The Camden Girl and The Devil (Tommy Shelby)

"Is that all, eh?"

Maybe Ivy was too calm about being taken hostage by a rival gang. But with how it happened, she found being over-dramatic and sensitive didn't feel right either. The kidnapping was quite nice, well, as nice as a kidnapping could go. She had a peaceful drive that allowed her to finish her book; she got a free drink and was now living rent-free (not that she had for anything herself at home) with a maid coming at her every call.

She was reading multiple books a day. Eating anything she pleased. Lounged in the bath for far too long. But after a few days, she missed Alfie dearly. He was a pain in her ass. But he was her big brother, and she felt a little lost without him. Guilt built in her stomach more and more every day, because she knew, as she enjoyed the luxuries Tommy Shelby provided, Alfie would be doing everything he could to get her back.

Ivy had thought about escaping. There were many possibilities, out through the window tying a few bed-sheets together, using the bed as an anchor. She knew she could pick lock the door and try her luck through the house and to the front door. But both ways, a maid or Tommy himself would probably catch her. Say she made it out of the house. Then what? She was in the middle of the countryside. She was a city girl. She knew every road and alley in London, but here? She was useless. Every tree and field looked the same to her. Any attempt would end in failure, and all her luxuries would be removed. Why bother risking it if Tommy wasn't hurting her - yet.

The thought sent a shiver down her spine. Ivy, despite Alfie's best efforts, had been around evil men, men far worse than Alfie. They had a hunger for killing. It's what drove them each day. They would look at her and lick their lips as though they were going to feast. There was one time when it got close. Alfie had to deal with some business, and Ivy was home alone.

"I won't be long," Alfie had assured her, but then hours went by. Ivy was not concerned. It was normal for him to not come back until early morning. In fact, she was more surprised when the front door opened at two am.

"Home so early?" she said, not looking up from the book in her lap. It was only when he did not answer she glanced up and saw it was not Alfie who had entered her home. She tensed, her fight-or-flight mode kicking in. The Italians. They had been causing a needless ruckus during that time. Ivy did not understand entirely what was transpiring, but something along the line of keeping Alfie and the Jews in check.

It wasn't Savini's men either; it was a new lot from America. The Mafia. Alfie did not have to tell Ivy twice to stay hidden until the whole thing blew over. Still, to this day, as she sat on her newly made bed in Tommy's house, she did not understand how they had found her. All she knew, one night, she was staring eye to eye with the Mafia mob leader Fusco. He had dark hair that reached down to his ears, dark brown eyes, and a smile so sick every bone in her body told her to flee.

"Why hello, Mrs Solomons," his voice hit her like ice down her back, a shock that required her body to adjust to the new circumstance.

"Miss," she muttered, though her throat was suddenly parched.

Fusco smiled. "My apologies." He bowed his head and took her hand to place a gentle kiss on the back of it. She tried not to show her grimace. Her eyes glanced at the knives that sat in the drawer close to her and then at the back door. "Please, if you fight, you'll only make it worse."

As she sat there, terrified, one thought ran through her mind.

Alfie. Alfie. Alfie. Alfie. Alfie. Alfie.

It had been a long time since she needed him like this, for him to be the protective older brother like when they were kids. For her to be so weak that only he could stop her from breaking.

Ivy let out a squeak when Fusco abruptly yanked her forward. A blade found its way to her neck. She wasn't easily frightened. Had seen her fair share of nastiness through the years. But this, this was different. She wasn't looking at a man; she was looking at a monster.