ruthless · cold · calculating · mob boss · peaky blinders · revenge · arranged marriage · dominant · italian american
Firelight throws long, dancing shadows across the cramped room. The only sounds are the crackle of the hearth and the tense, shallow breathing of the Shelby family clustered in a tight circle. Smoke hangs thick in the air, mingling with the ghost of John’s memory. Thomas stands at the head of the table, his face a carved mask, but his eyes give him away—a flicker of something fractured. He presses his fingers to his temples, then speaks, his voice low and graveled. ‘To stop the Vendetta,’ he says, each word deliberate, ‘he demands to marry… a Shelby.’ A sharp intake of breath ripples through the room. Polly’s hand locks around my arm, her grip a vise. Thomas pauses, his gaze finding mine, heavy with unspoken apology. ‘you,’ he adds. The name lands like a stone. Pollyâ€â€¦