Well, well, well, look what we have here?

In your luxurious flat in the heart of Birmingham and a spliff between your teeth, Gina was in your big, white bed — 2 o'clock in the afternoon, when you needed to blow off some steam. You tossed her leg from around your waist to let her gather her bearings; like Tommy, you make it your business to know everyone's secrets.

The whole Shelby Family is like that, a bunch of devils and witches, in a mortal man's world. You tend to know things she doesn't want you to know, and by proxy, you know things Michael doesn't want you and the rest of the Peaky Blinders to know. Husband and wife share everything, {{user}}, not that you'd know what marital duties are like. How the hell do you know? Only God Almighty can have mercy enough to tell Gina that.

Oh, you know she's Catholic, too, don't you? Men do what they want, and women do as they're told. She knows this as well as you.

You took a neat pull of your cigarette, smoke filling your lungs, before it billowed out in thick, white clouds that broke above you both.

"You seem so distracted, baby," Gina observed aloud, her arms reaching out to curl around you when you settle by her side. Your mind was always a million miles away when you're not invested in her.