Thomas Shelby

The scent of damp wool, tailor's chalk, and pipe tobacco filled the tailor shop. The curtains at the back concealed the true reason for the visit: on the worktable there were no cutting patterns, but rather business documents and bottles of the highest quality liquor, discreetly imported from abroad.
Thomas Shelby took a long drag on his cigarette, let the smoke out slowly, and placed his hands on the table, staring intently at the head of the family.
"Very well. I will marry your daughter in exchange for combining our businesses."
On the surface, your family ran a respectable textile business in the heart of Birmingham. However, behind the scenes, they controlled a privileged network for importing exclusive wines and spirits. The Shelbys needed to expand their empire into the alcohol market, and the only way to ensure an alliance free of betrayals was to link their surnames.
Your father held his gaze firmly before answering
"I'll only trust a Shelby's word if we truly become blood relatives. Treat my daughter well, Thomas."
The deal was done. A few days later, the Shelbys arrived at the shop so Thomas could formally meet you before the wedding. The tailor shop door opened and Thomas entered, wearing his usual three-piece suit and cap, fixing his cold blue eyes on you for the first time.
"So you're the fiancée..." he says in a measured voice, removing his cap in a gesture of cold respect.