Chapter Text
What was the word people around town used? “Shrewd”. To think of the word was almost laughable, especially knowing that they most definitely meant “severe”, “cut-throat”… even “criminal”. But if she was honest, something about that decision people made, to be careful with the words they chose when describing him, and to almost stammer as they lower the pitch and volume of their voices when even mentioning his name, made her all the more interested in the so-called lion of London. Tommy Shelby.
She was a small fish in his big pond, but she was getting bigger now. Big enough to be noticed, even big enough to be mentioned in Forbes magazine as one of London law’s up and commers in corporate finance. The business world was all salacious secrets, and backstabbing, and trampling on others to get ahead… and somehow the world of business law was a lot more vicious. So, it wasn’t exactly news that a man like Tommy Shelby, the sort of man people spoke of with both fear and admiration, existed in such a place such as this… and yet, it seemed, if you were to go by gossip, that is… he was the most dangerous of them all.
At the very least, he was the most successful. She had seen him in a Maserati one week, and a Porsche convertible the next—for one brief winter he drove an Aston Martin that he almost ran her over with when she was out for a run at lunch time. The smug smirk he gave her almost made her lose her cool, but she brushed it off with a smile in response, muttering “cunt” under her breath as she jogged on. People didn’t really go for runs in the city, especially not in the financial district; weaving between parked cars, and lunch-meeting parties, and bike messengers, but she did. Because without a constant pace in her mind or body, she was quite certain she’d explode. It was almost like she needed to sweat, to ache, to even lose her breath now and then, just so she could feel accomplished… sated, even. It’s sort of what made her good at what she did. Very good.
So good, in fact, that now, she was sat across from Alfie Solomons, and he was half-way down his glass of whiskey (his own brand), when he smiled almost self-consciously and announced: “I think I've made my decision, love. I want you to represent me.” He cleared his throat and added, “If you’re still interested, that is.”
She smiled, “Of course I’m interested,” She said, and couldn’t help but lean forward, fingers curling around the stem of her wine glass, “But won’t your friend have something to say about all this?” She had said ‘friend’ in a way that dripped with poison, and Alfie enjoyed it.
“I suppose he will,” Alfie said, “Heads will roll and that, but he'll simmer down.”
“Delightful,” She smiled. And it certainly did delight her. The great big lion of London was losing one of his top clients to a very small fish he almost squished in his Aston Martin one afternoon. There was going to be some trouble, of course, after all, loyalty was key between men like Tommy and Alfie. And drama, toys being thrown, a powerful man losing his cool… that’s a vision she could enjoy on and on until the end of her days.
It really boiled down to what Alfie Solomons needed. And what he desperately needed was a softer touch with this particular spot of trouble with a worker at his distillery. He wanted to settle, keep it civil, keep it kind… and Tommy was hardly the man for that sort of job. Tommy wanted to destroy, burn down, and threaten… all the way to court, through the tabloids and media, and build a throne atop the mess left behind. “Settling is akin to admitting guilt”, he had said to Alfie, fist tightly closed on his desk as if he was threatening the piece of furniture itself.
“I’m getting old, love,” Alfie said, “I think there was a time, maybe, when I would’ve wanted to fight. Get down in the muck.” He shrugged. “But now, what’s the point, eh?”
“You do sound old,” She grinned, and he chuckled. He liked to act much older than her, even if he was only a scant ten or so years older. To Alfie though, age 28 seemed so long ago to him. And when he looked in her eyes he saw the kind of hope that was snuffed out of him long ago. “I love a good fight,” She said, and it was true. Why else did she do what she did for a living. “But,” she sighed, “In this particular case, it’s better to do things quietly.”
“Tommy don’t do quiet,” Alfie smirked. His eyes lifted from her to the entrance of the bar, and something in his gaze shifted. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.”
She turned, and saw Tommy enter, dressed sharply like he always was. She didn’t doubt that his suits cost more than her rent. And on his arm, some blonde with doe eyes who looked far too sweet to know any better. By the whispering and stolen glances that ricocheted around the bar, she gathered the woman was a socialite, or perhaps a politician’s daughter… perhaps if she scrolled through socials more often she would’ve had a beat on who the blonde was exactly. But what did it matter, really?
Tommy’s eyes locked on (Y/N)’s, and she only then noted how icy blue they looked. She had heard women around the office mention those eyes, and that chiseled jaw, but only ever scoffed at the remarks before. But even for all the scorn she had for the man, she had to admit, he did look good. Anyone else might have looked away then, let the lion of London win out in this little unspoken staring contest, but, as she had said to Alfie moments ago, she loved a fight. And the only thing she loved more was gloating in the aftermath of a fight won.
She smiled at him, nodded confidently, and Tommy scoffed and turned away, ushering his date towards the theater entrance beside the bar. “Look for me tomorrow, and I shall be a grave man,” Alfie chuckled.
“Well in that case, Mercutio,” She laughed back, “We should make sure to enjoy the rest of the evening.”
Alfie thought that was a good idea, and they both headed in to see the first act of the bard’s play. Her work and her obsession with it often meant she never ever got out much, and never got to see any of the west end—let alone a play, but now that this little fish was getting bigger, social calls were mandatory. And being Alfie’s guest meant box seats, a luxury she would’ve never had splurged on herself, and one she was quietly pleased about indulging in.
As the lights dimmed and the curtains came up, (Y/N) felt eyes on her and seemed to already instinctively know exactly the shade of that penetrating gaze. Turning, she saw Tommy in an adjacent box seat, his date fanning herself and looking excitedly at the stage, all while he glared at (Y/N). It was a look that would’ve been followed by a lunge and a spray of blood, if it weren’t for their proximity and polite society. His jaw moved, as though he ground his teeth deliberately, shooting his glance away again. She couldn’t help but smile. A fight was coming, and it made her skin come alive, and her teeth set on edge. She ran her tongue along the edge of her pearly whites and smirked, absolutely delighted.
***
Tommy spent his morning smoking in his home office, overlooking the well-kept backyard he never spent much time in, and ignoring the mess of blonde curls and soft supple skin that lay tangled in his sheets upstairs. His mind now, was on someone else, and the thought of that someone else made his blood boil all the way up to his ears. Slumping into his leather chair, he felt a pang of defeat settle in his gut. Why the hell did Alfie Solomons do this to him? It wasn’t just aggravating; it was downright embarrassing. Alfie had embarrassed him. It was a luxury few men ever afforded and lived to tell the tale. Not at least without wearing the indent of his fist over their eye. But what was Tommy going to do about it? What was he going to do about her?
He took another deep inhale of his cigarette and blew out a stiff plume of grey. What he felt for her was a rage so unbridled and deep crimson red, it seemed to unfurl into something else. Tommy would never admit it, but he had to admit it to himself at least… last night, as he bedded the commissioner’s daughter, there were flashes of another face in his bed. There was her. Her and all the delicious ways he deeply wanted to teach her a lesson. Discipline her with his hands, his fingers, the edge of his teeth, and the tip of his tongue. Turn her into the pliable and placid thing she ought to be.
How he would love nothing more than to have her now, right here. He would push her pretty little face into his glass table, run a hand up her skirt and rip off her panties. He would kick her feet apart and push his fingers deep inside her until she begged to be relieved by his cock. And in the throes of her spiraling pleasure, she would scream his name, stammering “more, please, Tommy Shelby,” and “thank you, Tommy Shelby,” through gasps that misted up the glass. And he would whisper to her, heavy and low, “Be a good girl for me, (Y/N)…” until—
A knock on the door. Tommy shot up from his chair so fast, his head spun. “Yes?” He half-groaned, slumping quickly back into his chair and pressing a hand down on the bulge of his pants. Now he felt his skin burn with a different kind of emotion.
His butler entered, “Solomons, sir,” He announced, and Tommy raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“Solomons is here, sir,” Reginald reiterated, those aged grey eyes showing very little in the way of emotion. “Should I tell him to call again another time?”
“Let him in,” Tommy grunted, quickly pouring himself a glass of whiskey from his decanter on the desk.
“Shalom,” He heard a gruff voice speak into the room and heard the heavy footfalls. Tommy scoffed in response.
"Good morning, Alfie," He said.
"Yeah, it is," Alfie replied. He looked almost a little sheepish, a look that didn't look right on him at all. “I felt this warranted an in-person call,” Alfie said, ignoring the cold reception he was getting. He sat down opposite Tommy, who only glared at him while he took a sip of his whiskey. “Ah,” Alfie nodded, “Breakfast of champions?”
“You’ve come all the way here,” Tommy said, “So be on with it.”
Alfie leaned forward, “We’ve been friends a long time, Tommy, haven’t we?” He said, “So we understand each other, enough to know we don’t always see eye-to-eye on everything, enough to know we don’t always share a…” He struggled to find the words, even though he had rehearsed this meeting repeatedly in his head all the way here.
“Moral compass,” Tommy added, cocking an eyebrow at Alfie.
“Look, Tommy,” Alfie said, not enjoying the feeling of being a cornered cat. “I have to do this, and the fact of the matter is, she’s handling this one case for me and that’s it.” It was a relief to finally say the words, to admit it to Tommy once and for all. And to offer him perspective. It was just one case, one little measly thing he wanted done and dusted. Everything else in his empire was Tommy’s to work with. “Just the one. A drop in the ocean of responsibilities you handle for me. I wish I’d had the chance to tell you before last night, but unfortunately…” he trailed off. “I hope there’s no hard feelings, eh?”
“Are you fucking her?” Tommy asked. It was so out of the blue that Alfie stiffened all the way up and down his spine. He opened his mouth to speak but, “Don’t say pardon, or I’ll lose my temper, Alfie.”
Alfie smirked, “No, Tommy. I ain’t fuckin' her.”
Tommy leaned back in his chair and chuckled. “Ten years I’ve represented you, Alfie. Ten years,” He said. “Much longer than that little bird’s even been out of law school. From when you were just a man with an idea, to where you are now.” He lifted the decanter of whiskey. “A name synonymous with whiskey. With luxury. With integrity.” He finished off his cigarette and put it out in the glass ashtray on his desk. “And here you go, throwing it all in my face. For a girl you're not even fucking.”
“Tommy…” Alfie was getting angry now, though he tried hard to swallow it down.
“Mr. Beyers,” Tommy said, standing. Alfie froze, watching as Tommy retrieved a folder from his filing cabinet and tossed it on the desk. “When he first wanted to sue you, his case was a little flimsy, but then I dug… You see, one of the things I’m very good at is finding weaknesses… things overlooked in a very big corporation… things I've noticed by being so close for ten years.”
“What are you doing, Tommy?” Alfie stood, his fists clenching shut so tightly he could’ve crushed his own bones. “You ain’t thinking right.”
“No one disrespects me, Alfie. Ten years. You should’ve known better.” Tommy replied, grinning now that he had the upper hand. “Before you wonder how on earth this little broken cog in the wheel can afford me… It’ll be my first pro-bono,” He announced. Alfie felt almost dizzy with both rage and repulsion. Tommy Shelby was going to represent Mr. Beyers. The ex- distillery-worker suing him for unsafe working conditions. It was all going to go away behind closed doors, quietly, the way (Y/N) (Y/L/N) was happy to handle it. But Tommy don’t do quiet…
“This is fuckin' crazy Tommy, even for you." Alfie breathed. He had a good 100lbs or so on Tommy Shelby, and my God how he wanted to use all of it to break that man in two right now. But Tommy, he knew, would wile his way through it somehow. The man was like a dagger. A revolver under the table. And Alfie really did feel too old for a fight these days. “Let’s just talk about this, yeah?” He murmured, almost too embarrassed to sound out the words.
"Goodbye, Alfie," Tommy sneered. "I'll see you in court."
***
(Y/N) was still huffing when she made it back up to her office, a ring of sweat around the collar of her shirt. She pulled her airpods out of her ears as she sprinted in, “Kathleen. What the fuck?” She breathed, headed towards her assistant. Kathleen looked pale, the egg sandwich on the desk in front of her half-eaten—discarded in shock. Her red cat-eye glasses so bright against the drawn-wide whites of her eyes.
“Sorry, I know you were out for a jog, but…” She stammered, looking like she had just spent the last 30 minutes in heavy cardio herself. “He just walked in. He wouldn’t leave.”
“Where is he?” (Y/N) demanded, and in response, Kathleen nodded towards her office.
(Y/N) threw her glance around the office and saw the prying eyes of her other associates and their assistants sneaking looks at her. Each one of them looked worried and starved for more information. She scoffed and continued to her door.
She entered on the smell of smoke, pungent in the small space. Her eyes stung, but she smoothed out her expression and stared at the back of his head as he read the framed articles on the wall. There were three now; Forbes, The Economist, Monocle... each one proclaiming her successes. "Up and coming under 30s in London." Tommy read aloud. "Impressive." His voice was deep and dull, deeply unamused.
"Mr. Shelby," She said, his name sounding sharp-cornered in her mouth. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this unscheduled visit?"
He turned to look at her, his icy blues darting straight into hers. He scanned her gaze for a moment, even studied her expression. But she didn't seem to move or flinch. She didn't look away. A small smile tugged the corners of his lips. Was he impressed by her confidence? Or simply tickled that she didn’t seem to know any better? "My office is up on main street," He said finally, "I don't get to see this part of town very often."
"I'd love to show you around," She responded, and it gave him great pleasure to hear the venom in her tone. "But I'm a little busy today. Apparently I have a court case to prepare for."
Tommy looked at her like the cat who ate the canary, and it made her seethe. "A case like this can be dangerous for a firm like yours." He said, "A small place, a few handful of associates... this sort of thing can really snuff out a flame before it's had the chance to burn." He blew out a stiff cloud of smoke.
"Mr. Shelby," She said, "Let me give you some advice. Though I doubt you'd ever take some from a woman. Solomons has and continues to be more than willing to settle with a large sum." To that, Tommy chuckled, but she continued, "More than enough to cover Mr. Beyers’ medical costs, for both surgeries, for the emotional damages, and for wages lost. And even after all that, more than enough to retire on. It'll take care of his family. Even send his little boy to University," she said. All this wasn’t news, and it bored him to the core. "Just as long as he doesn't blow it all on liquor again. Like he's been known to do." Tommy eyed her then, and on her lips, still a bright pink from her lunch-time jog, was the ghost of a proud smile. She had finally caught his attention. "You know what they say. Drunks aren't especially reliable," she shrugged. He looked at her questioningly. And what was she suggesting exactly? "Dragging this through the courts isn't going to be without its risks," She said, "You'll find that sometimes, things are better off left behind closed doors." To say he was charmed by what she had just said, with her tongue that might as well have been forked, would have been an understatement. Perhaps a closer word would be titillated. But that feeling fought with the deepening rage he felt bubbling inside him. Was this little bitch really threatening to drag Mr. Beyers’ good name through the mud to get Alfie Solomons a win? It was impressive, the way she thought like a shark. The way she thought like him.
Tommy stared at her, calculating. "You're right," He said coldly. "I don't take advice from women." And with that, he turned on his heel and left.
***
She was gasping for breath, but pushed on, her calves and thighs burning all the way up to her lower back as she ran up the hill by her apartment building. It was dark out, and all she really had for scenery was what the amber streetlights caught; discarded rubbish, an abandoned car, a mangy fox scampering between the shadows. But she wasn’t really doing this for the love of scenery, or the love of running. Feeling her lungs give out, and her body ache was the only thing keeping her from exploding with anger. She huffed, lips parted, sweat pooling between her collar bones and soaking her shirt.
Elsewhere, Tommy Shelby was huffing too, his lips drawn open and sweat drenching his hair as he drove himself deep into the commissioner’s daughter. His hips slammed against her ass, hard and fast, her back arching, and her face buried in his sheets. She screamed, but her voice was muffled, and her hands fisted the edge of the bed, squeezing tightly. He threw his head back and closed his eyes, feeling cool beads of sweat drip down his face. Deep inside, he was seething, the backs of his eyelids a raw, and raging red. He pounded her harder.
(Y/N) climbed up, up, up, her knees feeling weak as she continued to the peak of the hill. She groaned, “Fuck,” she muttered.
“Fuck!” Tommy growled between clenched teeth, pushing his bedfellow’s face deeper into his bed. He moaned.
(Y/N) gritted her teeth, grunting as she reached the apex.
Tommy let the rush of his climax pull him under, seeing her blossom out of the blood red he saw. (Y/N)’s face, her eyes, her hair tangled in his closed fist.
And finally, (Y/N) stopped, gulping deep breaths of air, and feeling her body almost tremble with relief.
Tommy fell back into his bed, breathing hard. Somehow, even though his body should have been sated, there was an empty cloying feeling that seeped in at the edges.
It was just like how (Y/N) knew, very deep down, that there were no number of hills she could climb to get away from the twist in her gut that Tommy Shelby made her feel.