of Thomas Shelby’s personal home office.

But Thomas did not pay such subtleties any mind. “What’s going on?” he demanded, his tone darkened by an urgency I had not yet witnessed from the collected gang leader. His fists were balled, shoulders hunching as he rested his weight on the desk.

“It’s Matteo. Luca’s requested a meeting… at one of the local churches. He says I need to be there in thirty minutes.” My tone, thankfully, did not share the same trepidation as my hands. I had learned to exert more control over my words than my body language.

“Why?” Thomas’ eyes darted across my features, impatient for an answer. It was almost unsettling how much haste brewed beneath his demeanor. “Did he say why?”

“He did not,” I said, my mind whirling, thinking back to my last interaction with Luca – the blood on his desk and gloves, the way he had dismissed me so bitterly. “I have a very bad feeling about this, Mr. Shelby. We may not have ended on the safest terms.”

“We’ll do as he says. But I’m ordering ten men on horseback, and three in cars, on the road. What church is it?”

Fear prickled my flesh. I shook my head. “Mr. Shelby, I think it’s much better that I go alone. I’ve come this far; I don’t want to lose his trust. Sending reinforcements could be more dangerous than sending me alone.”

For one moment in which I swore he could’ve heard the raucous beating of the heart that nearly chattered my teeth, those twin blues bore into my soul, piercing through the layers of carefully-constructed dignity and calm, striking the pitch black of my soul where both fear and something too dark to fully discern dwelled.

For the briefest of moments, I thought I might’ve glimpsed something like concern in the bright of his eyes.

“Fine,” he said, at last sparing me from the icy hooks of his gaze. “I’ll have a mare saddled for you in the stable. You know I don’t trust taxis, Charlotte. I trust horses. Your father was a regular at the races, always placed a hefty sum of coin on his bets. I imagine with your upbringing, you were taught to ride?”

Alexander had been the one to teach me to ride, not my father. Sometimes a horse could take you places an automobile couldn’t, places away from watchful eyes and cruel hands, from biting sneers and bitter disapproval. Away from misery and sin.

I could do nothing but nod, trying to swallow my heart since it had crept to my throat, and the heels of my boots clicked against the flooring as I made my departure, knowing Frances would await me on the other side of the door to escort me through the labyrinth of the manor.

As I reached for the doorknob, I paused, my eyes catching on a photograph on one of the tables. A blonde woman, her features fine yet striking, her eyes a pale grey and her flesh a milky white, her head held high despite the weight of the sapphire strung around her neck. Her hair was tied back but held unmistakable curls, and though she donned a brilliant wedding gown and she smiled, some kind of sadness brewed beneath those pale irises and seemed to reach for the empty of my soul, sending a cold shiver through my bones, as if her ghost was reaching for me as Alexander’s had.

She must’ve been Thomas’ former wife, I reasoned. I’d glimpsed portraits of her around the house, hadn’t paid much mind until now. My eyes wandered to the lock of champagne hair at the base of the frame, the one that coiled around the little red ribbon that had been placed alongside it. Grace Burgess, her name was in life; she had been killed on order of the Changrettas. 

I looked back to Thomas now, where he sat in his chair, flipping through some documents rather tensely, a coil of smoke rising from the cigarette he clenched between two shaking fingers and his dark brow sewn by stress.

“Mr. Shelby…” I wasn’t quite sure why the words left my chest, but they were gentle, perhaps softer than I had anticipated them to be. As if they came from the dwindling light still shining past the black of my soul.

Pale eyes met mine again, brow raising. He took a puff of his cigarette. “Yes, Charlotte?”

I managed a small, sad smile, not unlike the woman in the photograph’s, and shook my head, unsure of what I had wanted to say.

“Nothing, Mr. Shelby,” I said, and bid him farewell, hoping that the heavy door that swung shut behind me would swallow whatever weakness, whatever strange kindness had consumed me in that brief shift of reality.

---

Dusty was the air aroused by the drum of hooves against the pavement, and it reeked of rubbish and soot in these narrow streets. I didn’t think I would ever become accustomed to the sour undertones of urine and the brawling men who threw themselves about as if they were wrestling children.

The air was shattered by the sharp crack of a bottle that smashed against the brick of a colonnade; the streets were beginning to widen, lighten with the faint trace of dying light through the smog-ridden air.  

I eyed the coat that was swishing at my heels in time with my horse’s strides, the ink black of the thick fabric dimming gradually with each fleck of dust that it collected. The mare’s beautiful white coat was greying, sullied by such filth. I nearly scowled, but set my gaze ahead, to the dark swathing of ebony beneath the awning of the ivory church.

The evening’s light limned the church’s colourful, stained windows in a graceful sort of beauty, and shadowed the recesses that were hidden by the surrounding buildings in a sinister sort of dark. Of course Luca had chosen this place. It was fitting for someone who seemed to hide the wretched half of his soul.

Anxiety brewed beneath my flesh as I pulled gently back on the reins, the mare seeming to sense this as she nickered to announce our presence, cone-shaped ears swivelling back to me before settling on the building ahead. She pawed at the concrete, the jarring scrape of her hoof tensing my shoulders as I swung gracefully down from her saddle. She nickered again as I led her to the hitching post, still trying to drum something up from the barren earth, as if calling upon the souls of the damned. She began to thrash against her reins, dark eyes flaring wildly.

“Shhh,” I said softly, my leather-clad fingers ghosting her snout, letting her smell me, my other hand reaching round to her sturdy neck to lightly brush off some of the dust that had collected on a coat that had once been pure as the snow.

“I know you’re afraid,” I told her with the same gentleness in my tone that I had revealed to Thomas. I glanced down her line of sight to the church, a shudder tracing my flesh as I imagined Luca awaiting me. “But you cannot show them.” My eyes darted around to the onlookers who were beginning to take notice of the mare’s display.

She eased if only slightly under my touch and my words, and so I led her to the hitching post beside the nearest building for good measure. A hot breath whickered against my hair, stirring up fine strands of champagne locks. I couldn’t help but smile, and patted her affectionately as I tied her to the post.

My smile faded as I approached the door to the church, brushing what I could of the dust off from my coat. A cold chill seemed to work its way beneath my flesh, and I took a sharp breath in as I attempted to force down my nervousness, my doubts.

Luca may have worn two faces, but so could I.

I knew that I courted death each time I met with the man, and I knew that last time, I had dared too close to the flames of his wrath. I knew that someday, perhaps, I would no longer prove useful to Luca, that the false information from Thomas would run dry or he would find someone else for his dirty work, but perhaps that someday had drawn closer than I had imagined.

But surely not even Luca would rid of me on holy ground?

The church was barren, quiet, the air stale, but not a complete assault on the senses. Rather, the scent of myrrh and the faintest trace of smoke glided across an oily odour that indicated a fresh paint; I slipped a leather riding glove from my hand and ran a finger across the benches. It came up wet.

I rubbed the oil paint between my fingers and turned my attention to the black-coated man who stood before the altar, a beaded rosary clasped between slender fingers and held to the Virgin Mary statue as if in offering. As I approached, my heels clicked against floorboards that groaned and wailed as if caging spirits of the underworld, as if kept at bay by the rusted nails and splintered alder.

The smell of the incense grew stronger, the myrrh almost innerving in comparison to the piss and grime of the streets. The man’s head was bowed, hat tipped to obscure his features. But I would’ve recognized his voice anywhere.

“So it seems you are not of Hell after all, Miss Griffin.”           

His voice was serpentine, each syllable hissed more than spoken, though the undertones seemed to rumble low from his chest.

The rosary was tucked away into a pocket of his overcoat, and the silhouette of a face tilted towards me.

When was the last time he had called me by that wretched name? I tried not to dwell on it too much, tried not to remember the cold feel of the Webley in my hands and how it had reminded me of my father.

I smirked, once more forcing down the bitterness and the questions and the doubts, and said, “Out of the two of us, I wouldn’t think my soul would’ve been the one in question.” My voice, in contrast, seemed to pitch too high.

We were a few feet apart now, and the incense that burned on the altar masked the scent of his usual cologne. But pale green eyes fell upon mine beneath the shadow of his hat. From the last rays of the daylight, the windows bled upon pale features, softening a sharp cheekbone.

I took a step forward, heart thudding in my chest, and reached my hand out to remove his hat with a smirk still plastered on my painted lips. I was tempted to rub the oil of the paint across the felt, for I knew how much he prided himself in his appearance, but I switched hands and relieved it from a neat bed of jet-black hair. The back of my hand brushed along his jaw, the contact intentional.

“You know, it’s a great disrespect for a man to not remove his hat upon entering a house of God,” I told him.

“Then maybe you’re right,” he said.

“I’m right about a lot of things,” I said, and placed the hat beside the incense. “Just like I’m right in assuming that you didn’t forget to remove it. You just wanted an excuse to have me this close to you.” I paused, my eyes seeking his for any signs of emotion before adding, low yet soft, “Again.”

Pale greens narrowed, flitting across my own features. He was studying me. He seemed to do that a lot. And as two-faced as he was, not even he could hide the wick of burning sin that seemed to set them alight for just a mere moment.

And then he was turning his back, and fitting a toothpick between his teeth; an angular jaw moved against the grain of the wood. He was most likely in contemplation.

“If I wanted to be close to you, piccola spia, you’d be begging to never see me again.”

A tickle of a current darted along my ribs at his words, and I cocked my head at him. “Is that a threat, or a flirtation?”

The toothpick twirled slowly between his lips, and he turned to catch me in the side of his gaze. “While you know I enjoy our pleasantries, don’t make the mistake of thinking this is a social call. I summoned you here because I have a lead on Shelby’s whereabouts.”

“Of course,” I said with a tight smile. Using people was the way of the world. I hadn’t forgotten that I was still just a tiny pawn in his game.

“Tommy Shelby is entering a fighter into a boxing tournament come the end of winter.” Luca wound his way back to me, the boards groaning again beneath his weight, lost souls screeching. “High stakes. High bets.” His overcoat settled at his heels as he came to stand before me again, closer than we’d been before, as if to prove some sort of point. I tried in vain to disguise my rapid blink as a hot breath fanned across my cheeks and that damned toothpick shifted in his mouth.

“As you will come to learn, Luca…” I purred. “… I have many uses.” My brows raised a fraction, my eyes once again seeking his for that inkling of desire that sometimes graced their pestilent green. I received more than my wish; they swept down across the corset that hugged my stomach tight to the curve of my hips, and dragged leisurely up to the hint of cleavage that my gossamer scarf failed to hide.

“But brawling is not one of them,” I said, as his eyes met mine again. They were brighter, if only by a tinge.

“He will be there, in the audience, along with what’s left of his little gang,” Luca told me. “I need you to get my men and myself in.”

“You’re going to kill Thomas in the middle of a tournament? That’s bold, even for you Italians.”

His lip curved into the semblance of a smile around his toothpick, and he tilted his head at me this time, eyes narrowing again. “You doubt my ability, piccola spia?”

My eyes roved across him, at the toothpick that had stilled between thin lips, at the faint gleam of mischief in his eye, and I smiled back.

“That wasn’t what I said, Luca. I have no doubt in your abilities… but my answer is no.”

His smile fell slack, and the mischief was gone from his eyes. As he was rendered speechless, I turned to the alter, wafting a gout of the incense towards me and inhaling deeply, relishing in the aromatic scent of the myrrh.

I know you’re afraid, my own words echoed in my skull. But you cannot show them.

The fabric of an overcoat teased the line of my hip, and a rush of stale air stirred my skirt faintly from my ankles. A hot breath raked down the side of my neck, fluttering the threads of champagne locks that seemed to dance at the corners of my vision. The shiver that ran down the length of my spine was from the incense, and nothing more.

“No? Your answer to me is ‘no’? You’re fortunate, piccola spia, that you are not put down like the rest of those filthy dogs. But you’re not fortunate enough to answer me with ‘no’.” His toothpick rattled in his teeth with a bitter wrath.

I still had not become used to this side of him, this temper that flared beneath the surface of such poise and control. But unlike him I kept my calm despite the mad thrum of my heart against my ribs; my hand stilled where it wafted the incense, and I spoke evenly, “I still have a reputation to maintain among the ranks of those ‘dogs’, Luca. And I will not be caught letting you in to the event.”

My throat tightened, collapsed beneath the force he applied to his fingers, rings hard and cold against my sensitive flesh. I sputtered, and gasped, the scent of the incense tapering as did my oxygen.

Green eyes flashed, and a broken toothpick hung, suspended by one thread of wood, from his lip. His nostrils flared and his body pressed close to mine, backing me into the sharp edge of the altar, as he looked me in the eye.

“You knew about the event?” he half-growled, half-hissed.

I gulped beneath his grasp, and parted my lips to attempt a defense, but tuned my ears to the sound of a whinny and the click of a chambered bullet outside the glass of one of the majestic windows.

We both quieted; his grip loosened, and a glare was cast upon me before his attention turned to the window, and incense flooded my aching lungs.

As I sputtered, I glimpsed the silhouette of a horse and rider outside the stained glass.

“You brought the cavalry, I see,” Luca said, and clicked his tongue disapprovingly against the roof of his mouth. The toothpick fell to the floor and he swept a few stray wisps of black hair from his forehead.

Of course Thomas had disobeyed my request. But for what purpose, I wasn’t quite certain of. Images of the blonde woman with sad, grey eyes returned to me, haunting me.

“A man won’t even remove his hat in the presence of God... who knows what else he might do to me in here,” I said, my voice slightly raspy from the hold he’d had on my breath, but my tone dipped in a sultry tincture.

Chest still heaving with an ireful breath but clearly attempting to calm himself, Luca’s gaze flashed to me again in a strange yet satisfying mixture of virulence and curiosity.

“Be there. Have a Mr. Bennet on the guest list. And my men, too. Or this one…” The brass of the bullet gleamed in the soft bath of the emerald and magenta light of the window as he held it up to me. “… this one’s for you.”

NEXT CHAPTER coming soon!

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[vivianleighwishesshewasme]

The Italian Beasts Beauty

John Shelby's daughter, Charlotte May is offered up to the Changretta's through marriage to end the vendetta. She is processing her fathers senseless death. Can she understand her husbands perspective and fall in love with him?

Luca stood at the altar trying not to fidget. This was the same church his cousin had gotten married in fifteen years ago. Blood red roses, baby's breath flowers and ornate crystals hung everywhere showing the guests in an elaborate warm ceremony. 

Truthfully nothing was warm or romantic about this wedding.

Thomas Shelby and Audrey Changretta had come up with a truce. 

A wedding between John Shelby’s eldest daughter, Charlotte May Shelby. And Vincente Changretta’s son, Luciano Changretta. 

He’d never laid on his bride to be. He hoped she was at least decent to look at, she was a Shelby. There women looked English so it could go either way. He just hoped she didn't look like a horse. 

“Come on, when does the fucking thing start?” Irritation was latched onto every nerve in his being. He’d just wanted to kill them all and go back to New York. 

No, his mother insisted he get a bride before he headed back. 

“Luca, look.” Matteo nodded down the aisle. The music swelled as he turned to see his bride to be walking down the aisle by her two surviving uncles. Thomas Shelby and Arthur Shelby.

Well…she was being carried. He could tell she was stiff, her feet dangling comically off the ground as they carried her forward. 

Great, she was already trying to embarrass him. He grit his teeth and clenched his fist. He found his mother in the crowd and shot her an evil eye. How dare she marry him off into this family! This was a fucking joke!

He should have married his brother's whore and avenged Angelo on his wedding night. 

“Straighten up, now!” Tommy’s voice growled out low and menacing. Luca sighed. They were actually agreeing on something. What was with this broad? 

“Come on luv, it's your wedding day. Smile eh.” Her uncle Arthur pleaded softly. 

Luca almost laughed out loud when she shoved them both off and walked the two steps up to him.

The priest started the ceremony immediately in Italian, both parties kneeled. 

Her veil was so thick he couldn’t even see a face shape under it. She'd worn a little tiara with a red rose over it, securing her face from his view. He’d noticed when she stood in front of him that she was no bigger than a peanut. Maybe 5 feet and no inches if he were being generous. He was 6’1. He towered over her like a giant. 

“Settle down, I don’t wanna be here either.” He whispered harshly, glaring at her. His jaw set in anger. He wasn’t angry with her, not that she understood that. The whole situation was just a big fucking joke to him. 

Her trembling was so bad, he could hear the top of her shoes tapping on the floor as they knelt in front of the priest. She was scared out of her mind. He reached over and grabbed her hand holding it tightly. She tried pulling away of course, it was no use. He was stronger. He’d meant it to be comforting. He swore she sucked in a breath. 

After an hour the ceremony was finally finished. They stood facing each other, she still heavily veiled like a grecian virgin. He took a deep breath in as he lifted the fabric.

“ You look like a fuckin doll.” His New York accent was thick but he couldn’t breath if he tried. She was absolutely stunning. 

“Tu sei bellissima.” He muttered as his side of the church gasped. The Shelby’s had outdone themselves. She was worth the whole Vendetta. 

He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. 

She had a heart shaped face, delicate and sweet. Pulp full red lips and huge gray eyes. Must have been from her mothers side. Pale blonde hair that hung loosely to her mid back. Everything about her was petite and porcelain-like, fragile and dainty like a living doll. If he squeezed her too tight he’d have no doubt she’d shatter. She was going to be the envy of all of New York City! Now she was his. 

Charlotte stood still next to her husband's side al;l night like a dutiful little wife. She wasn’t surprised when her family had abandoned her after the ceremony. Ada stayed until her babysitter needed to be relieved from her cousin  Karl. which was before dinner.

Charlotte, Lottie Shelby…Changretta, was now completely embedded within her husband's family.  

She couldn’t speak Italian, there had been no preparation. He’ll she hadn’t even had time to process her father's passing. The image of him pale and still in his military splendor in the caravan before it was engulfed in flames.

Flames of Hell she thought. All because of what? He wouldn’t let his ex fiance date or marry her Italian lover? He was already  committed to her beautiful and feral gypsy step mom Esme Lee Shelby.  Charlotte couldn’t imagine why he chose to start a war, or why her uncle needed to encourage it. For what?

It had been a Christmas she’d never forget, that was for sure. Her wedding was taking place on January 1st. 

A New Year for a new alliance.  If she ever saw her aunt Polly again, she’d slap her for coining that phrase. Her family had been saying it all week. 

“ Bellissima, they want us to finish dinner, cut the cake and dance.” He was leaning into her. His husky voice was like silk passing through her ears. 

God, she wanted to hate him. She couldn’t though. She didn’t understand her fathers choices. He’d killed her husband's brother and then his father. Nothing had even come out of it! Fucking waste. 

Her mother in law seemed uncomfortable with her presence in spite of the fact that this had been her plan. 

She followed him, mechanical all night. She just smiled. Nodded her face like a doll and said what she was told to say. 

He was handsome, Dark hair, olive skin and piercing eyes. He had been accommodating and seemed genuinely pleased to have her by his side. It was her face, she hadn’t said two words to him outside of the vows. 

She couldn’t wait for her own wedding day…

to be over. 

[vivianleighwishesshewasme]

The Italian Beasts Beauty

Charlotte Shelby and Luca Changretta chapter 4

Houses of beige, orange and soft reds dotted the landscape as it was created over the mountain terrain. Everything was vibrant, the houses, the food and the people who walked passed her on a daily basis. 

She wished she could be a part of it. She’d tried to call back home in dull gray Birmingham. 

She found out that her step mother had packed up the younger kids and was traveling with them. She missed her siblings but life on the road meant little to no communication. 

Everyone was gone or busy but Ada. That conversation had been interesting to say the least. 

Charlotte started off excited telling her all about the boat ride to Italy, how sweet Luca was and how gorgeous the town was he grew up in. 

Ada must have been having a bad day because all she did was point out that she was married to a stranger, all they did was eat, walk hand in hand and have sex. 

Charlotte could tell when she spoke about her family or like Luca would get frustrated. She sort of understood. His family hadn’t started the war, he got upset by her talking about the shelby even though she had a decent childhood he still seems on edge. 

“We’ll you married the enemy and you two probably never would have met if not for Mrs. Changretta and her white flag agreement with Tommy. What did you expect from this, Charlotte?” Ada’s harsh words and tone surprised her. She reminded her so much of Uncle Tommy. They only cared to end their own inconveniences in life. Charlotte felt bad even thinking that. At times she and Ada could be close at other times Ada could be so no nonsense that she was cruel. 

Charlotte must have taken her sunny and curious disposition from her mothers side of the family. She’d never known them, only the Shelby clan. 

“You need to figure out what to do with yourself Lottie. I already have a kid, I can't talk to you every time you're bored. Now go figure something out.” Her Aunt's harsh comments burned into her. She was in this mess because of them! Because the men wanted to go back to war so they started it over an ex lover. What was Charlotte to figure out? 

What had really gotten to her though was Tommy's comment. Apparently they were in the same house and he’d picked up the phone. She really hadn’t expected to hear from him. 

“Anyone can fuck a stranger Charlotte, don’t know why this warented a international phone call. Fuck off, Ada and I need the phone for business.” The phone line had gone dead on her Uncle's flat voice before she could process what he said. 

All that repeated in Charlotte’s head was,” You know nothing about him, you're a stranger in a country where you can't speak to anyone and no one cares. YOU ARE ALONE.” 

You know nothing about him, you're a stranger in a country where you can't speak to anyone. He’d told her she could take lessons but every time she asked he just tell her he was busy and looking into it. 

She walked by the window hearing Luca yelling again, she was almost grateful she didn’t speak his language, no barrier was necessary to tell he was pissed. His tone, vein popping out of his forehead and his hands smalling on the desk were all good indicators. She went and sat back down, sighing watching people walk the beach and take out boats. At least that was something to do right? 

 She stood up, almost bumping her head into one of the many fresh oranges that hung over the trellis, shading her favorite spot on the deck. It smelled wonderful. 

She couldn’t just stay bored all day, maybe she’d pop on down by the beach and enjoy herself. See if anyone spoke English. 

 _________Luca’s Pov_____________________________

“Dammit, don’t I pay anyone to grab the fuckin door!” He roared swatted servants out of his way. Where the hell was everyone? This wasn’t a vacation. People were starting to pop in and out of rooms “looking” busy.

He reached the door and opened it with one hand, the other gripping the phone tightly in his strong hands while trying to keep talking and listening. Wasn’t an easy task. 

His mothers eyes were as wide as his. She stood with her bags in hand waiting for him to move. She motioned him to move back, the phone tumbled out of his hand and smashed into pieces on the floor. 

Luca looked down at his feet and swallowed his apparent rage.

“Ma, to what do I owe this unexpected visit?” 

“I’m lonely, I knew you were working with the local families here on exporting trade deals to America. Figured I’c come home, I’m lonely Luca, your brother and father have passed. What should I do with myself? I already knit.” 

He hated guilt trips, Italian moms were famous for them and oh so good at them.��

He couldn’t talk without a phone. He needed to go buy a new one which meant a trip into town. We'll have to make a night of it, get a phone, take his girls out. He felt bad for neglecting Charlotte. Maybe now she’d have someone to talk to. 

“Charlotte.” He waited but no one answered.

“She napping.” Audrey almost looked annoyed saying it. Luca noted that he'd ask later.

He searched the house for her, it was a nice size house but where was she? He’d checked the balcony first, her favorite spot. He liked peeking at her while on calls sometimes. She looked like she was amusing herself. 

“Charlotte Changretta! Answer me!” He bellowed throughout the living room and kitchen. She wasn’t anywhere on the main floor. He climbed the stairs with his mother closely following behind him. He looked in all eight rooms, she was nowhere to be seen. 

He practically took the stairs two by two. He collided into Giana, a beautiful maid he’d met a few years ago and hired. She lived here for free. They’d slept together a few times but he promised his mother he’d be faithful once married, he wasn’t going to break that vow. 

“ Signore, she left about an hour ago. She didn’t say where.” Giana’s sweet husky voice wafted through his ears. Familiarity was what he told himself. Wait, did she say Charlotte left the property? 

“Did she take anyone with her?” He hoped she’d been smart about it but he really didn’t know her and Charlotte was young, young people tended to not take their mortality as seriously as someone more experienced with the world. If anyone wanted to hurt him, they could now get to her,didn’t she understand that from living with the Shelbys? She wasn’t untouchable. 

“No, Signore.” Giana smiled sweetly at him. He shook his head. He’d told her before they arrived that if she couldn’t be professional she’d be out. He didn’t have time for this. 

“I’m gonna kill her, I swear I’m gonna fucking kill her. My one rule! That's it.” He grabbed his hat while his mother came into view not looking impressed. 

“Luca calm down. She’ll stick out like a sore thumb, someone will have seen her. Let's go.”

“That's what I'm worried about Ma.” He walked toward the car begrudgingly holding out the door for his mother. He slammed the door and closed his eyes, sighing. He was worried about her. He hadn’t meant to be short with everyone. 

There was a little upstart family that wanted to make a name for themselves and were trying to mess up his deals. Not that either woman knew this. 

______________________________________________________________

 His mother had been the one to spot her talking to some sailors by the beach. He’d parked and walked briskly up to her.

“Charlotte, Ma and I are going to dinner. Get in.” He could tell his teeth were barred. He knew he sounded pissed speaking through clenched teeth but he’d been so worried about her. She had no idea how seriously he took his vows, he meant it when he said he’d protect her. He hadn’t realized he was protecting her against herself. 

She smiled at the men she’d been talking to, Americans of all people, like you, he reminded himself. They seemed very friendly with his women. One even grabbed her hand and squeezed it. That was it. 

He pulled her toward the car. She protested a little but he wouldn’t hear it. He made sure she was out of view before he leaned in and scolded her. 

“Charlotte, you can't just take off in enemy territory, not speaking the language on go talk to strange men. I don’t know much about the life you lived in Birmingham, but this aint it. Most of my men are in New York, you go out here, you wait for me.” He was surprised at how even his tone was, he was grabbing her arm fairly hard though. He prayed he didn't leave a bruise. He’d never hurt a woman but what had she been thinking?! Was she thinking at all?

Tears glistened in her gray eyes, large and ready to fall. Her head was down trying to shield her from his view. He’d made her cry, great. 

“Shit, don’t make me feel like the bad guy eh?” He regretted it the instant it came out of his mouth and fell on his ears. He hadn’t made time for her and she’d gone out on her own. 

“Make you feel bad?!” Her voice was raised at him. She was no longer leaning on the car but face to face with him, aggressively. 

“Keep it down, Cara Mia. I know people here, don't embarrass me.” His voice was low but firm. Was she allowed to behave like this in public at home? His mama said she’d been a good, outgoing sweet girl, respectful. Who was this he wondered, but that was just it. He didn’t know who she was or what would upset her, and vice versa. She didn’t know him either. 

“Oh okay, but I'm to stare out the window all day with nothing to do like your…..your pet?!” Her accusation stung him. He was working for their life together. It's not like they fell in love and this was their honeymoon. This was the last minute, her family was spared and she was talking to him like she didn’t respect him. 

“Lower your fucking voice. Please, bunny.” He looked around, smiled and nodded his head at people who nodded theirs in respect. He had a family name here to honor. 

“That's all I am right, your pet bunny. I have nothing to do all day but stare at other people living lives Luca, I literally only have my journal. All your books are in Italian. I'm alone.” She started sobbing now. “I am alone.” Her voice shook when she’d said that. He drew her into a hug aware that the Americans were climbing the hill to check on her. 

“Shush, I’m sorry baby doll. I’m sorry.” He meant every word. He was. He’d have to add her to his ever growing balancing act between family, work and expansion. 

“I am Alone.”  He felt that stinging deep into her heart. He was never truly alone. No matter where he went he had a few family members on his payroll. He kissed her forehead and mumbled and apology again. 

“ I’m sorry, can we eat? I’ll take you home, I'll plug in the new phone and you and I can spend some time together on the terrace huh. No sex, just talk.” He buried his nose in her hair. She nodded but refused to look at him. At least she got in the car without another fight. He closed the door, mindful not to slam it. They already had an audience. 

He knew he screwed up. He hadn’t thought being married would be this hard. To be honest, he really didn’t have to look after the girlfriends or women he’d had back home. They were stuck together for better or worse. He sent a quick prayer up to God that it wouldn’t get worse. 

_________________________Charlotte Pov_____________

She was kinda upset that he said sex was off the table. She was getting used to that as their connecting thing, and of course with him it was amazing. 

She knew they needed to talk. 

She yelled at him. Honestly had that been her family she’d have been roughly manhandled and tossed in the house. A lecture would happen the next day after they all came home from God knows where. 

He held her hand during dinner and kissed her head several times when they sat down to eat and listen to some jazz singer at the dinner club. 

She wasn’t allowed to get out back home. Even with blinders, once she got to see a boxing match but again, it was during lockdown. It was her uncle's plan. 

He was different, which she appreciated. She made sure to lean in when he held her in the car and placed her head on his. 

His mother seemed to stay out of it, no side comments or harsh warning to straighten up. She ignored the younger Changretta women but Charlotte wasn’t worried. She’d try to win her over tomorrow. Tonight she had to talk and apologize. 

She wondered if he’d actually let her talk or if she was just to nod her head and listen like it was with her family. She’d find out.

______________________________________________________________

He meant what he said. Her throat was raw and her eyes hurt.

“Hunny, this only works if you talk back. I’m trying to understand why you feel the way you do and why you think the way you do. I can’t know these things if you dont come sit down and answer me.”  He sat across from her under the oranges reclining comfortably against the outdoor sofa. His white shirt was partially unbuttoned displaying his dark little curls on his chest, he took off his sock and shoes. Just a white shirt and black slacks. He looked amazing right now. 

All she wanted was to be comforted right now, not talk.

He was being so patient. He waited and took sips of his wine, pausing to look at the ocean, giving her a few minutes to gather her thoughts. 

What frustrated her the most is that she physically couldn’t talk. Her mind had thoughts, answers to his question, comments and excuses yet…….nothing but silence and open mouth gasps came out. She was stuck frozen in time. 

He leaned forward. He was practically begging her to talk. The door suddenly opened behind her, the door to their room. 

Audrey Changretta came out in her robe tying it tightly as she stood in front of Charlotte. Similar height. Audry cradled her daughter in law's head in her hands. 

“Close your eyes, pretend your back at school giving a talk in debate. Same rules apply, facts not attacks. When you're ready to answer his first question, don't look at him.” Charlotte listened to her mother in law closing her eyes. 

She didn’t see Luca throw his hands up and recline back. It was worth a shot. At least to her.

“She got these panics at school.I learned a long time ago that she was brilliant but was never given the chance to speak out loud. I drove ehr abc and forth to debates. It helped. She's been out of school for three years Luca and on lock down for almost a year. Be a bit more patient, she needs to relearn this stuff.”

“ I’m trying mama.”

“He is, he's great. I’m the problem here, not him. I can't ""I dont know how to talk anymore.” Charlotte hated saying that outloud. She used, she able to talk for days. Then she'd come home from a field trip and been yelled at for annoying everyone. 

“ What can we do to make you more comfortable here while Luca wraps up this business?” Audreys soft relaxing voice asked. 

“I just need stuff to do. I don't know. I need people to talk to, house work, something?” Her eyes were still firmly closed but the tears had stopped. Her voice was coming back a bit. She was visibly regaining her calm.

“Do you read magazines? Craft, cook? We could set you up with all that.” Her mother in law was so sweet, genuinely trying to help. 

“I can't understand.” The frustration flooded her aching body again. God, she was getting so tired. She wanted to curl up in bed and sleep for days. The blues was setting in. 

“I have English magazines we can share, I can teach you to knit and we can take someone out with us from time to time. I’ll even teach you a little Italian like my husband taught me.” Charlotte let out a deep breath. She opened her eyes and looked at Luca. It was a start.

“I’m sorry, no I don’t understand the danger. I literally have no idea what is going on. Can you tell me a bit,like hey, a person might hurt you or recognize you. Just tell me who so I understand. I’m your wife, not a kid. I’m so tired of being treated like a stupid kid. I promise I'm smart. Give me a chance.” She begged him. He sucked in his breath and hung his head. He looked up and nodded. 

“I know you aren't dumb, my mama didn’t like the stupid kids, trust me. She wouldn’t have asked me to marry you if you weren't smart, sweet and kind Charlotte. She loves me.” She laughed at his statement. He loved her smile. She had deep seated dimples and it went to her eyes. They sparkled when she was happy. 

“Come here.” He waved her over and she obeyed. She crawled into his lap and placed her head on his shoulder. He held her. It wasn’t much but it was a start. At least now he knew this was their first thing to work on together. He needed to make her feel safe enough to talk, she knew she needed to talk because he would listen. 

Audrey slipped out when they were talking a bit about little things here and there.

“So, sex is definitely off the table.” She looked up at him with her beautiful cheeky smile. 

“It's never completely on the table. My mama will be busy listening to the radio if you actually want to try the table.” Her laugh bounced off the walls as he rubbed his hands up and down her side. 

“I like the way you think of Luca.” She kissed him and was grateful when he kissed back. They were okay, for now at least. 

______________________________________________________________

[vivianleighwishesshewasme]

The Italian beasts beauty part 3

Don't engage if under 18! Pure sex

Charlotte and Luca get better squinted. Don't Engauge with this chapter if under 18. Just sex!

Honeymoon phase

It didn’t take long to convince the doctor that they had consummated the relationship, a few times that morning.

Charlotte was grateful when the doctor had left them alone in the room.

“So our boat leaves later this afternoon Principessa, how about a shower before then and we'll go visit mama.” She smiled weakly and wrapped the bed sheet around her more tightly. She’d seen the emotion flit across his face. He’d caught her discomfort talking about visiting. Her family had all but shunned her, at least it had felt that way. She’d be leaving on a honeymoon then headed to New York so far away from everyone.

“What's wrong princess?” His thick New York accent made her smile and spread warmth through her small frame. She adored his voice. Low, husky and sexy even when he wasn’t trying to be.

God, if he just read her a restaurant menu she’d want to jump him.

“Charlotte, focus.” She giggled and covered her face with the sheet causing a warm chuckle to rumble out of his chest. He snuck up behind her and wrapped his long strong arms around her squeezing her back into him. He ground into her. He was as worked up as she was.

“Am I that easy to read?” she asked embarrassed and fully flushed. He snuck his face into her neck and kissed her shoulder settling his face in the crook of her collarbone and neck.

“Yes, but I love that about you. I always know where I stand. It’s refreshing.” He kissed up to her face and his hand snuck on her neck gently applying pressure and pulling her face up to give him better access to her full pink lips. He kissed her senselessly ignoring the ringing phone. Neither were moving to answer it lost in one another.

“There is a huge bathtub with a shower head, what do you say Mrs. Changretta? You want me to join you in the shower and lick the water droplets off your petite little body.” She shivered and closed her eyes, barely nodding her head.

“Oh my god, yes.” she barely recognized her own voice. Confident and laced with sex. He was one of the best things that ever happened to her.

She now understood what drove her father crazy for some of these women. It was a sexual connection and deeper desire than she’d ever known she could feel. She still hated that he'd started a war over a former lover but she could at least understand some of his motivation.

“Come on Coniglietto. Let's go get clean.” She followed him into the cold white bathroom and dropped her sheet sending him a cheeky smile. He raised an eyebrow at her and smiled back.

“You're gonna kill me Conglietto.” He smiled as the water ran down in rivets filling the room with warm and soft noise. He sat on the edge of the tub, uncaring that he was getting wet. Just took in all of her.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” She asked, cocking her head to the left, sending her long blonde hair cascading down her breasts. She took his breath away without realizing it. She looked like an angel made for sin.

“What, Conglietto? Because it's true and I like it.” He shrugged knowing what was about to come. She had a feeling she wasn’t going to love the new nickname from the smile ghosting across his lips. His mouth twitched trying to hide a grin. He was up to something.

“What does it mean, Luca?” She placed her hands on her hips and waited for his answer. This would be good, she had a feeling.

“God, I love to hear my name on those full sinful lips.” He stood and pulled her flush against him pleased when she melted into him perfectly and looked up through her thick dark blonde lashes. She stood on her tiptoes to rise to meet his plump lips. “Sounds like heaven when you speak my name Cara Mia.” He whispered against her lips.

“What does it mean….” She teased him and bit his lip gently. He reached up to hold her head in place and kissed her deeply and thoroughly.

“Bunny.” He said.

“Bunny? You are not calling me bunny.” She tried to pull back, obviously offended.

“Oh, why not not Conglietto. We fuck like bunnies and your as cute as one.” He placed his finger on her nose and tweaked it. She blushed and he pulled her towards him, edging to the shower. He had a towel tucked around his trim waist. She unhooked it and tossed it to the floor as he led her into the bathtub, mindful not to drench her face.

He stood behind her and maneuvered her leg up as he gently entered her from behind. He made sure he wrapped an arm around her to keep her steady and placed her hands against the shower wall to steady herself. Neither one needed to fall on the slippery water and damage anything. She tossed her head back on his shoulder and arched giving him access to her mouth. He kissed her face, lips and her neck. She was a biter, gentle like she was tasting him but that sent him over the edge when she nibbled on his neck, ear or shoulder as he thrust into her.

“Hang onto the bar here, yeah.” When she did as he asked he placed a hand over her sensitive clit causing her to moan and writhe against her. He stroked her gently circling and building them pace.

“Thank you God for this beautiful receptive woman.” He said into her ear and he continued his ministrations.

“Are you praising God while fucking me Luca.” She giggled and moaned as he thrust up harder hitting her cervix.

“Mouth Charlotte.” He smacked her hip causing her to gasp. He hated mentioning last night that he liked women who spoke like ladies. Her family hadn't expected her mouth to be perfect but he wanted her to try.

Her Uncle Tommy and Arthur didn’t like it when she cursed so she made sure to do it a lot the week building up to her forced wedding. Now it was a habit.

She noticed that he Built up the pace so she couldn't talk. Her eyes were rolling back as the orgasms hit her like a train tightening her up around him like a snake causing him to let out a string of swears and praises in her ear, his hand tightening around her jaw as she took him over in pleasure with her.

When she died, she wanted to go like this with him.

[shelbydelrey]

I'M FREAKING OUT HERE!!!

What was that interaction in the beggining? It starts so tense with the blood in the table acting as a threat and then Luca walks in with his piccolo spia (i read that with his purry voice and it didn't help). This also didn't help: “Why were you dancing with one of my men?”

I was about to pass out from so much tension but i held back desperatly screaming: FUCK ALREADY YOU FOOLS! (Hold on Isabella, this two fucking idiots have character arcs to go through before they swallow each other's tongues).

Charlotte, as the needy bitch she is, seems to be wanting that though: I thought about how he had handled it with an almost delicate care yet snapped it as if it were the most fragile thing. And I thought, for one moment, maybe I did. Maybe I wanted to be paid such reverence by the same hand. And maybe, in some dark pocket of my soul that the light scarcely found, I wanted to be snapped in two.

I can't say how much i love the way this characteristics (Charlie's desire and Luca's jealousy) are being presented. They are carried with a lot of tension and a dark twisted edge that is amazing to read!

Chpt. 1, Masterlist, Chpt. 10 coming soon

Pairing: Luca Changretta x OFC (Charlotte Griffin)

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Summary: Charlotte Griffin, on a quest to emerge from her family's dark shadow, becomes a spy in a gang war that puts her loyalties and desires into question as she grows closer to the man who is meant to be her enemy.

WARNINGS for whole story: eventual explicit sexual content and references, explicit violence and gore, mentions of physical abuse, language, ethnic slurs (mainly because of Alfie)

Chapter below cut! Or read on AO3 if you prefer.

---

I couldn’t take my eyes off of the blood stains on his desk.

Thumbs twiddling in my lap, I finally tore my gaze from the crimson that had speckled and seeped into the wood. I dragged it across some nearby papers that had their edges marked red, furling over as if poisoned by the mark of death. It couldn’t have been more than an hour old.

I swallowed a ball in my throat and looked to the two guards who stood, rigid, at the wall. I didn’t recognise one of them. A bead of sweat pricked at his brow and there was a gleam of fear in his bright eyes.

“Perhaps I should come back another time.” My words pierced the silence like a knife, yet the men scarcely acknowledged my presence.

“He said you’d insisted to meet with him immediately, Miss Griffin.”

My lip curled slightly at the use of that wretched name. “I know, but I’m not exactly seeing him right now, am I? I’m sitting here talking to you. Which, frankly, is a waste of my time.” And pointedly, I added, “And it’s Charlotte.”

The larger, more collected guard – I believe I had once heard Luca refer to him as “Stefano” – dug his pocket watch from his waistcoat. He checked the time, snapped it shut, and said, “He should be here any minute.”

I tapped my forefinger restlessly against the lace of my gloves, attempting to ease the growing knot of anxiety in my gut.

“Where is Luca?” I asked them.

“I cannot say,” Stefano said.

“And why can’t you say?”

At that, I noticed the younger, unfamiliar guard glance to the blood on the desk. My head tilted slightly in intrigue but my gut clenched with dread. Though neither of them answered me, the man’s gaze told me everything I needed to know.

I stirred as I heard the slow, steady footfalls outside the door, and a knob turning. My palms felt clammy beneath the lace of my gloves and I swallowed as I turned my head slightly to glimpse the darkly clad man in my peripheral. The two guards were ushered out behind him, door shutting woefully in the silence.

“I was beginning to think you’d hired another spy,” I said dryly as Luca came to stand beside me, facing his desk. I couldn’t but help but think back to his meeting with Polly with a bitter pang in my chest at my words.

Luca didn’t say anything, his expression veiled by his rakishly tilted hat. Instead, he slipped a pair of black leather gloves from his fingers. My gut tightened as I noticed that they were covered in blood.

The gloves were slapped across the crimson speckled portion of the desk, and only now did he turn to me, leaning against the structure with the heels of his hands. Long fingers curled over, pinky rubbing slightly at the dampened wooden grain. His black overcoat stretched behind him. He hadn’t removed it, nor his hat.

Green eyes darted to mine, and his jaw clenched around his toothpick. The movements he made were sometimes sharp, frustration blending with his usual languidness. It was as if he were volatile, as if there were something simmering beneath his flesh and was ready to explode at any moment.

Luca’s mouth quirked, for a brief moment, into a tense smile, though in his eyes I could read nothing but murder.

“What were you doing following me last night, mia piccola spia?”

His nickname for me, which was typically woven as if it were a spell, now was uttered as if it tasted bitter on his tongue. My heart clenched in my chest, and I met that dangerous gaze as the rate of it sped, threatening to burst from my ribs. I inhaled deeply, forcing myself to keep my breaths steady.

“I was following Polly Gray,” I said. “She’d been acting peculiar that day. I was only doing my job and decided to follow her for the rest of it.”

“Hm.” His jaw worked against the pick, and he didn’t seem to blink as he stared me down. My flesh boiled under that stare, my palms only growing clammier and my head growing almost light from the shallow breaths I was suppressing.

“You don’t believe me, Luca?” I said, the slightest waver pervading my tone.

His eyes darted away, and he removed the toothpick from his lip, slowly, paying it its usual reverence before he snapped it in two. Conjoined by the slightest thread, the two wooden pieces fell to the floor beside his shoe. His inhale was deep as he brought his hand up to run along the faint stubble of his face.

Luca’s sigh was expelled into the poignant tension between us, and something dark flared in the light green of his eyes as his gaze settled on me again.

“Why were you dancing with one of my men?”

I tilted my head slightly in confusion when confronted with the odd question. And I narrowed my eyes at him, studying the way his pinky now thrummed against the grain of the desk.

“Hm?” he urged, index beginning to circle the hollow of his cheekbone as he rested his jaw in his hand.

“I used him as cover,” I said, though my curiosity bled into my tone. I was still studying each of his micro-movements. “I didn’t know he was one of your men at the time.”

“I see,” Luca said, seemingly disappointed or perhaps even dismissive of my words.

I glanced again to the traces of red beneath his fingertips, and I asked,

“Why is there blood on your desk?”

“Charlotte. Piccola spia.” His other hand settled back on the edge of the desk, and his weight leaned forward slightly. That tense smile tugged frighteningly, wickedly, at the corner of his lip. “If I ever see you dancing with one of my men again, you will not enjoy the consequences.”

My heart quickened in my chest. But I quirked my brow. “What sort of consequences?”

His pinky stilled where it had thrummed against the bloodied wood. “Would you like to find out?”

I looked from the intensity in his stare to the brittle pieces of the toothpick on the ground. I thought about how he had handled it with an almost delicate care yet snapped it as if it were the most fragile thing. And I thought, for one moment, maybe I did. Maybe I wanted to be paid such reverence by the same hand. And maybe, in some dark pocket of my soul that the light scarcely found, I wanted to be snapped in two.

But then my eyes wandered back to the bloodied gloves, and the red of the desk, and I decided that it was much too dangerous to nudge at such a mysterious threat. Even if I did find myself excited when I played with fire.

“And what does it matter to you whom I dance with?” I asked. I wanted to draw attention back to the subject, for I couldn’t help but wonder if it was for the same reason I desperately wanted to know what he had done with Polly.

Luca shifted his jaw, and leaned back, but said nothing for a long while. And then,

“I want you to keep a close eye on Polly. I want you to report to me anything you can find on her. Is that understood?”

Annoyance shot beneath my skin in a hot flash, and I couldn’t hold back the flame that darted to my throat.

“Why were you meeting with her?” I demanded.

“Why do you want to know?”

I swallowed, and said, “Perhaps I’m curious who you dance with.”

“And you expect me to trust you with that kind of information, piccola spia?”

“I’ve trusted you with more,” I pointed out, remembering the last time we’d spoken, when I’d confided in him about my brother. Shared things I had never spoken to anyone before.

“How is the investigation coming?” I asked, for I had also trusted him with finding my brother’s killer. And I had heard nothing.

Luca scoffed, and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re trying to talk to me about the fuckin’ investigation right now?”

“I have the right to know.”

“And I have the right to discharge you from your services at any moment.”

I couldn’t say that didn’t sting. It pierced straight through the dark of my soul and seized the bright of my heart.

“But you don’t want another spy,” I reminded him, though the part of my soul that had been pierced bled into my words, pleaded to be reassured that I wasn’t being replaced.

“Get out.”

“Get out?” I huffed, not bothering to ease the swell of my aching chest with each ragged breath.

Luca’s eyes left me, and he called for his guards. Within a moment, they were by my side.

“Escort this spia outside,” he ordered them. And then, with a glance to me, he said, “She has work to do.”

I mustered my most vitriolic glare as I stood, reluctantly but with a grace.

“As do you, Luca,” I pointed out, before Stefano’s arm was linking through mine and pulling me away.

“I can walk on my own,” I said to the guard, loosening my arm from his grasp and sweeping my coat around my shoulders as I followed, wedged between the two, to the door.

Every particle in the air seemed to depressurise once I had left Luca’s hotel room, and I stifled a sigh of relief. Looking to the new face again, I said,

“I haven’t seen you around yet. Are you a new hire?”

The young man glanced at Stefano as if for permission, but Stefano’s gaze was fixed firmly ahead. Bright eyes settled back on me, and he noticeably gulped.

“You don’t have to be afraid to tell me things,” I told him. “If I’m getting anyone in trouble here it certainly wouldn’t be you.” Despite his indifference, I cast a bitter glance to Stefano before drawing my attention back to the younger guard.

There was a hint of skepticism in his eyes that I found most amusing.

“Well, Miss – “

“It’s Charlotte.”

“Right, Charlotte.” He cleared his throat nervously. “The last guard’s employment was abruptly terminated. I’m the new hire.”

A shiver ran through me as I recalled the fresh blood splattered across Luca’s desk, staining his gloves. The way his last thread of calm seemed to hang by a very thin wire.

And the fear I had just seen in the new hire’s eyes when I’d assured him he wouldn’t be in any trouble for speaking to me.

And so, I made the rest of our trip in silence, because I knew exactly whose blood it had been.

---

The only reason I had accepted Thomas’ invitation to oversee the training for the boxing tournament was that I knew Aberama Gold to be there with his son, who would be competing against Alfie’s nephew. And, while there wasn’t anything particularly important to my mission about the Gypsy leader himself, I had noticed that he’d been spending whatever time he could with Polly. From a distance, the two seemed to love to hate each other, but to a keener eye, one could detect the faintest desperation between them – one who was acquainted all too well with such a pull.

While Thomas had to take a call, I ventured to where the Gypsy leader was leaning his elbows along the rope of one of the boxing rings.

And while fighting for sport had never interested me, I had been observing Aberama’s son. His build was slight, unusually so for a fighter, I imagined, and especially so if he were standing in the same room as Alfie’s nephew. But, in the time I had spent here, I’d seen him put every single one of his opponents on the floor. Even I had to admit it was impressive.

“He’s quite the fighter,” I remarked, coming to stand beside Aberama.

“’Course he is. He’s got Gypsy blood in him. Doesn’t matter his size. Bonnie’s got his father’s strength and his mother’s temper,” the man replied with a smirk playing at his lips, a twinkle in his eyes, and he scrutinised me in a brief moment before he dropped his elbows from the rope. “Surprised to see you here. Seems you’ve always somewhere to be.”

“I am surprised to see you here, as well, Mr. Gold. It’s admirable to see a father so devoted to his son and his ambitions.”

Again, he eyed me, smirk still playing at his lip but his gaze narrowing only slightly. I kept my expression neutral and my body relaxed, all the while letting my own gaze dart across whatever I could read of him – the way his head tilted slightly in suspicion or perhaps confusion, the way his smirk seemed to hook in place, the way he stood with the slightest of backwards leans as if he were properly assessing the situation before preparing to pounce. I’d heard that his gang were savages, and I half expected him to draw a weapon on me.

“It’s only what a father should do,” he replied at last, his demeanor seeming to relax slightly. But his words stung.

I fixed my gaze back on the ring, half in an act of casualness, half in an attempt to hide any longing that may have darted through my eyes, and delicately curled a few lace-clad fingers around one of the ropes. “That Miss Gray, she’s worried sick for her boy,” I said. “I can see why she might be looking for someone to bring the family together.”

In my peripheral, he became animated at that, stepping forward, cocking his head. I could tell I’d sufficiently captured his attention, perhaps taken him aback.

“She’s looking for a husband?” he said, a falter in his tone.

“It was merely an observation,” I told him, and cast him a seemingly innocent glance. “You two seem to spend a lot of time together.”

“I wasn’t aware I was an object of such keen observation.” A bitter wariness wove itself back into his tone, and his elbows rested beside mine on the rope, the wool of his overcoat bunching at shoulders teased by long, free locks of mousy hair. “You want information,” he stated, the smirk long gone from his features. “Polly told me you’re a spy.”

I was in now. There was no going back.

“Really?” I said, still feigning an affable indifference. “What else has she said about me?”

“I’m not that easily tricked. If you want information, we make a deal.”

My back straightened as I stepped back from the rope, and he mirrored my action. “What is it you want?” I asked, tone lowering.

“That’s a question with many answers. But I can think of something. Your father is Marcus Griffin, if I’m not mistaken?”

I stiffened. “He was, yes.”

“I hear he has quite the treasury. I’ve long thought about nicking one of his heirlooms, but there’s something that has been misplaced from my own family. An amulet, enchanted with good luck by my mother. It was offered to him as a gift for safe passageway in London, but I think I’d make much better use of it in the fight against the Changrettas than he would wasting its potential in some display case.”

I knew the amulet Aberama was referring to. A citrine gem encased in gold. Expensive. Blessed. Kept locked away not in a display case, but a safe in his own private quarters. Though I had never known my father to believe Gypsy superstitions, something had made him hold onto it all of these years.

“Any business conducted that involves my family is off the table,” I said firmly. “Name anything belonging to anyone else, and I can find someone to thieve it. But I will not tangle myself in cut threads.”

A wry vestige of his previous smirk did peel at his lip, and he studied me as he said, “For someone who claims to no longer be a Griffin, you do seem to possess your father’s resolve.” His eyes were shadowed by the lip of his tall, brown hat, but even in their dark opals I could detect the glimmer of pride. Like Luca, he was using my family against me.

I swallowed against a knotted throat, and ignored the sting in my chest. The sooner we could stop discussing my father, the better.

“What you see is made, Mr. Gold, not born of any blood,” I told him, returning his gaze with an intensity I hadn’t been quite sure I'd possessed until that moment.

Threads of tension wove and built between us as we stared one another down, until footsteps landed leisurely against the flooring and a familiar presence materialised between us.

“What seems to be the fuss over ‘ere?” Thomas asked.

I turned my attention to the Blinders leader, and said, “I was asking Mr. Gold for lessons in shooting. You know I don’t typically like getting my hands dirty, Mr. Shelby, but I thought that I should be better able to defend myself in times like these.” I ignored the unease that darted beneath my flesh as I looked back to Aberama, who was eyeing me silently yet with a growing smirk and a great deal of intrigue. “We are having difficulty finding terms we agree upon for this arrangement.”

Thomas pulled a cigarette from his engraved silver case and ran the filter along his lip a few times before deciding to light it and take a puff. He hadn’t even paid Aberama the respect yet of an acknowledgment. Instead, his attention was fully on me. “You want to learn to shoot, Charlotte? You should’ve come to me for that.”

Now, Thomas turned to the man opposite of me, seeming to size him up with a rake of that piercing gaze. “You’ll be taking them from me, free of charge,” he added. “And I would like to remind Mr. Gold that nothing here is for sale.”

A vitriol warning emerged in shadowed eyes as Aberama returned his stare.

“Thank you, Mr. Shelby,” I said, and the Blinder blew another puff of smoke before turning back to me.

“I’ll be outside,” Thomas said. “We’re leaving in two minutes.” And without so much as another word or glance, he was gone, his presence only indicated by the echo of his shoes against the floor.  

“What an interesting development, Miss Griffin.” Satisfaction glimmered in dark opals. “I was under the impression you reported solely to Mr. Shelby. If I heard right, it seems you don’t want him to know about this investigation into Polly.”

“It’s hardly an investigation, Mr. Gold. Just harmless research.” I resisted the urge to play with the bow around my neck as that unease seemed to claw at my flesh.

“That you’re willing to steal for.”

“I have very disposable assets,” I pointed out.

“Indeed. So it shouldn’t be a problem for you to make sure that amulet ends up in my hands.”

“I made myself clear, Mr. Gold. It is off the table.”

With Thomas gone, he stepped close enough so that I could smell the wood smoke and fir needles on his jacket. “Not if you want to keep your ‘research’ secret,” he said, and I swallowed again against a knot laced now with the faint trace of bile. “I will take the amulet. Free of charge.” He winked at me. “And you will not pry about myself or Polly again. And I will not tell your employer that you just lied to his face.”

My blood boiled, and my gaze hardened, but I said nothing. I couldn’t say anything, because he had me cornered like an animal. Only, if I bit back, he would put me down. End me. Ruin my fresh start.

I swallowed my aching pride and bid him a tense farewell before leaving to meet Thomas at the car.

---

BANNER CREDIT: lebz93

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