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Chapter 4: The Family Table
The Garrison Pub had never felt heavier. The lamps burned low, their golden glow pooling over a long oak table that stretched across the private back room. Whiskey bottles lined the edges, glasses already half-drained though the night had only just begun.
At the head of the table sat Thomisia Shelby, Birmingham's queen, her gaze sharp enough to slice through smoke. To her right was Arthur, leaning back with restless energy, knuckles already itching for a fight. John slouched with his trademark grin, eyes flicking between the others like a fox watching chickens. Polly Gray, stern as steel, sat like the matriarch she was, cigarette perched elegantly between her fingers. Ada, calm but distant, lingered at the far end, silent and watchful.
And then there was him.
Alexander.
He didn't sit. He never did. Instead, he leaned against the wall in the corner, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigar between tattooed fingers. His broad shoulders seemed carved out of stone beneath his black suit, his silence more oppressive than any words.
Thomisia broke it first.
"Business." Her voice carried authority, the kind that expected obedience. "Sabini's boys are making noise again. Trying to claw their way back into the bookmaking."
Arthur slammed his palm against the table. "Fuckin' Italians don't learn, do they?"
Polly exhaled smoke slowly. "They'll keep coming until we make them bleed enough to stay down. It's always the same story."
John smirked. "So, who we sendin' to give 'em their bedtime lesson?"
All eyes shifted to Thomisia. She let the pause drag, her finger tracing the rim of her glass. Then, deliberately, her gaze turned to the corner.
Alexander.
"You," she said. "What would you do?"
The room went silent. Arthur arched a brow. John sat up straighter. Even Polly's expression shifted, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
Alexander took a long drag from his cigar, the ember glowing bright before he exhaled a thick cloud. He didn't speak. He never did.
Thomisia's eyes narrowed. "I'm asking you, stranger. You've been hanging around long enough, drinking our whiskey, breathing our smoke. You want to stand in Birmingham? Then stand here." She tapped the table. "Speak."
Arthur grinned. "Now this'll be good."
The silence stretched. Alexander's jaw tightened, but still he said nothing.
Then the voice came.
> [System Override: Response Required.]
[Auto-Line Loaded.]
Alexander's lips parted. His voice was low, gravel-edged, yet every word cut like a blade.
"Strike the head, the body rots. Kill the noise, the silence grows."
The words hung in the smoke-heavy air. A riddle, a threat, or advice—it could be all three.
Arthur let out a bark of laughter. "Bloody hell, that's a good one."
John tilted his head. "Cryptic as fuck, but I like it."
Polly's eyes sharpened. "He means take out their leaders, Thomisia. Not their foot soldiers. He's right."
Thomisia's gaze lingered on Alexander. He stood unmoving, only the faint curl of cigar smoke betraying life. She hated it—hated how he said so little, yet bent the room's attention around him like gravity.
Ada finally spoke, her voice quiet but steady. "So what then? We storm Sabini's offices? Start a war?"
Alexander's voice was calm, measured, like steel sheathed in velvet. "War's already here. You just haven't bled enough to taste it."
> [System Notification: +£10,000 for successfully intimidating rivals.]
The sudden flash of numbers in his mind almost made Alexander twitch. Almost. But he masked it behind another drag of his cigar.
Thomisia leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. "Bold words for a man who doesn't sit at this table."
Arthur frowned. "He earned his say, Thomisia. You saw what he did in the pub the other night."
John nodded. "Quick with his hands, quicker with his tongue. Cryptic, aye, but he's got teeth."
Polly, ever the skeptic, tapped her cigarette ash into a tray. "Or he's just another man blowing smoke. Birmingham's full of them. And most end up in the mud."
The tension crackled. Thomisia's eyes locked on Alexander, her lips curling into something between a smirk and a snarl. She wanted to break him, to force him into a corner where his silence couldn't protect him.
So she raised the stakes.
"Fine," she said. "We've got Sabini's men running numbers at the edge of Small Heath. Tonight, we're going to pay them a visit. You'll come with us."
Arthur grinned wide. "Now that's what I'm talkin' about."
John's eyes lit up. "A proper show, then."
Polly shook her head. "Reckless. But it'll send a message."
Thomisia ignored them, her gaze fixed on Alexander. "You'll be in front. Let's see if your riddles bleed when the knives come out."
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The night air was damp with fog, the cobblestones slick underfoot. The Shelbys moved like shadows, weapons tucked beneath coats, cigarettes glowing like fireflies in the dark.
Alexander walked ahead, tommy gun slung casually at his side. He didn't crouch, didn't skulk. His stride was calm, unhurried, as if he owned the streets.
Arthur whispered behind him. "Man walks like he's bulletproof."
John chuckled. "Or like he don't give a fuck."
Thomisia's eyes never left Alexander's back. There was something infuriating about his composure, about how even the night bent around him.
They reached the alley. Sabini's men were there, huddled near crates, counting notes, knives glinting under lantern light.
Arthur raised his revolver. "Shall we?"
But Alexander stepped forward. No hesitation. No cover. Just a silent devil walking into the lion's den.
"Oi!" one of Sabini's men barked. "Who the fuck are you?"
Alexander's voice rolled out like thunder.
"The silence you ignored. The shadow you shouldn't have lit a fire against."
And then—chaos.
The first shots cracked like thunderclaps. Alexander's tommy gun roared, the drum magazine spitting fire, bullets tearing through the night. He didn't duck. Didn't flinch. He walked forward, every step accompanied by the scream of lead and the collapse of bodies.
Arthur and John joined in, guns blazing, their laughter wild with adrenaline. Thomisia fired too, precise and deadly, but her eyes kept flicking toward him. Toward the man who didn't seek cover, who strode through bullets as if death itself bowed to him.
Within minutes, it was over. Sabini's men lay scattered, the alley painted red. The air reeked of cordite and blood.
Arthur whooped, throwing his arm around John. "Now that's a fuckin' show!"
John grinned, wiping blood from his cheek. "Silent one's got iron in his veins, that's for sure."
Thomisia approached, her boots crunching over broken glass. Her face was unreadable as she stared at Alexander.
"You're either mad," she said softly, "or you're the most dangerous man I've ever met."
Alexander only lit another cigar, smoke curling into the night. He said nothing.
But inside his mind, the System chimed cheerfully:
> [Mission Complete: First Shelby Test.]
[Reward: £20,000 credited.]
[System Evolution Progress: 40%.]
Alexander's jaw tightened against the smirk threatening to break his mask. He raised his gaze to meet Thomisia's.
Silent. Unyielding. A devil in the dark.
And in that silence, the Shelby family realized something that unsettled them all.
This man didn't need their table.
He was building one of his own.
---
✅ What this chapter gives you (and your readers):
First real Shelby family meeting with Thomisia, Arthur, John, Polly, Ada.
Thomisia directly tests Alexander's resolve in public.
System forces him to speak in riddles → keeps his mystique.
First proper field test → action sequence where Alexander doesn't take cover, showing his insane aura.
Arthur and John grow fond of him; Polly stays wary; Ada intrigued but silent.
Thomisia both furious and fascinated.
Alexander earns 20k + progress bar → teasing readers about the system's future evolutions.
Ends on a strong power dynamic hook: he doesn't need the Shelbys.
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