The Shelby house stood like a monument to control—every line exact, every light dimmed just enough to give the illusion of comfort. But James wasn't fooled. This place had teeth.
Tommy entered an hour later. No guards. No announcement. Just the soft sound of a door creaking open and the heaviness that came with him.
He stepped into the parlor and paused the moment he saw James.
No handshake. No smile.
Just blue eyes cutting like glass.
Polly stood. "Thomas. This is James."
"I know who he is."
Tommy approached slowly, sizing James up with every step. No fear. No curiosity. Just calculation.
"You've got his cheekbones," Tommy said. "But your stance is Romani. Grounded. Balanced."
"You see a lot," James said.
"I see what I need to."
Arthur chimed in. "He's not just a pretty face, Tommy. This lad pulled me out of a dozen trenches. Quiet as a knife in the dark."
Tommy didn't take his eyes off James. "And you didn't tell him until you got here?"
James nodded. "Didn't see the point. Not until I saw the family."
Tommy lit a cigarette, eyes still fixed. "And what do you want now?"
"Nothing," James said. "Only to see if there's a place here."
Tommy studied him for a long beat, then turned away. "Family meeting. Now."
The dining room felt colder than outside. Ada sat near the end, eyes narrowed. John lounged with a grin that didn't reach his eyes. Finn, younger and wide-eyed, whispered something to Polly.
Tommy sat at the head of the table.
James stood.
Ada spoke first. "You were raised in a wagon?"
"In the mountains. With the Leane camp."
"You smell like sage," she said. "And trouble."
John chuckled. "Pol's right. You've got the old look. Gypsy bones."
James looked at them all, slowly. "I'm not asking for your trust. I'm not asking for a seat at the table. I'm here because blood pulled me here."
"And you'll stay," Tommy said, "only if I say so."
James nodded.
Tommy leaned forward. "So tell me. Why shouldn't I see you as a threat?"
"Because I know what I am," James replied. "And I know what I'm not."
"And what are you?"
"Useful."
That brought silence.
Then Tommy, leaning back, tapped ash onto a silver tray.
"You work for me. That's the condition."
"I don't take orders."
"You do now."
James cracked a small smile. "We'll see."
Later, the wind curled through the alley behind the Shelby home. James stood near the gate, watching shadows pass across rooftops.
Tommy joined him.
"You know," Tommy said, "some people think the gypsy blood is a curse."
James didn't look at him. "It's not. It's armor. Fire. Sight."
"I believe that," Tommy said. "But I've buried a lot of men who wore that fire too openly."
James turned now. "You won't have to bury me."
Tommy nodded, slow. "Good."
A long silence. Then:
"Welcome to Birmingham, brother."