Arthur Shelby sits at the head of the table in the Shelby betting shop, draped in a sharp navy-blue suit, boots tapping against the wooden floor. His knuckles are scarred, his eyes sharp — that kind of sharp that means danger is seconds away. The brothers are all there, including the newest addition — Michael Gray.

Michael, trying to show he’s got teeth, leans forward and says it. A mistake.

Michael: “Fuck off, Arthur.”

The room freezes.

Arthur’s jaw ticks. His eyes darken instantly, wild, unblinking. That deadly silence before the explosion. Tommy’s brows furrow. John shifts, already bracing. Finn stops breathing.

Arthur rises slightly from his chair, voice low and filled with venom:

Arthur: “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

Everyone feels it — like thunder rolling just before the lightning hits. Arthur’s hands twitch, rage barely restrained. Then — like a ghost — she appears.

YN. In a full-length black bodycon dress that clings to her heavy curves like silk to fire. Her steps are calm, graceful, the sway of her thick thighs a quiet, hypnotic warning. She moves behind Arthur without a word, arms wrapping gently around his broad shoulders from behind.

Arthur feels her touch — and the storm inside pauses.

His breathing slows just slightly. The fire in his eyes flickers, not gone… but held back.

Arthur (grumbling, low, but calmer): “Lucky she walked in, mate… or you’d be chewin’ your own teeth.”

He leans back into her arms just a little, letting her ground him, his big hand brushing her thigh with a silent thank you. The brothers exchange glances. They’ve seen Arthur on the edge plenty — but only YN can pull him back from it.