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ɴɪɴᴇᴛᴇᴇɴ 𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑑
❦
The self-satisfaction washed over Luca Changretta, hitting him like a drug. He was high on anticipated success, dazed by the prospect of finally having caught a slippery Shelby in his net.
His plan was no work of genius, like all the others. In fact, it was nothing more than perfect timings and working of superior strength. But Luca was good at that, dealing with little chances, building them up like bricks into a larger structure that played to his cruel advantage. He was good at that, weaselling his way in where no one else would have thought to go.
Luca didn't care about his target anymore. Arthur. Tommy. Polly. Even Ada. Their names were ingrained into his brain like tattoos, markings to be crossed off a list. All had equal worth now. It didn't matter who'd had the intent to kill or who'd pulled the trigger. The Shelby name was the Shelby name- it bore the weight of a blood vendetta, no matter the first name that came with it.
King Hall, Small Heath, Birmingham. Bonnie Gold vs Giant Golliath. Only a fool wouldn't know that the results were rigged, and in Luca's eyes, a fool Thomas Shelby was.
They'd be drawn out in their drugged-up haze, speaking with the booze. They'd be seduced from their seats by what could only be viewed as crazy, paranoid suspicion. Arthur Shelby and his weak mind would be the first to fall prey to the hunters. There was no doubt about that.
❦
Maria startled as Elena slipped into her room, a hand still rested against her bump as if her arms were too tired to carry them. Her face was pale and sickly, but it was the expression on her face that scared her. Both guilty and sad, torn between the two.
"Maria," she whispered, stepping forward into the middle of the room after shutting the bedroom door.
"Elena. You're up! Shouldn't you be resting?"
Elena took her by the two arms, forcing her to look at her straight.
"Maria. You need to listen to me," she said strongly. "Sit down."
Maria frowned. "What? No, just tell me."
"Maria."
"Tell me, Elena," she said quickly, gripping her arms.
It took Elena a minute to get the words out. There was not a feeling of regret, only dread. Why did Maria have to love the enemy, the man that Luca was fated to kill? She didn't want her friend to hurt, but this blunt manner of telling could be the only way.
"Arthur Shelby is dead."
Maria's hands dropped from Elena. "No," she said. "No."
Arthur was dead. The depth and distance of the sudden grief that was loaded upon her shoulders were not comprehendible. All at once, like waves crashing upon a cliff, Maria felt the shock clench her body in its iron tight grip, thrusting her into a period of mourning that would last a long time. Arthur was dead. The words couldn't form right in her mind. They wouldn't, they refused to.
"Maria," Elena breathed. "You need to come to terms with it, please. For your own sake." Her pleads would not be listened to. "Luca will be home in an hour. If he sees you grieving, he will know."
Maria pushed herself away, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks, making her arms itchy and red. This was grief. Pure, agonising grief.
This was the feeling she should have felt for her father, for her brother. This was the feeling she'd always been told was a right of passage, a way of growing and connecting with God over the knowledge he'd taken a good one at the right time. But this felt wrong, deadly wrong. How could she persevere, knowing his life had been cut short by her brother. This is what hate leads to. Pain and suffering on all accounts.
"I don't care, Elena," she cried.
"You will love another," Elena said, her voice loud and reassuring as if she was trying to force her to be convinced.
"How can I?"
Elena hurried forward, placing a hand on her cheek, wiping away a tear before it could even fall against her cheeks.
"Soon this will melt into the past like a bad dream."
"You don't understand, Elena," Maria said quietly, the words forming on her lips before she could stop herself. "I am with child."
"His child?"
"Yes."
"Are you certain?"
"I have never been more sure of something in my life. I feel it. I know it," she cried, placing two hands against her own stomach. "This is a blessing."
She'd first felt an enormous washing of love, warming her body like a fire, as if heaven's light had graced her. With the knowledge that she was pregnant, Maria felt no shame nor worry. All she could feel was an overwhelming sense of happiness. There would have been no regret from Arthur. He would have loved her more than life, had she let him.
"How can I love another?"
"Luca can't know," Elena said.
"I don't care anymore, Elena," Maria said, stepping further away from her brother's wife. She'd been as big a part of it as anyone. "He can do what he wants. But I want no part of it."
There was silence for a moment as the weight of reality bore down on her.
"I want to go to his funeral."
"Maria you can't-"
"I have to go," she snapped.
"If they see you there they won't think twice about using you against Luca."
"Why aren't you listening?" Maria moaned. "This isn't about Changrettas and Shelbys anymore. This is about me, my child, and their father. Their murdered father."
"A father of your child who killed your own, remember!" Elena shouted angrily.
"How can you place blame like that? If you blame Arthur then you also blame my father, my brother and everyone in between. There is rarely blame in war. There are two sides selfishly fighting for their own purpose. It is rare one knows where it began," Maria said. "If there is no forgiveness, then there is a life of vendettas and revenge and anger. Why can't there just be peace?"
"There will be no peace with his child in your stomach."
"There will be peace, Elena," she said quietly, her mind resolved. "Just not with my family a part of it."
