The Arrangement ~ Chapter 22 THE END
Series Masterlist
Words: 8.4k
Pairing: Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F
Warnings: Explicit sex, family, healing, some fluff
It's the beginning of the rest of your life with your new family, including reconnecting with your husband and christening your son.
Disclaimer:The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site.
The motorcar slowed as the house came into view, washed gold in the warm light of sunset. Tommy leaned forward just slightly, his shoulders easing with every turn of gravel beneath the tires.
For the first time all day, he left the weight of meetings, contracts, and factory business behind him. The world of ledgers and strategy could wait until tomorrow morning. He would have said he was forcing it all out of his mind, every last bit of it, but that was pretty far from the truth. The truth was, his mind had gone to complete shit the minute his wife had walked smiling into his office earlier. The scent of her perfume, that siren's smile, and her small perfect hands smoothing over his chest had been enough to do him in. Telling him she wanted him and she'd waited long enough? Yeah. He'd been bloody worthless after that.
Now, all that mattered was what waited behind that front door. Her. His boy. The smell of supper already drifting on the breeze. God, he needed to see them. He wanted to see her smile again, his baby’s tiny fists and sweet face. He was growing addicted to the feeling he had when he was with them, that, just for a moment, his life was more than just war, power, and survival.
Home.
The war was over, at least this latest one. Small Heath was quiet again, Luca Changretta and his family were ghosts, and the woman he'd nearly lost was here, alive, and waiting.
He parked near the steps, cutting the engine. A couple of Blinders were still milling around the yard, chatting in low voices as they finished off a smoke. He barely registered their presence.
When she stepped out onto the porch, he smiled. His wife was really trying to kill him today, finally wearing the plum-colored dress he'd commissioned. More than once he mentioned he’d like to see her in it, and hadn't until now. His mouth went dry. The sun lit up her face, making her skin glow like some half-remembered dream. Her lips curved into a smile as she watched him, and it nearly had him running to her.
Climbing the steps, Tommy couldn’t stop the smirk tugging at his mouth. “That for me, then?”
She tilted her head coyly. “Who else would it be for?”
He chuckled low, threading his fingers through hers as she guided him inside. But the second the door closed, Tommy turned, backed her against the wall with a smoothness that had her gasping.
“Wasn’t kidding about that dress,” he whispered against her lips, the scent of her perfume already unraveling what little patience he had left. Dipping his head lower, his lips captured the lobe of her ear. “Make an excuse.I'll have supper brought up to us later.”
Her laugh was soft and dangerous. “Tommy—”
“I’m serious.” His voice was rougher now, hands tightening at her waist. “Tell Polly you’ve got a headache.”
She smiled against his cheek, utterly unbothered. “You can't wait until after supper?”
“No, I bloody can't.” He backed her up a step toward the hallway wall.
He’d just started to lift her off her feet, one hand trailing down the curve of her hip, when someone knocked firmly on the door.
Tommy froze just as he leaned in again, his wife backed against the wall, his hand already poised at the buttons of that plum-colored dress. He let out a low, guttural groan as her lips brushed his cheek.
“Someone better be fuckin' dying,” he muttered.
She laughed, breathless, and gently pushed at his chest. “It’s probably the cake.”
Tommy straightened, smoothing his shirt like it might tame the tension now running through his veins. “They’d better have that bloody cake in hand.”
When he opened the door, his eyes landed first on the baker, red in the face, cake box in hand, and then on the girl beside him. He caught the way the girl's eyes lit up the second the door opened, a wide, adoring smile aimed squarely at him. Tommy did a double take. What's this?
The baker cleared his throat, shifting from foot to foot. “Mr. Shelby, sir. Apologies for the hour. The cake Mrs. Shelby ordered, for young Mr. Finn… it's ready at last.”
He held up the box like a peace offering, like he was delivering nitroglycerin. Tommy barely spared it a glance. His gaze had already shifted to the black-haired young woman, the baker's daughter he assumed, who was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. Before he could say a word, his wife appeared beside him, graceful and calm.
“Oh, thank you both so much,” she said warmly, stepping past Tommy to take the box from the baker’s trembling hands. “That was so kind of you to deliver it yourselves.”
The baker bowed his head slightly, eager to escape the heat of Tommy’s stare. “Ah, well, it’s a delicate cake, ma’am. Needed a proper handoff. There are, uh… instructions. If I could just…”
She nodded politely. “Of course. Let’s go into the kitchen.”
Tommy stepped aside as the man scurried in after his wife like he’d just been offered sanctuary in a church. That left her, Alice if he remembered right, standing alone in the doorway, still smiling at him.
Tommy’s brow twitched. “Something I can help you with?”
Alice blinked, startled from her daydream. “Oh, no sir. I just...” Her voice dropped slightly, her tone taking on that breathless lilt only young girls in the throes of romantic fantasy ever really mastered. “I just wanted to say… it’s beautiful, what you and Mrs. Shelby have. The stories don’t even do it justice.”
What bloody stories?
Before Tommy could interrogate that remark, footsteps thundered down the stairs.
“Evening,” Rory said casually, appearing like a well-timed miracle. He came to a stop beside Tommy, but his eyes were fixed on Alice. “Alice, it's good to see you.”
Alice’s entire expression shifted, her green eyes lit up, and Tommy made a note of it. The baker's daughter was all about Rory. It was a relief, but he'd still be asking his wife later if she knew what that was about.
Smiling at Rory, Alice said, “We’re not staying, just delivering the cake to Mrs. Shelby. But I might have asked to come along.”
Rory didn’t hesitate. “Mind if I walk you back?”
“Not at all.”
They stepped away together, Rory already opening the door for her with an ease that hadn’t been there in weeks. Straightening his shoulders, he offered her his arm, and led her out to the waiting carriage like a proper gentleman. The two of them spoke softly, a little awkward, but sweet. Tommy watched from the doorway with his arms crossed.
“Every girl in Small Heath chasing after him,” he muttered to himself as he hung up his cap, shrugged out of his coat. “And this one’s got him walking like he’s escorting a princess.”
The thought was interrupted by a commotion that started with a crash, followed by an explosion of female laughter.
Tommy froze, cocking his head toward the kitchen just as he heard the baker stammering through a frantic apology. “So sorry... oh dear God, I didn’t see the edge there. Ma’am, forgive me... oh Lord...”
Polly and his wife were laughing so hard, it echoed through the damn house. Seconds later, the baker came shuffling through the hallway like he’d just narrowly escaped judgment day. The man's head was down, and his eyes were wild. Something white dusted on his collar, one sleeve. Tommy even spotted white powder still clinging to the poor bastard’s ear as he scrambled towards the door.
“Evenin’, Mr. Shelby,” the man croaked. He didn't stop walking. “Lovely house. Please give my regards."
“Right,” Tommy muttered, watching the man dart out the front door like it might save his soul.
Polly marched out of the kitchen a moment later, looking far too pleased with herself. “Let me walk you out, then,” she offered, dry as ever.
“Oh no, that’s...thank you. I know the way...” the baker squeaked, already halfway to the car.
Tommy barely had time to close the door when his wife emerged behind Polly, her plum-colored dress dusted literally in... icing sugar? There was a streak across her cheek, another across her shoulder, and some of it dusted her hair.
Still, she was grinning. “I made a huge mess,” she announced, shaking her head as more powder floated into the air.
Tommy stared. “Clearly.”
“I had asked for help on how to serve the cake properly with the sugar on top, and well...”
“It's everywhere,” Polly said, eyeing her skeptically but amused. “Including the curtains.”
“There’s nothing for it.” His wife sighed dramatically, brushing her hands together. “Polly, would you mind watching Malachy a bit longer? I’ve got to go clean up.”
Polly gave a slow, knowing smirk. “Course. Take your time.”
She turned and disappeared back into the kitchen with far more bounce in her step than usual.
Tommy watched his wife heading for the stairs, still laughing and looking positively edible.
Following her, his gaze raking slowly down her frame, then back up. “That a new look?”
She threw him a look over her shoulder. “Don’t get any ideas. I think it's even in my shoes.”
“I like icing sugar,” he murmured, already sliding a hand around her waist.
“You like misbehaving,” she shot back, smirking.
Tommy leaned in, brushing his lips near her ear. “You’ve no idea.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but he’d already bent and scooped her into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Tommy!” she gasped, laughing as he turned and started up the stairs.
“You said you were going to change,” he said simply. “I’m just assisting.”
“You are not helping—”
“I disagree,” he muttered, shifting her in his arms. “I think I’m being very helpful.”
And as her laughter echoed off the walls behind them, Tommy Shelby decided there was absolutely nothing in the world that could compare to this sugar-covered woman who belonged to him. The sound of her laughter had his heart flying as he carried her into the bathroom across from their bedroom.
Her brows lifted when he carefully set her down next to the clawfoot tub. "You're serious," she said, still smiling.
"I'm always serious," he replied, trying to decide where to start.
Tommy locked the door, and turned on the water. She still marveled at the sight of indoor running water, which neither of them ever had growing up. Just now, he couldn't have been more grateful for it, adding lavender oil to the water because he knew it was her favorite. As the warm water began filling the tub, Tommy took a knee in front of her, nimbly working on the straps of her shoes so he could remove those first.
Steam rose lazily from the bath he’d drawn, curling around the edges of the porcelain tub and catching the late golden light from the window. The scent of lavender oil hung in the air, subtle and soothing.
When he stood, he couldn't resist pulling her into the circle of his arms to steal a kiss. The deep, heated kiss he'd been daydreaming about since she'd visited his office. Her lips were still curled into a smile when he kissed her mouth, his fingers finding the buttons at the back of her dress and popping them open as fast as he could. He managed to ease that dress down without breaking the kiss.
With the dress pooled on the tiles at her feet, she stood there in her camisole and slip, wrapping her arms around herself like her arms could hide her. What's this then? She'd been melting in his arms. Now her shoulders were tense. What changed so quickly?
Carefully, he cupped her cheek with his hand.
“Water will be ready in a minute,” he kept his tone soft.
She nodded but didn’t move.
Tommy's gaze dropped to where her hands gripped her upper arms, like she was holding herself together. Why was she trying to hide from him?
Frowning, Tommy used his palms to brush up and down her arms, slow and warm. “Hey,” he said. “What’s wrong?”
She blew out an exhale, her voice low. “It’s nothing.”
He didn’t buy that for a second. He slid his hands down and back up again, feeling the chill in her skin, the quiet trembling. “Talk to me.”
She hesitated for another minute more.
“It’s just…” She let out another shaky breath. “I know my body’s different now. It’s not the same and I... I don’t know what you’ll...”
For a long moment, Tommy said nothing. Then he moved, as carefully as he would move to soothe a skittish horse. His hands settled over hers, coaxing them down, undoing the barrier she’d built. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder.
“All I see,” he said in a voice low, “is the woman I love. The most beautiful woman in Birmingham.”
She closed her eyes, lips pressed together.
“You gave me a family that's mine. You carried him. You brought him here in the middle of a war. And somehow, after all that and everything you went through, you’re worried I won’t want you?” Tommy shook his head.
She looked at him then, her eyes glassy with emotion. “But I look different now.”
Tommy nodded, smiled softly. “Then let me show you just how much I love how you look now.”
He kept his movements slow as he pulled off the camisole she wore, revealing breasts that were swollen and lush. At the moment, they sustained his son. Still, he couldn't resist running his fingers over them, keeping his touch whisper light and enjoying the way she shivered, the way her body slowly eased to his touch. Tommy kissed her again, softly, as his hands tracing over her skin. He held back his own needs, which wasn't easy. But the reward was the way she allowed him to reclaim her skin with his lips and hands, to trail kisses across to the slim column of her neck, down to the soft round of her shoulder.
Tommy grinned to taste the traces of sugar on her skin. He found more of it along her collarbone, and at the inner curve of her breast.
The gasp he pulled from her was a sound he'd missed. She didn't even realize he was easing her back a step, then another. She shivered again when her bare back pressed into the wall next to the frosted glass window. He was a little rougher than he meant to be when he tugged down the half slip she wore, taking a knee and making quick work of unfastening the garters that held her stockings in place.
Her gaze stayed on him the entire time, the heat and need he read there exactly what he wanted. Her hands landed on his shoulders, her fingers clutching at his crisp white shirt as he finished undressing her. Her lips parted when his gaze met hers, as he stripped away the last barrier between him and what he wanted.
When Tommy pressed his mouth into her, a breathy cry slipped out before she could stop it. God, he'd had no idea just how much he'd missed those beautiful sounds as he hooked one of her legs over his shoulder and buried his mouth in her folds. He'd missed the taste of her, how desperate he could make her for more of what he was giving. He loved feeling her fingers clutching in his hair, the way she circled her pussy in his face, wanting more. He teased her, using his fingers and his mouth, but he made her wait. The sharp little stings of her nails in his shoulders pushed his need higher. The way she dug into his back with her heel, pleading without words for him to finish her had him throbbing.
"Tommy," her whisper was heated and pleading. "Please."
Her soft words went to his head like good whiskey. Tommy wanted more, doubling down on her. Only when her back was arching off the tile and her hands were wild things in his hair, grabbing at his clothes, did he give her the release she needed. Tommy loved her like that, trembling against the wall and struggling to stay on her feet. He dragged it out, kept at her until her wanton cries echoed in the room. The sweetest song...
Tommy caught her before she could slide to the floor. Straightening, he leaned in to feed her a taste of her own need. His lips claimed hers in a kiss that was pure possession, and scorching need. Unwilling to wait another second, he freed himself from the front of his slacks and pinned her to the wall, hooking one of her legs over his hip and spearing into her.
His grip on her hips was punishing as he fucked her hard and fast against the wall. He'd make it up to her, take her nice and slow in bed later. Right now, he was an unapologetic servant to his own lust, taking what he needed with curls of warm steam all around them and his face buried in the soft flesh of her neck. His loving pulled more cries from her, made her call his name, and he didn't give a damn who heard it. Tommy wanted more, took more.
And she held onto him Through that haze of lust, he was aware of her hands running over her back, through his hair. He held her trembling body in place for claiming, felt the squeeze of her thighs, her slick inner walls.
Tommy held on as long as he could, but release was coming fast, and he needed to bring her off with him. When he slid a hand between their bodies to find her pearl, every inch of her tightened. As roughly as his cock was plowing into her, he kept his finger light, a barely-there tease as he stroked her. The next whine he pulled from her bled into a sob as her pussy clamped around him. She was so close now, just like him...
He whispered her name, just below her ear. And that was all it took. Their bodies moved together, his demanding, hers surrendering as release speared through them both. Tommy's head spun as euphoria rushed through him, leaving him clutched in her arms, drenched in the smell of her as he pumped himself into her like a desperate man. He didn't let up until he was thoroughly spent, until she was wilting in his arms.
When she came back to the world, he kissed her gently, smoothing a hand over her face. He knew without words when she shyly buried her face in his shoulder that she felt vulnerable, completely revealed while he was mostly dressed. Tommy grinned, wanting the scent of her staining his clothes, his skin as he tasted her lips, reminding her that she was his.
Tucking himself away, he focused solely on her. “Into the bath,” he murmured. “Let me take care of you.”
Steam curled softly around the edges of the tub as she settled into the warm water, her shoulders sinking beneath the surface with a quiet sigh. Tommy sat on the closed lid of the toilet nearby, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, eyes fixed only on her.
“You were still smiling when I got home,” he said gently, watching the muted light from the sunset play off her skin. “Tell me about your day.”
She tipped her head back against the porcelain edge, eyes half-lidded, the tension finally leaving her limbs. “It was… good.” Her voice was light, almost surprised by the answer. “Nothing like I expected.”
He smiled faintly. “Go on.”
She opened her eyes, looking at him with a soft glimmer of amusement. “You know everyone in this town treats me different now, right?”
Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Do they?”
She gave him a look. “Rory said you gave him a list of about a hundred things to remember while escorting me around. So that was interesting. My terrifying brother.”
Tommy smirked but said nothing.
She continued, her tone teasing now. “Every shopkeeper we visited nearly fainted. They wouldn’t let me pay for anything. One woman tried to gift me a whole set of silk gloves. Another nearly tripped over herself getting me a hatbox.”
He leaned forward slightly. “And you let them?”
She shrugged, sinking a little deeper into the bath. “I tried not to. I really did. But they wouldn’t hear of it. They acted like I was someone.” She paused, her voice softer. “I used to walk those streets unnoticed. Just another girl. And now—”
“You were never unnoticed, love,” he said, quietly but firmly.
She smiled, her skin dewy from the warm water as she continued. “It was strange at first. All the attention. But then I don’t know. I could get used to it. Not because they were trying to give me things. But because they saw me. Some of them were even asking about that day, when I had to run away from the Italians. You know, I survived it. Our family survived it. And I'm proud of that."
Tommy leaned his forearms on the edge of the tub, his gaze steady on her. At her last words, he felt pride and something else beneath it. Something deeper.
“You should be proud,” he said quietly. “You ran through fire and came out stronger. That day, everything could’ve gone to hell. But you fought for it, same as we did.” He reached out, brushing his knuckles across her cheek. “You saved our son.”
Her lips parted slightly, emotion catching in her throat. She blinked at him, a tear trailing down her cheek that she didn’t bother to wipe away. For a moment, they stayed like that, just the sound of the bathwater lapping softly and her breath steadying.
Tommy straightened slightly, his head tilting just so. “All right. Now explain something else to me.”
Her brows lifted, wary but amused. “What?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why was the baker’s daughter smiling at me like I was a bloody storybook prince?”
That made her laugh, and he grinned despite himself, because God, he loved that sound.
“Oh, that?” she said, still giggling. “You’ve become quite the legend, Tom.”
He arched a brow. “Have I now?”
She nodded. “According to the girls in Small Heath, you single-handedly killed dozens of Italians just to hold me again. Apparently, Johnny Dogs handled the rest of them. Oh my God.”
Tommy gave a short laugh. “That right?”
She grinned at him over the rim of the tub. “Apparently. Word is you stood over his body and said something like ‘This is for my wife, you bastard.’ Very dramatic.”
He snorted. “Well, I did kill him.”
“And they say you kissed me right after,” she added slyly.
Tommy leaned closer. “Did I?”
She smiled. “You’re welcome to reenact it.”
He kissed her, soft and sure, the steam curling around them like smoke from a fire that had finally burned itself out.
She leaned into his touch, peaceful now.
Tommy's gaze moved over her, every inch of her. Not for the first time, he wondered how someone like him had ended up with something this good. After all she’d been through, the fear, the near loss, and the weight of his enemies, she still managed to sit there, relaxed and happy. Her smile no longer belonged to the girl she once was, but to the woman she’d become.
He let out a slow breath, quiet and sure. I like this better, he thought. This suits her. This peace, this light. After everything I’ve dragged her through.
Just watching her unwind in the bath like the war had finally ended, Tommy decided something very uncharacteristic of a man like him.
He was going to do everything in his power to keep that smile on her beautiful face.
You were delighted to see Nadya when she arrived, her shawl pulled close and her cheeks ruddy from the evening chill. The older woman, for you, was like sunlight through the windows. “You came,” you said, genuinely happy. “It’s been too long.”
“Too long,” Nadya agreed, pulling you into a hug.
It was perfect timing too, because you could smell the roast and rosemary bread. She was just in time for dinner. Now, if Rory would just show up.
“I’ve been speaking with Mary," Nadya said. "It's time to arrange your son's christening.”
You nodded. "Yes, it is."
You led Nadya into the drawing room, the air warm with firelight and the scent of dinner drifting in from the kitchen. The room was lively but peaceful, full of the quiet kind of joy that used to feel foreign in a Shelby house. Mary sat near the window, a glass of wine in her hand and a half-smile playing on her lips. Across from her, Polly held Malachy in the crook of her arm, the baby snug and content, his little fists resting on her chest as if he'd claimed her for himself.
Nadya lit up when she saw them. “There’s our prince.”
You smiled and guided her to the settee beside Polly, settling in just as the heavy double doors opened behind you.
Tommy entered first, freshly arrived from his office. His gaze found yours instantly, the tension in his shoulders easing the moment he saw you safe and smiling. Behind him came Arthur and John, arguing about something under their breath. Finn trailed behind, grinning to see Nadya.
“Evening,” John muttered, tipping his head to Nadya.
“How is Esme feeling?” she asked, her look one of genuine concern.
John ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “She’s all right. The oldest’s still got that damn cough, though. Esme thought it best to stay home, take it easy.”
Nadya nodded with quiet approval. “She’s right to. That many little ones and one on the way? She shouldn’t be running herself down.”
“She’s not,” John said with a half-smile. “You’ve been round enough to make sure of that.”
“I’ll keep going too,” Nadya replied, giving him a look that meant she’d already decided so. “She’s strong, but even strong women need to rest sometimes.”
John dipped his head again in thanks, that rare glimmer of gratitude passing between them before he folded his arms and leaned back.
"I'll be by tomorrow," you told John. You'd finished the repairs on the kids' clothes earlier.
Tommy looked to Polly, who gave him one of her subtle, knowing looks that said: Don’t ruin this with your sarcasm.
“We’ve spoken about the church ceremony,” he said, leaning on the sideboard with a glass in hand. “Now we’re just waiting on Rory.”
Nadya gave a sly smile. “I imagine we all know where he’s coming from.”
Polly chuckled. “Alice.”
Tommy huffed. “Baker nearly made me promise him his own private militia to let the lad court his daughter.”
“He’s smitten,” Mary added, sipping from her wine glass.
Just then, Rory pushed through the door, winded from the cold and a little from anticipation. “What’s this then? Everyone gathered without me?”
“Sit down,” Tommy said, gesturing to the open chair.
Rory paused warily, glancing around at the familiar faces. Then his gaze stopped on you and he smiled. “Alright. What did I do?”
You winked at him. “Nothing. We wanted to ask you something.”
Rory sat straighter, his attention sharpening.
Polly reached over and set a hand on his knee. “We’ve already decided I’ll be Malachy’s godmother. We want you to be his godfather.”
For a moment, Rory didn’t say anything. He just glanced from you to your mother to Tommy, stunned into silence. Then he swallowed hard. “Me?”
Tommy nodded. “You.”
John let out a low whistle. “Here's where he starts crying again.”
Arthur chuckled, accepting the glass of whisky from Tommy.
Rory didn't even cut John a look. His gaze was solidly on you. “I’d be honored.”
“You already are,” you told him softly.
With that settled, you all enjoyed dinner. You ate quickly, excusing yourself to nurse Malachy while your husband and your brothers discussed business around town, told tall tales. You were a little nervous because inviting Nadya tonight had been Polly's suggestion. You knew something else was coming, but it was Nadya, so you knew it would probably be something good.
Later, after dinner and much laughter with John mock-threatening to teach Malachy how to pick locks, John headed for home while Arthur and Finn headed upstairs. When Rory asked Mary if she was ready to go home, Mary shook her head.
"In just a few minutes," she told him. "There's one more thing to talk about tonight."
Oh, so your mother also knew what was going on. You looked to Tommy and then Polly, thinking what's this?
Mary took Malachy from your arms with a soft smile, cradling him like she’d done a hundred times before, and pressed a kiss to his dark hair. “I’ll hold onto him for a bit,” she said, giving Rory a glance that clearly meant wait.
Polly rose, brushing crumbs from her skirt. “Right then, drawing room.”
Before you could ask what was going on, she was already herding everyone back like it was a perfectly ordinary thing. Nadya followed close behind, calm and unreadable as always, while Tommy gently caught your hand in his, guiding you to the settee. The room was quieter now, the fire low and warm. You settled beside your husband, confused but comfortable, watching as Polly poured a splash of whiskey into two glasses and handed one to Nadya before taking a seat herself.
Tommy rested his hand on your leg. “We’ve been talking, the lot of us,” he began.
Polly gave him a little go on then look, but it was Nadya who spoke next.
“We waited,” Nadya said gently, “because you needed time to heal. And you deserved that. But now the forty days have passed. Your son came into this world in our camp. That means something to us.”
Wait. “Forty days?”
Nadya nodded. “Among the Romani, childbirth is sacred. In the old ways, it is a time of cleansing. The mother is considered touched by the veil between life and death, powerful, but also impure. But once the days pass, the family rejoices. It’s not just a superstition. It’s a way to honor the strength it takes to bring life into the world. To protect it. And you did that. You gave birth to him surrounded by our people. That means he belongs to both of our families.”
"Yes, he does," you told her. Your gaze shifted to Polly, who gave you a reassuring smile.
“I wanted you to focus on recovering, and on Malachy,” she said. “We all did. That’s why we waited.”
Tommy leaned in. “You’ll have the church christening. With Rory and Polly as his godparents.” His hand gave your leg a gentle squeeze. “But there’s another ceremony at the Lee camp. A proper one.”
Nadya picked it up. “We build a fire. There are songs, blessings, and gifts. The father accepts the child publicly. It’s our way of saying he is ours. Your son, our kin."
A lump rose in your throat now. “I didn’t know.”
“But you're ready now,” Polly said gently. “And if you are…” she nodded toward Nadya, who returned it with quiet warmth, “we’d like to do both.”
You looked across the room, and caught Rory’s expression just as it shifted. He hadn't known either. His brows rose slightly in surprise, but almost immediately, he nodded like it made perfect sense. He glanced at your mother, who gave a soft smile.
Mary looked back to you then, her expression proud and steady. “I think it’s beautiful,” she said.
“You’re one of us now," Nadya told you. "You always were. But this makes it known.”
You nodded slowly, your heart full.
“Yes,” you said. “Let’s do both. He deserves to be claimed by everyone who loves him.”
Tommy’s hand closed over yours, grounding you. “And he will be,” he murmured. “And your son will have two godmothers and two godfathers,” he said. “For the church... and for the fire.”
You looked at Nadya and smiled. “I already know who I want,” you said. “You. I want you to be his godmother, for everything you gave us.”
Nadya’s eyes welled immediately, one hand coming to her chest.
“And for the godfather…” You drew in a breath and smiled, a little sheepish. “It has to be Johnny.”
That got a reaction. Polly arched a brow, Tommy grinned, and Rory let out a quiet, skeptical huff.
You lifted a hand to hold them off. “I know, I know. But let me tell you something first.”
They settled. Tommy leaned back a little, curious now.
“It’s true Johnny saved me. Us. Everyone knows that. But what most of you don’t know,” you looked around the room, waiting until you had their full attention, “is what the poor man went through."
Expressions shifted, softening.
“You had to see his face,” you went on with a grin, “when my water broke in the street, I swear to God, I thought he was going to faint. Right there on the cobblestones.”
Laughter broke out. Polly chuckling first, Rory snorting.
“I couldn’t tell if he was more horrified by the sight of that or the thought of what Tommy would do if he didn’t deliver us alive.”
Tommy laughed quietly, shaking his head.
“Oh, and he was talking to my stomach the whole ride. You couldn’t wait till I got you to Nadya, eh? There’s a Shelby for you, just like your father. Impatient and impossible.”
You must’ve nailed the impression, because Rory damn near doubled over laughing, and even Polly had to wipe her eyes.
Tommy looked at you like he wanted to kiss you right then and there. “That’s settled then,” he said. “We’ll tell him tomorrow.”
Polly sniffed. “Christ, there’ll be no living with him after this.”
Tommy smirked. “There's no living with him now.”
Nadya smiled softly. “Johnny Dogs would make a fine godfather.”
The laughter rippled through the room, warm and bright. You nodded through tears you hadn’t expected to shed.
Malachy, still asleep in Mary’s arms, pulled a little frown. But then he settled with a soft sigh, as if even in dreams, he knew he was safe. And you felt it then, just a deep, overwhelming gratitude to have so many wonderful, warm, and dangerous people who all loved him.
Tommy insisted on a small, private service for the church christening. But with so many Shelbys in one place, the whole street was locked down. You recognize more than a few faces among the bystanders and among those who clearly aren’t there for prayer.
Security is kept in the background, but it's unmistakable. There are Blinders stationed at corners, watching every person, cart, and car that passes. One nods to Rory before opening the door for you, and he helps you step out with Malachy in your arms. His gown was ivory, and he's fussing just a little at the unfamiliar feel of the soft blanket and stiff collar. Polly takes him with a gentle coo, smoothing his hair. Rory, your brother and Malachy’s godfather, walks beside her.
Inside the church, the light filters through beautiful stained glass with reds, blues, and golds bathing the aisle. You catch Tommy’s eye at the front. He looks calm, but you know better. His thumb is tapping against his ring finger, the only giveaway.
For once, you don't feel afraid. You just feel the weight of everything. Who you are and who your husband is. What your son was born into.
But you’re also proud to stand there in your new dress, proud of the life that nearly slipped away but didn’t. Proud of the family that has, somehow, found its way through fire and blood to come out standing.
The chapel wasn’t large, but it felt full of people, history, and the weight of blessed moments. Polly stood at the front with Malachy in her arms, radiant in a dark lace veil, Rory at her side looking proud and just a little nervous. The priest waited with quiet patience, his gaze shifting occasionally to the doors like even he understood who was in the room.
Tommy stood just behind them, with his hands folded in front of him looking razor-sharp in his suit. He hadn’t said much on the drive here, but you could feel the tension in him. You don't miss the way his gaze sweeps each face in the pews, calculating and protective.
Arthur and John flanked the side aisles, sharp-eyed and standing instead of sitting. Finn was seated near the front, still young enough to smile easily but aware enough to keep watch. Still a Shelby. Ada was beside you, Freddie next to her. Ada dabbed at her eyes now and then, even as she muttered under her breath about how the baby looked exactly like Tommy. Freddie just chuckled and agreed.
Uncle Charlie sat behind you, his cap in his lap, eyes glassy. “He’s a strong one,” he said softly when you turned around, and you nodded.
Alice was there, sitting between Charlie and Mary, her hands folded primly. Her smile was unmistakable whenever Rory glanced her way. Her father didn’t come.
The service was simple but beautiful. Holy water, Latin prayers, and blessings spoken over a child who would never be ordinary. He'd always carry the weight of the names he’d been born with. But this was a peaceful moment. You hoped your son's life held many peaceful moments.
When the priest finally said, “Malachy Flynn Shelby,” the world seemed to pause for just a second.
You reached for Tommy’s hand, and he took it without hesitation.
You had just stepped outside of the church when the shouting started. Alice’s baker father was marching up the walk in his apron like he intended to knock the door down if he had to. He was red in the face, his voice rising with every step. Rory, bless him, looked like he wanted the ground to open up beneath him, but he stayed. Tommy, already in his coat, turned from the car with that calm, dangerous look he used like a weapon.
“I said no, and that's what I meant!” the baker yelled at his daughter who paused halfway down the steps in her pale blue dress. “You’re not going to any damn gypsy camp—”
“What did you say?” Tommy asked, his tone held a warning.
“I don’t care if the bloody King escorts her—”
You stepped up behind Mary, smiling at the baker, but you had a point to make. "I understand your concern as a parent," you said slowly. "We've just christened our son, and tonight he will be christened at the Lee Camp. They are our family too. I know you mean no disrespect."
The baker shifted uneasily, glancing at Tommy, who stood just behind you, his arms folded and silent, then back to you.
"I assure you," you went on, softening just slightly, "Alice will be in my sight and my mother’s for the entire evening. And my brother will conduct himself like a gentleman."
That surprised him. You saw it in his face, the flicker of realization that you weren’t just someone to be protected anymore. That you were stepping forward now, taking responsibility for the people around you.
Mary, of course, didn’t miss a beat. “And if he doesn’t conduct himself like a gentleman,” she added, “I’ll drag him back to Small Heath by the ear and tan his hide in front of the bakery window.”
There was a beat of stunned silence. Even Rory was taken aback.
Then the baker cleared his throat. “She’s got to be home before dark.”
“Done,” you said with a nod.
Alice beamed. Rory finally breathed again.
John, of course, was the first to break the silence as the baker bustled back in the direction of the bakery. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, meeting your gaze with that sly grin of his. “Remind me never to cross you.”
"Thank you," Alice said to you and your mother. "I won't be any trouble."
You believed her. And Tommy just watched you now, something warm in those blue eyes.
Glancing over your shoulder, Rory still didn't seem sure how to react. “You alright?” you asked.
He nodded. “I think I’m more scared of Mum than I am of Tommy now.”
Mary cocked a brow at her son as she herded you and Alice towards the cars.
And with that, it was time to get ready for the night’s ceremony, with all its firelight, ash, and the kind of welcome only the Lees could give.
You arrived just before dusk, the sky streaked with gold and rose above the horizon. The gravel path gave way to worn earth, and the sound of fiddles, laughter, and crackling fires drifted on the wind long before the camp came into view.
They were waiting for you.
Mary and Nadya had seen to everything, including your dress. You wore a flowing skirt in deep sapphire blue with wine-colored embroidery along the hem, each stitch echoing traditional Romani patterns. The blouse was cream, soft against your skin, gathered at the neck with tiny silver beads that caught the light. A woven sash tied at your waist, the ends trailing with delicate fringe. There were fresh wildflowers in your hair, Nadya’s touch, and a braided leather cuff hugged one wrist, a small Lee token. You loved all of it.
As the car rolled to a stop, the camp bloomed before you in full celebration.
Colorful tents, many patched with love and age, formed a wide ring around the heart of the camp. Strings of lanterns swayed overhead, casting golden halos across tables laden with food, homemade wine, and bundles of wild herbs. Children darted past barefoot, weaving between horses and wagons, their laughter trailing behind in a way that had you smiling.
Someone struck up a fiddle. Another joined with a tambourine. And then the Lees appeared.
Nadya stepped forward first, dressed in bright crimson skirts, her hair braided with coins and red thread. She looked at you and your son like it was the most natural thing in the world, her smile said welcome home.
A voice called out in Romani, and the rest of the camp echoed it back. A welcome.
Tommy's hand at your lower back guided you, and the three of you were led into the center of it all, toward the fire and the family waiting to claim you. Tonight was not just about Malachy. It was about all of you.
The Lee camp was alive with the smell of roasting meat, woodsmoke, and herbs threading the air. Music swelled and spun in the spaces between laughter and footsteps, between clinking cups and stories passed from one fire to the next.
Rory and Alice arrived together, her clinging to his arm and smiling, looking to be in awe of everything as much as you were. Mary smiled, handing Alice a ribboned bundle to help place at the offering table. Rory, for all his swagger, had never looked more attentive.
Uncle Charlie was already seated near the fire, pipe in hand, trading stories with the Lee elders. Polly and Arthur stood nearby, Polly nodding along with quiet approval, Arthur grinning like a boy half his age with Finn riding piggyback. Finn had taken to the Lee camp as if he’d been born in it, barefoot and wild, darting through children and tents, his laughter full and unbothered.
John and Esme arrived late, her belly now unmistakable. She leaned against John, content and glowing, while their children ran off to join the chaos. Nadya welcomed her warmly, hands on Esme’s face in blessing before pulling her into a hug. Ada and Freddie were right behind them with Ada elegant as ever with baby Karl firmly planted on her hip and sucking on his fingers. Freddie was watchful but smiling, protective as ever over his own family.
And then, as the sun dipped low and the fire burned brighter, the ceremony began.
A hush fell as Nadya stepped forward, addressing the camp in Romani first, then English for you. “We are gathered,” she said, “to welcome this child of two families. He was born among us, and tonight he will be named and blessed.”
Johnny Dogs stepped forward, his grin barely containable. When Nadya introduced him as the godfather, a few cheers broke out, some laughter. Johnny raised both hands like a king being crowned.
You could hardly stop laughing.
“I warned you,” Tommy whispered.
Then it was your turn. You stepped forward with Malachy in your arms, dressed in his little tunic. His sash was shades of blue and red, symbols of strength and family. Tommy stood proudly next to you, his eyes on his son
“This is the part where the father claims the child,” Nadya said gently.
Tommy stepped forward and reached for Malachy, lifting him in both hands. The fire cracked behind him, throwing long shadows and golden light. The camp had gone still, with every Lee watching.
Your husband turned in place so all could see. His voice was quiet, but it carried like steel through the night air. He first spoke in Romani, then for you, “This is my son. Blood of my blood. He carries my name, and I’ll carry his future.”
He lowered Malachy back into your arms, but his eyes never left the boy’s face. Not for a second.
As the fire crackled, Nadya stepped forward again, her voice rising with quiet joy. “We also name the patrin dad and patrin mum, godparents. They are witnesses and protectors, guiding hands and hearts. The parents have named myself and Johnny Dogs."
Laughter followed, but there was warmth to it. Tommy reached for the small carved charms in his pocket, symbols of blessing. He handed one to Nadya and one to Johnny.
“Guardians, in the old way,” he said.
Nadya kissed hers, holding it to her chest. Johnny, for once, looked too stunned to speak. The soft chant began, a blessing in Romani led by Nadya and echoed by others from the camp. It wasn’t showy, not loud. Just gentle words and firelight and the feeling of family expanding around your son like a shield.
Malachy, still in your arms, let out a coo at just the right moment. You didn't even try to stop your tears.
Uncle Charlie stepped forward, pride on his face.
“The boy was born under a full wolf moon,” he said with a smile. “And he’s got a whole camp behind him now.”
Polly slipped in beside you. “And a whole army, if it comes to that.”
Behind her, Rory lifted a hand and Alice slipped hers into it. Mary leaned her head against Uncle Charlie’s shoulder. Even John looked uncharacteristically moved, wrapping an arm around Esme while one of his older sons clung to his leg.
Malachy stirred in your arms, blinked, and let out a soft sigh. The fire roared higher.
And the camp erupted into celebration. The music returned, wild and bright. Someone passed a bottle. Someone else pulled Mary into a dance, and to your surprise, she went right along. You hadn't seen her dance with anyone since your father. Uncle Charlie tapped out the beat on his knee. Polly smiled like she'd just witnessed a miracle, when she wasn't laughing at Johnny Dogs explaining for the hundredth time how he'd stopped all those Italians.
You’d found a blanket near the edge of the firelight, close enough to feel the warmth but far enough to watch everything unfold. Malachy slept in your arms, untroubled by the party all around him and lost to his dreams. His little tunic was slightly crooked, but you didn’t dare shift him now. He looked too peaceful.
Music lilted in the background. You loved the laughter, the children racing barefoot through the grass, and the candles flickering in colored glass jars strung between the wagons. You were so caught up in it that you didn’t notice Tommy sit down beside you until his hand brushed softly over the crown of Malachy’s head.
He didn’t say anything at first. He just watched his son with a kind of reverence.
“All I'm hearing is how he looks exactly like his father.”
You smiled, eyes still on your boy. “He does.”
Tommy leaned back on one elbow, turning to you now with something lighter behind his eyes than you’d seen in a long time.
“If all this hasn’t put you off the idea of more children,” he murmured, “I wouldn't mind a girl next.”
“You wouldn't, huh?” You smiled. "I don't get a say in that, but I'll try."
“A girl that looks exactly like you,” he added, the smile you loved curving his mouth.
You had to laugh that, making a few heads turn for a second. But you couldn’t help it. It wasn't what he said, it was your reaction to it. Your first thought wasn’t Will he live to see her born? or How long do we really have? It was the quiet, soul-deep knowledge that if anyone could protect this family, it was him. And maybe, now you were strong enough to stand beside him.
You grinned, shifting just enough to meet his eyes. “The daughter of Tommy Shelby being courted? Oh, I can’t wait.” You shook your head, laughing softly. “Those poor little bastards won’t know what hit them.”
Together, you watched the fire dance and the celebration go on with your son between you. And one day, you'd tell him most of what happened to get him here. The future was wild and uncertain, but it was finally yours, and it was just beginning.
THE END
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