Three Years Later – The Yorkshire Countryside
The hills rolled wide and open, cloaked in the golden hush of late autumn. There was no sound but the rustle of wind through dry grass and the faint echo of birds in the trees. A far cry from the streets of Birmingham, and even further from the spirit-haunted corners James Shelby once walked between shadow and flame.
He had left it all behind—the violence, the vendettas, the underground politics of kings and devils—for this.
A stone cottage on the edge of Yorkshire. A quiet life. A place where he could raise his child and find a version of himself he never believed possible.
Inside the cottage, laughter rang out.
James stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, his hands dusted with flour as he awkwardly helped his daughter, Elena, roll dough across the wooden table. Her curly black hair—Tatiana's hair—bounced as she giggled, pressing her small hands against the flour like it was magic.
Tatiana, still striking in her grace and presence, leaned in the doorway with a warm smile. Her belly had the soft curve of early pregnancy. She was expecting again, and it showed in the radiant softness of her features. James looked at them both, his eyes full of a peace he never thought he deserved.
He had built a life here.
He had sworn to never return.
And then the phone rang.
Not the main line. That one rang on Sundays, for the butcher or the postman. No, this was the old rotary phone in the study, the one connected to a private line only one man had access to.
Tommy.
The flour on James's hands hardened as he stared at the phone ringing in the next room.
Tatiana's smile faltered. She knew.
James stood slowly, wiping his palms on a towel.
The ringing didn't stop.
The Study
The air in the room was still and cold, untouched by the warmth of the kitchen. James sat down slowly at the desk and lifted the receiver.
"James," Tommy's voice came through the line like a blade.
He hadn't heard from his brother in months. Not since the last letter—the one Tommy wrote after Michael's arrest. A terse letter filled with rage and unspoken fear.
"Tommy," James said. "I thought we agreed—"
"They've called a vendetta."
James sat forward.
"What?"
"The Italians. Changretta's people. Luca. He's coming. With soldiers. Real ones. Blood in their mouths. They're not stopping at me."
Silence.
"They're coming for the whole family, James."
James said nothing. His jaw clenched.
"I've already sent Arthur and Linda to safe houses. Polly's lost it. Michael's in prison, and Ada's in hiding. But I can't protect them all. Not this time."
"You told me I could walk away," James growled.
"I did. And you did. But they don't care, James. They know who you are. They know you're blood. And blood is blood."
James stood slowly, looking out the study window. The sun was gone now, replaced by the creeping grey of dusk.
"They'll come here?" James asked.
"Yes," Tommy said. "Or they'll send someone who will."
James's voice went low, calm. "And they won't stop at me, will they?"
"No," Tommy replied. "They'll come for Tatiana. For Elena. For your unborn child."
The silence between the two brothers stretched for a long, frozen breath.
Then James spoke, voice like iron. "Where are they now?"
"London," Tommy said. "A few weeks from Birmingham. They're building. Quietly. They've already made moves."
"Do they know where I am?"
"They know you left," Tommy replied. "And they know you're the strongest weapon I have. Which means they'll come. If only to take you off the board."
James was quiet for a long moment.
Then he said, "Give me twenty-four hours. I'll be in Birmingham."
Tommy exhaled in relief.
"James?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
James hung up without answering.
Later That Night – The Hearth
Tatiana sat beside the fire, her hand resting gently on her belly. James stood at the window, watching the fields beyond as the wind picked up. The crackle of flames filled the room.
"You're leaving," she said quietly.
He turned. "They'll come here."
"I know." Her voice was steady, though her eyes were misting.
James crossed the room and knelt in front of her. He took her hand in both of his, kissing her knuckles with slow reverence.
"I swore I'd never let this world touch us again," he said.
Tatiana placed her palm against his cheek.
"And you haven't. You gave us a real life, James. You gave Elena a father. You gave me a husband. That world—it always comes back. But you don't face it as the man you once were. You face it as the man I love. The father of our children."
James closed his eyes, absorbing her words like warmth.
"I'll come back to you," he promised. "I don't care how many devils rise from the earth. I'll burn every one of them to protect this family."
Tatiana leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his.
"You'd better," she whispered. "Because if I raise these children without you, I'll bring you back from the dead just to kill you again."
James laughed softly, kissed her one last time, then stood.
He moved to the bedroom, opened the wardrobe, and reached for the case beneath the floorboards—the one wrapped in cloth and bound in silence.
Inside: the coat, the knives, the twin pistols. The ring of ancient power that once burned with fire when his gypsy blood called to the spirit realm.
And something deeper stirred. Something old. Something primal.
He had buried that part of himself. But now?
He let it rise.
Final Scene – James in the Mirror
Dressed in black, coat draped across his broad shoulders, his eyes were no longer soft with fatherhood. They were the eyes of a man reforged.
A man who had walked through war.
A man who had killed a witch hunter in the spirit realm.
A man the mafia should never have awakened.
James Shelby was going to war again.
This time—for family.