Chapter 5: Whispers in the Heart
The Garrison pub breathed smoke and fire. Stories of the night before spun round the room like coins tossed into the air
Sabini's men slaughtered, bullets wasted, Birmingham shaken. At the center of it all sat the Shelbys, draped in power.
But Thomisia Shelby wasn't drinking. She wasn't laughing at Arthur's retelling or John's exaggerated pantomime.
She leaned back in her chair, cigarette smoldering low, her eyes locked on the man in the corner. Alexander.
Silent. Watching. Always there.
And it infuriated her.
Because no matter how much she tried to own the room, his shadow claimed it too.
That was when the door opened.
A thin man slid in, his polished shoes too clean for Small Heath. He was wiry, sharp-faced, with a smile that spoke of secrets. Larson.
He cut through the smoke until he stood before Thomisia's table. He bowed slightly, like a snake coiling.
"Ms. Shelby," he said smoothly. "Might I have a word?"
Arthur bristled, John muttered, Polly's eyes sharpened. But Thomisia raised a hand. "Sit."
Larson slid into the chair opposite her, smirk never faltering.
"You've built something fierce here," he said, his voice honey and poison all at once. "But every empire has cracks. And Campbell…" He leaned in. "Campbell knows where to push."
Arthur growled, but Thomisia silenced him with a glance. Her eyes never left Larson's. "If Campbell wants to send a message, he can send it himself. Why send a rat?"
Larson chuckled low. "Because Campbell knows where the rat can go. Into walls. Into corners. Into places a lioness like you doesn't see until it's too late." His tone softened, almost intimate. "You're strong, Ms. Shelby. Stronger than the men around you think. But strength can be a lonely thing, can't it?"
Thomisia's lips tightened, cigarette burning low.
Alexander's eyes flicked to them from the corner, unreadable. Inside, though—
Oh lovely. Here comes the "you're strong but vulnerable" monologue. Straight out of the Manipulation 101 handbook. Honestly, if I weren't busy brooding, I'd offer the lad a scriptwriting job.
Larson's gaze softened, pressing on the wound he thought he saw. "You've built this family, Thomisia. You hold them together. But this man—" his chin tipped subtly toward Alexander—"he's a storm. He doesn't answer to you. He doesn't answer to anyone. And storms… storms tear down everything in their path."
The words hit harder than she'd admit. Because deep down, she knew Alexander's silence wasn't weakness—it was power. Power that refused to bend.
Larson leaned closer still, voice a whisper meant only for her. "Campbell doesn't want to crush you. He wants to save you. A woman like you deserves more than to be left in a stranger's shadow. Feed him information. Quietly. Small things. Enough to keep him satisfied. And in return? Campbell makes sure you stay at the top. The queen of Birmingham, unchallenged."
Arthur slammed his fist on the table. "Enough of this—"
But Thomisia raised her hand again, silencing him. Her heart pounded. She wanted to laugh, to spit in Larson's face. But a part of her… a small, dangerous part… whispered that he wasn't wrong.
Her eyes slid toward Alexander. He smoked in silence, a statue carved from shadows. Never speaking. Never explaining. Never bending.
And in that silence, Larson's words dug deeper.
He doesn't belong to you. He never will.
Alexander's inner monologue, sharp and shameless, cut in—
Careful, Thomisia. Snake-boy's playing the long game. Wants you to think I'm the danger, so you'll betray me with your own hands. Classic divide and conquer. Trouble is—
[System Notification: Enemy Agent Detected. Probability of Betrayal Event: 47%.]
—my bloody system's already keeping score.
Thomisia dragged on her cigarette, exhaling slow, her face unreadable. Finally, she leaned in toward Larson, her voice low, velvet over steel.
"You think I'll sell out my family to Campbell? You think I'll bend my knee for scraps of power?"
Larson smirked. "Not for scraps. For survival. Because storms never last, Ms. Shelby. But queens? Queens endure."
He rose, sliding his cap back on. "Think about it. When you're tired of being left in the shadows."
And with that, he slipped out into the night.
Silence hung heavy.
Arthur cursed under his breath. John muttered about gutting him. Polly studied Thomisia, her sharp eyes seeing too much.
But Thomisia said nothing. She simply ground her cigarette into the ashtray and glanced once more toward the corner—where Alexander smoked as though none of it mattered.
Her jaw tightened.
Because for the first time, she wondered if maybe… maybe Larson was right.
✅ Key Shifts in this Rewrite:
Larson plays psychological manipulation, not just threats.
He directly aims for Thomisia's insecurities about Alexander overshadowing her.
Offers her a path to "stay queen" if she secretly feeds Campbell information.
Alexander doesn't speak, but his system detects betrayal risk and his inner monologue mocks Larson's tactics.
Ends with Thomisia shaken, her heart and head torn