Chapter Text
Thomas Shelby stood behind the counter in the Shelby betting shop, his sharp eyes scanning over a stack of freshly placed bets. Beside him, John leaned forward on his elbows, puffing out a breath as he tried to keep up with the numbers, while Arthur hovered nearby, half-reading and half-daydreaming. In the far corner of the room, Polly sat in her usual chair, legs crossed neatly, the soft rustle of her newspaper the only sound she made, save for the occasional clink of her teaspoon against her teacup.
The door creaked open with a gust of cold wind as Ada stepped inside, cheeks flushed from the chill. She shrugged off her coat, letting it fall across the back of a nearby chair as she made a beeline for the kettle.
John's head snapped up. His eyes widened. "Ada—what the fuck are you doing here?" he barked, already stepping toward the door with urgency. "Where are my kids?"
He'd barely grabbed his coat when Ada waved a hand, rolling her eyes. "Relax, John," she said dryly, pouring herself a cup of tea. "They're with my friend. Daenesella. You know, the one who's been helping me out for a year now."
John froze mid-step, blinking. "Daenesella?" he muttered, then sank back down with a sigh of relief.
Polly, eyes still trained on the newspaper, gave a quiet hum of recognition. "Oh, how is Daenesella?" she asked, finally lowering the paper and offering a rare smile. "I've been meaning to have a proper chat with her, but every time I try, something bloody well explodes in this family."
Ada chuckled softly. "She's doing well. Bit quiet lately, more thoughtful than usual. But the kids adore her. Honestly, she's got more patience than any of you put together."
Arthur snorted into his cup. "Takes a special kind of saint to wrangle that lot."
Thomas didn't look up at first.
He simply tapped the edge of one of the betting slips against the countertop, as though Ada's presence were just another gust of wind blowing through the room—annoying, but manageable. The mention of Daenesella, however, gave him pause.
His fingers stilled.
He shifted his weight, leaning back against the counter, pale blue eyes flicking briefly to Ada before settling forward again, gaze distant now. Thoughtful.
Daenesella.
He'd heard the name in passing, but not like this—not in a way that pulled at his attention.
"She's quiet, you say," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, voice low and dry like gravel and smoke. "Quiet people tend to see too much."
Polly gave him a sharp glance over her teacup. "Not a bad thing, Tom. Someone in this family has to pay attention."
Thomas didn't answer her. He reached for his cigarette case, flipping it open with practiced ease. The silver lid caught the light for a second as he drew one out and lit it. His jaw clenched slightly as he inhaled.
"She looks after the kids, then?" he asked quietly, without looking at Ada. "They trust her?"
"They love her," Ada said, voice firm now, setting her cup down with a little clink. "She reads to them. Cooks for them sometimes. Even sings, when no one's around."
Thomas exhaled, smoke curling in lazy tendrils toward the ceiling. His lips twisted into a faint smirk. "Sounds like a fairy tale."
Arthur laughed again, but Thomas didn't.
He was already picturing her in his mind now, this quiet girl with patience and songs and a name like something out of a storybook. A woman who had made her way into their mess of a family without anyone noticing the moment it happened. That was something worth paying attention to.
And he would.
He always did.
His voice cut through the air again, low and sure. "Next time she's by," he said, tapping ash into the tray, "tell her I'll be wanting a word." Then he went back to the betting slips—but his eyes were far away.