Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ ᴏɴᴇ 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑢𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑙
❦
The caravan still burned brightly in the background, the smell of smoke charring the air. A dried rose sat in Maria's hand, the thorns carefully avoided. The petals were a dark pink, the tips simultaneously darkened and lightened by thick ash. She held it tightly, protectively, like a sword in front of her stomach- a momento, something to remember the day by. It was a strong symbol, a strong remembrance, but not nearly as powerful as the one that rested in her stomach.
Maria held her hand over her stomach as they walked toward the house on Watery Lane. Her feet were weary after ten minutes of walking, her shoes the soundest sound among the small, silent group. Her mother had given herself a head start of about half an hour. She was either reckless or arrogant, thinking herself able to walk so easily through enemy territory, Shelby territory. but then again, hadn't Maria done that herself, once? That felt like a lifetime ago, almost. It was as if she was another person now.
As they reached Watery Lane, Audrey's tall, ragged white flag came immediately into view, tainted in colour by the smoke in the air. Her mother's eyes zoned in on her quickly, as Maria slowed her pace, reluctant to meet her harshness. As she did so, Polly Shelby, Arthur's aunt, met her side.
"I know," the woman said faintly, her eyes moving to rest on Maria's stomach.
She didn't bother denying it. Either way, Polly was so sure of herself that she would never believe otherwise. "How?"
Polly brushed a finger quickly against her nose and looped an arm around Maria's pulling her close so she could speak into her ear easier. Maria glanced toward her mother, but already her stern attention had been shifted from her daughter onto the flag that hung limply from the stick, like a weak metaphor, an ominous message that Maria would listen to. No doubt, her awareness would soon skip to Tommy Shelby, the leader, as her family had quickly deduced.
"I have a knack for these things," Polly said with a brief nod as if the fact was obvious. Then her demeanour changed as if she'd suddenly thought of something. "He never knew?"
Maria shook her head. "I didn't have the chance-" she paused, stopping before her voice could break. She'd never had the chance to tell him. Why couldn't she say that in full? It was the truth. But the truth hurt. It ached and stabbed at her when she thought of it for too long. "-to tell him."
"I'm afraid of what Luca will do when he finds out," she said truthfully.
She couldn't call him brother anymore. How could a brother, a man of family, do such cruel things? But Luca would always be family.
"My mother already suspects, but I had to come here. I had to see it for myself," she said, meaning the funeral. Polly nodded in what Maria hoped was understanding, connection.
"I admire your courage," she said. "We've known a few things about damned relationships around here, but never like this."
Maria forced herself to laugh. She'd never let herself think of it like that: a damned relationship.
"Arthur did know how to do conflict. After the war, his head was fucked. It was always a will-they-won't-they type of thing with religion too," Polly said, speaking so bluntly that Maria's brows rose in surprise. "How did you manage to meet him?"
"It was in church, actually," she said, smiling at the memory. "He asked me if I was his angel."
Polly snorted, borderline impolitely. "Sounds like Arthur."
Maria nodded and as they came closer to the house where her mother stood, Polly unfurled their arms, moving to stand beside Tommy. As expected, Audrey's focus shifted straight to Tommy, her harsh stare meeting him steadily, not once meeting Maria again.
The inside of the little terraced house reminded Maria much of her own flat in that it was dark and dingy in the areas without a window and the little light that did stretch in through the glass was greyish and cold. And much like her own room, the room that the Shelbys' led them to was taken up by a large fireplace, logs already placed in it and lit, though it was far more well kept than what she remembered of her own.
Maria sat with her mother by the window with the three Shelbys taking up the opposite side of the room- Tommy sat centrally, with Polly close to his right, and in the corner of the room to the left stood the youngest remaining Shelby sibling, Finn. Maria frowned as she watched him. He was so young, still so innocent looking in the face in spite of all that'd happened. She briefly wondered if her own child would be like Finn Shelby; surrounded by horrors and untouched by them at the same time. But the Changretta blood would always taint that sense of naiveté. Her mother was a pure example of that.
The white flag had been left at the door, the pole being too long to fit through the door without added energy being applied t walking. To Maria, it felt purposeful though. Had any hope of peace been left at the door too?
"Your note talked about making terms for peace. But my sons says there are no terms," Audrey said, her chin lifting in defiance. "You took my husband. And my son. We took two of your brothers."
"The vendetta is done," Tommy said, bowing his head down slightly.
"We say the vendetta is won," her mother snapped, face hardening. "We will take everything you have. All your businesses signed over to us. You agree to this, or my son will kill you all, one by one."
Maria feared the fact she could be so bold, so fearless. Though she'd fallen in love with a man of the last name Shelby, she still held the name Changretta. She was naturally the enemy. The white flag had been left at the door, along with Audrey and Luca's fleeting desire for peace. These men had killed her father and brother too, there was no saying what anger could do to angry men.
"The vendetta is won," Tommy said, surprising her with his calmness. He shook his head. "That's it. No more killing."
There was a pause. "Who do you think you were, Mr Shelby?" Audrey Changretta asked. And when he didn't answer, remaining in his stoic stare, she got up and left, leaving her daughter to follow behind.
