Fandom Serendipity (Peaky Blinders | Closed)

[Kassandra Rose]

Finn grimaced, unable to quite escape the harsh reality thrust upon him. He couldn’t run away. He was a man. He was a Peaky fuckin’ Blinder, and they did not run away in the face of adversary. This was his shit, and he was going to have to deal with it. Only, Michael... his words were so... promising, reassuring, a way to escape without running. The girl of his dreams, he promised him, but he ought’nt makee promises if he did not know if he could keep ‘em.

What even was the girl of his dreams?

Finn didn’t know if he would recognise her if she struck him right in the face. Carmen wasn’t far fetched. No, if he didn’t love her, he could have grown to, and could have done so quite easily. Only, Michael, the same boy who promised him this Eden, like the snake with its’ apple, was the one who has so cruelly taken it from his grasp. Michael was the reason he was going to be in a loveless marriage, a cage. Finn had to tell himself that, had to believe it... because, if he couldn’t blame him, then it was nobody’s fault. And if nobody were to blame... it simply seemed even more dismal.

Somebody had to be held accountable.

“You’re angry?” He reiterated, eyebrow’s furrowed, face scrunched, soured beneath his distaste. “You’re fucking angry? What about me, aye? What about me Michael?” His porcelain face reddened, so much was clear beneath the cloudy night sky. “It’s your fuckin’ fault. We could’ve been happy. We could’ve had a fuckin’ chance. You wouldn’t have wanted her. If this hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t have cared. You just have to fuckin’ want the things that you can’t have”.

He shook his head, violently, “I was fine with you coming here. We were orite without you, but I was bloody fine wi’ it. I welcomed you into this family as my brother. But, all you do is take. More power. More control. You’re worse than him. You’re worse than bloody Tommy, I swear. I fuckin’ hate you. I hate—“ that was enough said, without thinking a second more, he thrust his fist into the boys’ face, and launched the entirety of his weight upon him. He struck him thrice: his eye, his lip, his nose. Then, he went for the gut.

He was going for the kill.

***

I am nothing of value to you.

“Oh, my dear,” Al chuckled lowly, “but, I must beg to differ”. He swallowed the remnants of his bubbly, smiling devilishly. “That is where you are wrong. Such... such a beautiful creature, a true English Rose through and through, simply waiting to be plucked by the right, firm hand. And, I dare say, you’re a lot sharper than what meets the eye. Aren’t you?” His round fingers reached out, trailing the sharp edges of her jawline. “You think I wouldn’t notice your observations. No, you’re a smart girl. And, losing Carmen, I could do with one of those. Yes, I could indeed”.

Releasing her from his invisible grasp, he placed his glass upon the table, controlled and collected. “Yea’, I think I will speak to Mr. Shelby about our little... arrangement. An American jewel for an English Rose seems a fair exchange for me. Eh?” Taking a cigar from his tux pocket, he raised it to the gap of his lips and pressed it inbetween. Lighting it, he inhaled, before releasing a dragon worthy flame of smoke. “I say we call ‘im over. He’s been watching from the side long enough, dontcha think? We leave him any longer and he’s gonna be all left out and alone. And, Al never forgets anybody”.

Raising his hand, he tucked his fingers to his palm twice, in a quick and regal motion to call Thomas Shelby. And, meeting his eye, Tommy followed as beckoned. Although, he did not look one bit pleased.

***

“Do you hear that?” Carmen hushed her companion, not that the conversation had exactly being viabrantly bursting. What was there to say? Why did you mess me around? Did you ever even care? Neither of ‘em really seemed like small talk, much alone party talk. Nonetheless, she didn’t suppose he made light of his conversation topics: the war to come, and the sides to choose.

“Hear what?”

She raised her finger to his lips. A scream followed. It wasn’t a girlish scream. It was not a scream of horror, of fear, or even delight. No, it was passionate, a battle cry, a declaration of combat to come. And, it was only nearby.

“Oh, shit,” she lifted her skirt a little, allowing her feet the room to move, and ran in the direction which it originated. Who could it be? Tommy? Charlie? Michael? Good Lord, if it was Michael— don’t let it be Michael.

Then, she saw it. It happened so quickly, like the fluttering of pages in the eye of a tornado, and she was helpless to it. Carmen wasn’t aware that she was screaming until her knees hit the ground, and her arms physically restrained Finn, pulling him— no, grasping him— with all her might, so that she may tear him away from the young Gray.

And, without thought, her palm raised, and struck him across the face. “Finn!” She exclaimed. “Finn! See some sense. What were— what the fuck are you doing? Look at what you’ve done to him!” Eyes wide, lips incapable of forming a straight line, her tiny hands reached for his delicate, bleeding face. “Michael,” she consoled. “Michael, can you hear me? I fucking swear if anything has— Michael, answer me”.

***

This was not good news, but what was new there? Good news was not a friend of Thomas Shelby. No, it was a treat, a desire, dangled on a thread constantly before his eyes. “Take me, if you dare,” it bellowed, and yet never ventured close enough for the brush of his rugged hands.

“Capone,” he nodded, in acknowledgment. “I see you’ve met me...” How did he even begin to describe that mess of a relationship? His hesitancy most certainly would not have went unnoted. “The two of you look well acquainted. Then, Esperanza has no troubles opening up to those she deems worth her time”. That wasn’t exactly true. Tommy was fairly certain that, in the split second of their acquaintance, he had only dug up a fraction of the diamond buried beneath the rocky surface. It was meant to show disregard, but he weren’t sure who he was trying to convince most— her, Capone, or himself.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of disruption then?” He wavered his hand, as though he had the littlest care in the world, as though the Earth itself was but his own property to offer at any request. And, perhaps it was. Anything Tommy wanted, he could have. That’s how life worked for men like him. Although, it always seemed to come with a price. Like... he didn’t want to think of that. Still, lesson learned.

Wise men did say be careful what you wish for with reason.

“I’m looking for your blessing,” Capone answered, plainly. It was impossibly to infer what it was that he actually meant.

“A blessing?” Thomas chuckled lowly. “If you’re after a blessing, mate, you’re a long way away from the Good Lord here”. No, what Capone wanted was permission— not that he would ever admit to such a thing. “You want something of me?” He clarified. “Well, don’t beat around the bush. We’re all friends here. Ask it”.

Be careful what you wish for, they said. And, in that moment, he understood why.

“The gypsy girl,” Capone retorted. “I want her hand. And, since you appear to be her obvious benefactor, I would like your blessing on the union. Hell...” he chuckled, one more sinister than his own. “You could ever walk her down the aisle”.

 

[RunawayGirl]

Everything felt like it was in slow-motion. The poetic bullshit speeches that the italian spewed, she couldn't help to be angered by every word. His goons hurt her, hurt Carmen. She was useful as she was easily disposed just like Carmen, his own goddaughter. An angered crimson blush surfaced on her pale cheeks, as she looked down timidly to hide such wrath she held deep. Her skin crawled as his fat hands caressed her face, she wanted to scream like a slug trailing across her pure skin. He was a pest, a destructive pest. Every little action from there forward looked like a train crash, dismantling and twisting painfully itself to a wreck of oblivion. What was she supposed to do? This is the plan, going along according to plan. She stared at Capone as he waved Tommy over, and instantly became. Scared. Which just happened to work with the scene they painted, Tommy the predator. No, she was scared to see him, like this, and for it to be the last time. She avoided eye-contact as she looked down at her hands timidly, and her jaw clenched. The amount it hurt her could never be seen by Capone, but Tommy, now for Tommy, it was another message. It was one of distress, of mourning. She was losing him before she knew it, or maybe...not him. Maybe just the idea, and that itself stung more than any pain she felt. As Tommy's unmistakable, beckoning baritone voice rang out she could've felt an ice chill wash over her through the heat of all the alcohol she consumed throughout the day.

“I see you’ve met me...”

Her world froze, time stopped. ME what? What on Earth was she to him? A spark ignited in her, she was his. In some way, he took ownership of her as his own, and that was all that mattered. She was his in some way. Her eyes widened slightly but she quickly rolled them. Capone can't know. Capone can never know. This was all for Charlie and her debt. She sighed lightly, as it came out in a shake as Capone teased Tommy, her head whipped around to look at Al, staring at him, daggers. Instant, daggers. Her anger ignited like a moth to a flame, with a quick tongue, "I will not, walk to him." Her anger laced her Romani accent even thicker, the dark tone emitted from her, "Why would you let a bloody Birmingham trash walk one of yours in your alter halls? If I am to marry your nephew I am now your blood, am I not?" She spoke directly and deep from her chest, but out of fear. "A Shelby is bloody no blood of mine." The lies and harsh words were to cover her true heartbreak. She couldn't do it, no, no, not with Tommy, never with Tommy. She knew exactly what Al was doing, he was torturing the man she...No. She couldn't ever come to terms she loved him. Not now, not ever. It would break her little heart. Her emotions whirlwinded in pain and chaos, fear and heartbreak and unraveled vulnerably right in front of Al. Her eyes were wide with fear, but her jaw tight, her face swelled a dark red showing how flustered she was and angered by it. "If I am, truly anything to you, you woul' never disrespect me, with him like I am your chip," She tongue darted with pure Romani tongue as it rolled darkly through every word, as the words left her as quickly as she had the thought. The scene was truly perfect, a woman who fears a man who was too demanding of her body, but the anger of a Romanian woman, a woman of her culture with a fire in her, and one of intellect. To know when a trade is not to be reckoned with, and not in their best intention. Her eyes met Tommy's piercing blue ones, and that was it. The butterflies hit her stomach like she was going to explode. Her skin longed for his touch, the warmth and comfort of every little brush of his fingertips. She quickly looked away, disgust. Perhaps disgusted in herself, but the look in her eye, for that split second as her chocolate eyes scanned his, that was not disgust, that split second of softness, the woman he knew. The woman of grace and healing, softness, she was hiding in them, behind pools of honey darkened by the dark angry pools of her pupils consuming her. Al. Consuming her. He brought a darkness in her, all the wrong in this. The gypsy honestly didn't know how long she could stand this plan. She gently brought whiskey to her lips and she looked off to the side of the room to settle the nausea and butterflies stewing an anxiety brew in her gut. She graciously stood, with elegance and not out of a fit like a child, no, she wasn't going to submit to this anymore. But she knew what she was doing, she had fragility to her, her genuine femininity and timidness. The conflict between her, the lioness and the beaten puppy. She flinched as she rose, expecting to get a beat down unconsciously just like she had year after year trying to rebel from her uncle, she paused for a moment to feel no pain as she simply nimbly crossed her arms and walked outside to the crisp cool air, gently rubbing her arms to see Carmen yanking the youngest Shelby after the Gray and her eyes widened. FUCK, fuck FUCK. She gently turned her softened expression to Roberto, giving a very timid smile now and bowing her head down. The man she's presumed to marry. She blushed, flustered in her thoughts, as her heart sank. She promised herself to never lose herself to a man she never would love. She lost so much already.


***

He very well knew he deserved that. He knew he didn't belong and all this he kept locked away, hidden, deep down. The pain of the younger Shelby's outrage he barely felt. He's had many beatings before and this wouldn't be the last. The numbness washed over him in a wave as he looked at the Shelby dully, "Then would you rather her dead, Finn? Because without me, that could've been where we bloody be. And 'haps ya right. Maybe it is Carm, for you." His voice turned bitter as he trailed off into an airy depth, completely ignoring Carmen's insistence, "And if she is, if you BOTH are, bloody fucking congratulations, Finn. Really." He clapped sarcastically, "But if you fuck this up, little boys life is in your bloody hands. A Shelby. You won't be one of us if that happens no more, Finn. You choose the family, 'ever your bloody fucking self. Get your shit together from your bloody piss-stained boot straps." He spoke darkly as his eyes darkened, greyed from his light blue hues to duller grays like a storm brewed inside him. "If I ain't a bloody Shelby I won't be your keeper for your fookin' mistakes. Aye?" His eyes finally glanced over at Carmen, "That includes bloody you. No more fookin' drinking." He sounded for that split second, he sounded dark, threatening. Like a true boss, a Shelby, the darkness however, the darkness stirred and danced in his voice, his eyes and the twitch of his jaw as he looked over at Carmen, the pain that tormented him was nothing but his own. Not a Gray's, not a Shelby's. The darkness he owned.

Just for one second, just one, soft sorrow washed over his face the longer he scanned over the woman's fair face. The woman that stood up for him, protected him. Quite pathetic really, Finn weighed no more than 100 pounds, it wasn't much a of a fight to begin with. After all this she still stood by him. Why? Why couldn't they let go. It would all be bloody fuckin easier if he never gave her a second glance. Maybe Finn was right. This is all his fault. She was his undoing. The families undoing. He was disattaching, but for Finn's sake as he trudged off toward the path of the house. Warm lights seeped through the windows, of what would be a happy home, one of warmth and of family. What a fuckin' lie, what all shit this was. Deep inside he knew he didn't belong, he was ambitious but never enough to see past the truth, he was never the same. He didn't belong in the family, he was the bastard son. "Fookin' be a gentleman if your wife has to slap you around like a bloody bitch yous not a man yet, Shelby." he barked lowly, as he paused by the doorway, with his back toward the both of them, just for a second, there was a silent, and a light chuckle that erupted low from his chest. But not one of amusement, one of sorrow. A defeat. A chuckle that spoke a thousand words. The burly Gray walked away through the backdoor to the kitchen, barging through the doors, slamming them out of pent up anger, they swung wildly behind him. His bruised hands clenched a cold wash cloth to clean his cuts and to reduce the quick purple-blue swelling that plagued his soft, pale face, using the cabinet windows across the counter to see the damage done in his reflection against the china encased. He winced lightly, as he gently placed it on his eye, and his other hand gripped the edged of the sink as he leaned against it, clinging to it to dear life, white knuckling out of anger and the emotional pain Finn resurfaced for the Gray to relive.

How could he ever think he was good enough? Spiral, spiral, spiraling..

 

[Kassandra Rose]

She’d fallen at his side, her timid fingers itching to attend his wounds. It was clear, where her loyalties lay. It was clear, now, not just to Esperanza, Finn, and Michael, but Roberto. She had not hurried to her fiancés aid. She had not savagely bit for his defence. No, it had been quite the contrary. The crimson marks which burned upon Finn’s porcelain skin was nothing if not a sign, an omen, of the cruelest enemy the Peaky Blinders had yet bequainted: the truth.

The moment he spoke... well, Carmen hadn’t even realised she’d been holding her breath. Instantly, fresh air exchanged in the depths of her lungs. The clouds of her mind dissipated. He was okay... well, as okay as one could be after taken a beating. He was, at least, alive. Funny, really, that Finn was nothing compared to Michael, weight wise, that was. Although, admittedly, this did apply a little farther. Why, however, had he endured it? Why had he just laid back and took the strikes as they came?

She wondered, for a moment, if they were indeed so different, if this was a sign of self destruction. As Carmen had welcomed the abysmal darkness which accompanied booze, Michael had welcomed the inferno of pain. It was better to feel... to feel these horrid experiences... than to resign one to the inevitable reality of defeat.

Then, it came. It came as she holstered him up, sitting up once more. It came as her palm rested upon his back to hold him, and her fingers ran across his face, his poor bruised and bleeding features. His outburst was not directed just at Finn... no, he simply could not help himself from taking a bloody bite at her too. Her... in spite of everything she had done in his aid, it still meant so very little.

“That includes bloody you. No more fookin' drinking,” he detached himself from her, from them all, and she had a feeling that this was not just a physicality but something he felt he had to do mentally too. He was pushing them away, assigning them to the dark parts of his brain where he would not be tormemted any further of forbidden love and family rivalry.

Still, she winced.

“And you order that on what fuckin’ authority, Michael Gray?” She remained, as he sprung himself to his feet. She had no concern of rising to his level, making herself the same as he, his equal. Because, this was not at all what Carmen felt. No, she did not feel raised... elevated... She quite literally felt as she was downtrodden and in the dirt. “You’re not my fucking husband. Nor would the man hold such authority over me anyway,” she hissed, biting back the threat, and just a threat, of tears that stung her eyes. “I am my own woman, and i’m sick to death of being subject to the demands of bloody men. You’re all the clueless,” she accused. “The lot of you”.

In her fit of anger, she glared around, from Michael to Finn to Rob. Here, she found, much to her suprise, Esperanza. Her eyes locked momentarily with her only comfort blanket in this world, the young gypsy woman, but even for she, she could only summon a sad, dull smile. “If you don’t mind me,” Carmen concluded. “I think I’ve had quite enough theatrics for the night. I... am done. Goodnight, to all of you. I’m quite sorry you’d stumbled upon this, Esperanza. The commotion must have given you quite the shock”.

With a solemn nod, Carmen parted ways. She wasn’t sure where she was going, nor why, but she simply needed to get away and clear her head.

***

Tommy’s laughter bellowed, his cheeks raising over his eyes in a bemused grin. Slowly but surely, it became more and more scarce, until finally it silenced altogether. Reality had hit; Al was serious. “Oh,” He raised his eyebrows. “You’re not joking,” his heart began to race a little. His gut sunk. Why? He didn’t care. “This is Birmingham,” he observed as a matter of factly, as though the gangster must be simply unaware. “I don’t know what you’ve heard but I think you’re mistaken for Brethna Green. We have too many weddings here then y’ gonna put them outta business”. He removed a cigar from his blazer pocket, held it between his lips, inahaled and lit. Smoke engulfed them.

“What can I say? Winter bores me. A miserable season,” Al relied plainly. “I like to be amused”.

“Most men,” Tommy took a puff, pausing with a gesture to the room, “most men make do with dances, drink, women...”

“I,” Al smiled, “am not most men, as you are aware, Mr. Shelby”.

“Yes,” He nodded, his face placid, devoid of any and all reactions. “I am all too aware of that Mr Capone”.

“Good,” Capone nodded, pulling down at the brim of his hat. “Then, we can talk like the businessmen we are. I want to set a date”.

“For Carmen?”

“For both,” Al would not be deterred.

Tommy swallowed, bided his time with another drag. His eyes flickered across the room in search of their subject of interest. She was nowhere to be found. “And, when a date is set?” Tommy quizzed. “As a businessman, Mr. Capone, I know very well how transactions work. I give you something you want, and in change—“

“In change, I give you what you want. Isn’t that right, Mr. Shelby?” Al chuckled, ever so full of banter at things that were not quite so amusing. “I assure you, i’m not trying to con you by any means. I know how business works. So, the first date you set, shall be the date you receive your beloved reunion. And, I assure you, as I’m sure Carmen has, i’m a man of my word. There’s two things in this life which I would never wish to break, my promises and my balls. Understand?”

“I do,” Shelby grimaced. “And, which joyous occasion would come first?”

“Whichever you well please,” Al sunk back into his seat. “I’m not a dictator... surprise me!”

This, he knew, was something that he’d have to call a family meeting over. For now, he’d give Al a place and a time. For now, he would satisfy the old man, keep Charlie safe; Charlie was all that mattered. “What would today be?”

“November 7th”.

“Well then,” he put the butt of his smoke out. “The 13th it is”.

“Friday,” Al nodded slowly, as though he were weighing the date up in his head, calculating it all. “Friday the 13th. It’s a good job we’re not men of superstition, Mr. Shelby. A good job indeed. If anything were to go wrong—“

“—Nothing will go wrong,” He interjected. “You have my word. November 13th, and on this joyous occasion we will talk of the next. Do we have an agreement?”

Al hesitated, before flashing a grin that would shame the devil. “We do indeed, Thomas Shelby. We do indeed”.

***

Interesting. How interesting indeed that, in such horrid situation between her fiancé and his cousin, Carmen Di Rosa should run to the aid of Michael Gray. It was something that Roberto was going to have to report back to Capone, something that they may very well use to their advantage.

Meanwhile, however, all theatrics had taken a bow, and Rob found himself very much alone with the beautiful gypsy shadow of Thomas Shelby, a woman that (until this moment) he’d presumed to be something of his mistress, or perhaps even girlfriend. No, Esperanza didn’t appear as though she had the types of airs and graces that would usually entice the fancy folk. She was a woman who knew how to play the game, a woman so sharp that she may as well be a man.

“Esperanza,” he smiled at her, ever the gentleman he was supposed to be. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Reaching out, he awaited her nimble hand, to bring to his lips in a chivalrous kiss. “May I be as brash as to ask you to take a turn around the garden with me? It appears as though I lost my company in all of the commotion. And, of course, a friend of Carmen is a friend of my self— particularly when they are as enchanting as you”.

Offering her his arm to link, Roberto began to slowly move forward, one foot before the other. “I hope that y’ are not afeared of me. You have my word. I mean y’ no harm. It is not in my person to harm women or children, nor is it in Al’s. What happened to you and Carmen... the Don was furious. Enraged. It was a sin against the Almighty, and a sin against this family. I assure you...” he met her eye, deadpan serious. Roberto had the look— the Hollywood look— the type that usually tended to make the women weak at the knees when his golden eyes cast in their direction.

***

Carmen burst through the door of the blasted staircase. Sitting sulkingly at the bottom, she snatched away her heels and cast them aside. The threat of tears within her eyes was no longer idle but very much active, and swelled so much so till she could bare it no longer. Her vision blurred, and salty streams began to flow, smudging the black paint from upon her Mediterranean eyes.

It wasn’t as much Michael that upset her, but rather the whole of it. The truth was that she was stuck between a rock and a hard place. She missed home. She missed her mom, her dad, her baby brother... she missed all of ‘em so, so very badly.

Her mom had always called her little bird; she always dreamt of fluttering away, seeing the world and traveling to her heart’s content. She always dreamt of leaving this life behind, finding greater, awe inspiring things. This marriage... this whole predicament... was nothing if not a cage, or perhaps clips upon her wings to ensure she would never fly again.

And, what would happen to them, to the people that she loved, if she were to betray Al? What would happen then? And, what would happen to the man she loved, to Polly, Charlie, Ada... what would happen to the family that she had come to care for, it she were loyal to Al? What of Esperanza?

For the first time in so long, Carmen felt lost, alone, and forevermore adrift, as though she would never find the safety of the sure again.

She couldn’t breathe. Oh, she couldn’t breathe. Her lungs were filling up with the watery stress of life, and giving way beneath the weight. Chest rising, falling, frantically, she stumbled into the kitchen.

“For Christ sake,” she cursed, as a very blurred Gray stumbled into her view. “Heaven Almighty,” she struggled for breath, between her rasp and her small cries. “Shall I know no peace?” Glaring at him, the young woman stumbled to the cupboards and pulled out a bottle of port, raising it to her lips, she guzzled the fiery contents. “Don’t you worry, Michael Gray,” his name was spat with heartache. “I didn’t come to follow you. I know how you feel, you’ve made it very clear”.

 

[RunawayGirl]

As the Gray stared at his all-too-familiar battered reflect, the man staring back, that man, he hated most in this world. The cuts and bruises fitted 'em nicely, or so he thought. He straightened himself up as his face hardened as he set down the bloody wash cloth. Every word Carmen spat out, only enraged him. The truth of her words, the desperation that filled her lungs. Of all the pain he felt, he was tired of feeling weak, and adding to her pain. This has to end, he has to let her go. If the American girl had to bloody fuckin' hate him to do it, he would. The Gray sighed lightly stuck in his head momentarily, just to clear it. Just to get. One piece of fuckin' clarity in this cess-pool of absolute shite. He pulled a bottle of whiskey out of the cupboard, downing some of it as the numbing burn at the back of his throat. Quiet. For once, some fucking quiet alone from the lot of 'em. Fuck them all. This wasn't his fuckin' problem anymore. Or maybe that's what he just told himself. That's how it had to be.

As he turned to his exit to the main ballroom, much to his disgust, the soft click of heels rang behind him. Bloody fookin' hell, if it's her-

Of course. He lit his cigarette as his hardened, stoic face watched her observantly as he puffed softly, as he left his other hand rest back in his pant pockets. He chuckled lowly, "Glad we got that out of the bloody way then." He spoke in a nonchalant tone at the back of his throat, a gruff response as the nicotine fully coated his vocal chords. Words he forced up and barely able to choke out. Words he could never mean. He casually turned around to let her have her turn in the now crisis centered kitchen. He wandered to the ballroom, as his bitterness rose as soon as those ballroom lights shined down on Thomas and Al fucking Capone. Motherfucking bastard he could just pop him right 'en and there. Bastard doesn't deserve to live after what he did. He watched Thomas as he puffed his cigarette, listening to the deal the two were arranging. Michael's ocean eyes suddenly widened. No. No. Not her too. Not fucking the both of him. THIS was not the bloody fookin' plan and Al bloody knew it. Testing his bloody limits.

The Gray's heart raced, out of fear and anger. Fear for the women they may never see again, fear for their lives they could never complete. No. They don't fucking deserve this. Why would Thomas do this to Esperanza, of all people. Why punish her? The Gray's eyes coasted around the room, and began to quickly roam the house looking for Esperanza until he saw her already with Roberto and his heart sank and his anger filled his head, his face the color of a light crimson. Bloody fucking bastard, his eyes darted back at Tommy. Bloody fucking. Bastard. First Carmen and Finn, now one of his most loyal allies outside of the fookin' family. As he watched everything unfold and explode at once in such...cynical grace, he wondered if the Shelby could ever truly love ever again...or empathy. Genuine. Care.

He strode in a casual manner to the bar, not looking away for one second the exchange between the two ring-leaders, and puffing. The calming still that was Michael Gray, the stoic faced calm, relaxed...the calm before the storm. His stare bored into Tommy, one would see right before their death, the darkness in his eyes pooled like black holes sucking all life and light around them.

***

Defeat. Defeat was all Esperanza felt as she watched the whole dramatic scene unfold in front of her. All she could do was watch as the scene unraveled and ripped apart. She held back her tears as she quickly looked away from Carmen's gaze after flashing her most...convincing smile she could anyway. Her eyes glanced to the floor. Everything hurt, her head ached from the stress, her stomach turned from fright...but her heart, her heart ached for all of them, the stabbing of every beat, numbing with every twist into her chest. She very well knew what Michael was doing. He was giving up, giving up on making this right. Maybe not forever, headstrong, that one. No, right now, all his pain has consumed whatever love he has, whatever grace and care, consumed by the vileness of the world. And poor little Finn, just now being introduced to how disgustin' this bloody fookin' world he's forced to live in, truly is. She didn't dare turn back at the group and put all her focus on Roberto. She cleared her throat to release the ever-so-painful build of her strain from the weight of her tears. The desperate, raw screams every fiber of her being begged her to let out, as her skin crawled at the man, the beckoning, ever so threatening, disgusting, the bloody lot of them. God she could fookin' hurt em all if she was allowed. Fake and plastic, the sincerity, how was she supposed to fookin' believe that load of crap? If it was so fucking terrible, why didn't he do a fookin' thing to stop it then and be a true man of honor? The nausea stirred in her stomach and rose to chest, she took a deep breath to settle it as her wildfire cheeks blazed as she kept her head bowed down as he kissed her hand. Pure anger can come across so graciously. Her arm very gently linked with his, while her head was still lowered she glanced up at him with her doe-like eyes through her eyelashes. Hollywood, signature, bullshit. All bloody theatrics with these ones. Fancy speeches and masks, faces and places, all facades of the deep darkness embedded into their very beings. Funny, she mused as the man before her spoke. She couldn't help to think, the very men who live in the shit, darkness and foulness, the poor and the dirt, the soot and smoke, have the purest hearts behind their rough edges, cuts and scars, and these men...Not one bloody fookin' scratch with all the bloody glamour in the world, have the real dirt on their hands. She only glanced back at the scenery of the garden. No, they had control of their fookin' men, that was utter bullshit. If they didn't have control, how would they be such a great enterprise? If she could only roll her eyes, it would be so satisfying. She smiled weakly, "I grew around violence, and given...violence. I understand." she spoke wisely, though it was low and laced with pain, a softness to it. If he was supposedly a man of no violence toward women and children, what kind of man was he? What made him truly tick? All these questions of curiosity laced her mind and tangled like a ball of yarn. Her heart raced in his presence, her arm laced with his, lightly shook. "Excuse me, I-....I am sorry. I...I don't believe that you know. Or. 'Haps you do," She laughed nervously as her shakes came out her voice, "I am s'posed to be married...." she laughed lightly again, and a flash, just one flash of a smile. One deep down of pain and, of disbelief to think for one she would ever be fookin' married, but to one the same men who was apart of the bloody fookin' family that nearly killed her. "But I think, Mr. Capone is arranging our marriage in there..." she whispered out airily as she looked away nervously, afraid of his reaction. She didn't know the man, she didn't know what he wanted nevertheless cared for. If she would be an insult of a wife to him. "I-I'm sorry if you didn't know, sir, I..."