Heart of Gold | B. Gold ✓

15 | Don't Worry

Fawnie found solace in her aunt Polly. The woman who raised her and taught her almost everything she knew. She especially enjoyed being in her aunt's home, the one Tommy bought Pol as a present and the very home that Fawnie often found herself hanging around. Smoking one of her aunt's dainty cigars if Pol ever allowed it or just gossiping with the older woman.

A knock sounded in the doorway and Tommy appeared as shocked as Fawnie did. His eyes were glazed over and a half-drunk glass of whiskey dangled in his hand. "Family meeting, come on." Fawnie merely nodded and sat the book she'd been blankly staring at for the entire day onto the table.

She followed behind Tom slowly, not wanting to rush toward her family because she knew there'd be discourse over the large bruise settling into the white of her cheek.

The tell-tale sound of cocaine being poured onto the table met her ears as Finn took in Fawn's appearance. She was much less disheveled than she was when she and Tommy first showed up on Polly's doorstep. After a long bath, Fawnie just sat and waited. "So... what the fuck happened today, Tom? We all heard, shooting in Artillery Square."

Tommy nodded as Fawn stood behind him, in the doorway, only showing the half of her face that wasn't turning a nasty purple color. "Yeah, there was." Fawn glanced at the ground and squeezed her eyes shut so she could shut out the memory of the loud gunfire. "Today, I killed three men. Now our enemies will have to act."

Everyone sittin at the table looked a bit surprised. Fawnie recognized every single face when she looked over them one more. Linda, Lizzie, Johnny Dogs, Arthur, Finn, and Uncle Charlie.

Arthur continued to cut out lines of cocaine, "I suppose, they er... I suppose they took you by surprise, did they?" 

Fawn knew just because Thomas had a gun prepared that he planned the shootout, "No, I knew they were coming."

"Just after Christmas, I received a letter from Luca Changretta. Offering to spare my son, if I gave up Tommy. And I gave Tommy up." Polly's words caused Fawn's eyes to widen, the thought that her aunt betrayed the family didn't sound right at all.

"Because that was the plan that Polly and I agreed on. I knew that Luca would want to pull the trigger himself. So I used the set-up as bait to bring him in."

The eldest Shelby snorted up one of the lines he made, "You're a fuckin' idiot, Tom. Bringin' our little deer into this shite?"

Thomas licked his lips, "Look, I didn't get Luca, but I got three. All right? That's it. That's what happened." Fawnie felt a little hand grab the back of her shirt and she turned to find little Charlie smiling up at her.

"Hey, bud, what're you doing?" He gave her grabby hands and despite the child being quite hefty now, Fawnie obliged and picked her nephew up. She rested him on her hip and Fawnie swore she saw Tommy smile at the sight out of the corner of her eye. "Come to see your dad?" He nodded.

Charlie leaned toward his father and so Fawnie stepped out of her hidden position, a few gasps sounded as she handed Charlie off to Tommy, before immediately covering her face. "Don't worry, Finn, it's just a scrape."

"That looks like a bloody hand mark!" Finn exclaimed as Fawnie's entire face grew hot with embarrassment. Him and his bloody twin-intuition.

Johnny Dogs stood up, a sly smile on his face, "Ah, but, he's right. I mean, I thought you'd gone soft. So you got three?"

Tom dipped his head in a nod, "Yeah, I got three."

"Well, I'll drink to you, Tom. You mad bastard." Uncle Charlie said before downing his glass. Despite the uneasy environment, the group shared a light chuckle, all except Fawnie. She just tried to muster up a smile.

Arthur stood up and made his way over to Tommy, "Pretty soon, you're gonna get the shakes. When your blood cools down. Let's go get a drink."

"Dad, you got three what?" Fawn felt the color drain from her face as her eldest brother looked at the damage on her face. She turned her head away from him and nodded in a silent answer to his silent question.

"I got three shillings on a two-shilling horse, my boy." Tommy Shelby always managed to pull something out of his arse whenever needed.