The Garrison was lit with warm amber glow, laughter echoing off the old walls as the Shelby brothers sat gathered at their usual table — Arthur with Linda, John with Esme, Finn with Mary. Glasses clinked, cigars burned slow, and for once, the night felt light. Something in the air had shifted — the women had taken to dancing, their laughter spinning with the music, filling the room with rhythm and warmth.

But then the door creaked open, and the entire pub turned.

She didn’t walk in — she arrived.

YN. Tommy Shelby’s woman.

All-black. Silk dress pants, sleek black turtleneck hugging her heavy curves, her wide, round ass swaying with confidence beneath the sharp cut of an overlong coat. Hair slick, lips set, eyes blazing with life. She was the kind of woman that couldn’t fade into a crowd if she tried. Where Tommy was cold and unreadable, she was fire, energy, and fierce presence.

She sauntered in like she owned the damn place — and maybe she did.

Without missing a beat, she tossed her coat at Tommy. He caught it without looking, without a flinch, just a slow drag of his cigarette as his icy blue eyes followed her.

She rolled up her sleeves, hips already moving to the beat, joining the women on the dancefloor with a grin that lit the room up like a flare.

Tommy sat back in his chair, the smoke curling around his face like a crown, lips barely twitching into something dangerously close to a smirk.

“Let her have her fun,” he murmured low, voice gravel and steel.
“And God help the bastard who forgets who she goes home to.”

Because while she may have been the life of the party, everyone knew —
She belonged to the storm sitting at the center of it all.
Tommy Shelby.