The train's rhythmic clatter had long faded from his mind, replaced by the steady murmur of the city streets. London was alive with an energy that felt far different from the bleak industrial fog of Birmingham. Ahmad Faisal Ahmadi stepped out of the carriage that had brought him to the front entrance of the Continental, his hotel—a sanctuary in the middle of the chaotic British capital. The bright lights illuminated the grand entrance, and as always, the guests and staff within the hotel moved with a sense of purpose.
He had built the Continental with a vision—a vision that combined luxury, neutrality, and power. For Ahmad, the Continental was more than just a hotel; it was a fortress of influence. A place where the most dangerous and powerful men from across the globe could meet in peace, under his roof, without fear of retribution. The Peaky Blinders might have their control over Birmingham, but Ahmad controlled something far greater. He controlled a crossroads where power converged from all directions.
Ahmad made his way through the marble-floored lobby, his shoes clicking softly against the polished surface. The large chandeliers hanging from the ceiling cast a golden glow, reflecting off the ornate fixtures and plush furniture. Guests milled about—some important, some inconsequential—all unknowingly participating in the delicate balance of power that Ahmad carefully maintained.
As he moved deeper into the hotel, he was met by Kamal, his ever-loyal bodyguard and closest confidant. Kamal's presence was as quiet as it was imposing, his dark eyes scanning the room with the watchful gaze of a hawk.
"Everything is in order, sir," Kamal said in his deep, rumbling voice.
Ahmad nodded, his mind already occupied with thoughts of his next move. His meeting with Tommy Shelby in Birmingham had been... illuminating. Shelby was sharp, unpredictable, and perhaps too clever for his own good. But Ahmad knew he could use the man's ambitions to his advantage. Tommy's hunger for power matched his own, and with London as Ahmad's domain, they could expand their influence across the entire country—if they worked together.
But there was something else gnawing at the back of Ahmad's mind—something more immediate. Rival gangs in London had been testing the limits of his control, emboldened by whispers of unrest in the city's underworld. His neutrality had been challenged, and that was something he could not tolerate.
The stakes were rising, and he needed to respond quickly.
"Mr. Ahmadi," a voice called from behind him.
Ahmad turned to see a well-dressed young woman standing by the entrance to the private lounge, her expression formal but pleasant. She wore the standard uniform of the Continental's staff, but there was an elegance to her posture that set her apart.
"Yes?" Ahmad asked, his voice calm.
"There is a guest waiting for you in the lounge," she said.
Ahmad's brow furrowed slightly. He had not been expecting any appointments. "Did they give a name?"
The woman shook her head. "No, sir. But they insisted it was a matter of importance."
Ahmad exchanged a quick glance with Kamal, who nodded almost imperceptibly. Kamal would keep a close watch on the situation, as always. With a nod of his own, Ahmad made his way toward the private lounge.
---
The private lounge of the Continental was a space unlike any other in London. Reserved only for the most influential guests, it was a sanctuary of polished mahogany, leather chairs, and expensive cigars. The air was thick with the scent of tobacco and brandy, and the soft glow of the fireplace added a touch of warmth to the room.
As Ahmad entered, his eyes fell on the figure seated by the large bay window, staring out at the city. The woman was dressed in an elegant gown, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders like liquid gold. Even from a distance, her poise was unmistakable.
Evelyn Moore.
Ahmad had heard whispers of Evelyn's dealings before. An aristocrat by birth, she had connections in the highest levels of British society. But there was more to her than just her title. Rumor had it she had ties to MI5, and if that was true, her presence here tonight was not a social visit.
"Miss Moore," Ahmad greeted her as he approached. His tone was smooth, betraying nothing. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Evelyn turned her gaze from the window, her smile polite but cold. "Ah, Mr. Ahmadi. I hope I'm not intruding."
"Not at all," Ahmad replied, though his eyes narrowed slightly. "Though I must admit, I wasn't expecting such... distinguished company this evening."
Evelyn chuckled softly, her gloved hand lightly tracing the rim of the wine glass in front of her. "London is buzzing with talk of the Continental. It's quite the place, you know. Very exclusive. And very... neutral."
Ahmad took a seat across from her, his eyes never leaving hers. "Neutrality is a difficult thing to maintain in these times. But it is necessary."
"Indeed," Evelyn said, her smile widening just a fraction. "It's what makes this place so... fascinating. A sanctuary for all sorts of men—powerful men. Men with enemies."
Ahmad leaned back slightly, assessing her carefully. He knew the type of game she was playing—MI5 had sent agents to probe his operations before, though none had been so bold as to sit across from him so openly.
"And what of you, Miss Moore?" Ahmad asked, his voice low. "Do you find yourself in need of sanctuary?"
Her eyes flickered with amusement. "Sanctuary? No. I find myself more interested in... influence."
Ahmad's expression remained impassive, but his mind was working quickly. "Influence is a commodity, like any other. But it comes at a cost."
"Ah, but that's where you and I differ," Evelyn said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You see influence as something to be traded, something to be earned. I see it as something to be taken."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Ahmad's lips curled into a faint smile. She was more dangerous than he had initially thought.
"You speak plainly for someone of your station," Ahmad said, his tone almost amused.
"I prefer to avoid games," Evelyn replied, taking a slow sip of her wine. "At least, when it comes to men like you."
Ahmad inclined his head, acknowledging her words. "And yet, you're here, in my hotel, speaking in riddles. What is it you want, Miss Moore?"
Evelyn leaned forward, her gaze intense. "I want to understand you, Mr. Ahmadi. I want to understand why a man from the mountains of Afghanistan, a man with no ties to the British aristocracy, has managed to build an empire in London—an empire that rivals some of the most powerful men in the world. You're a mystery, and that makes you dangerous."
Ahmad met her gaze evenly. "Dangerous to whom?"
"To everyone," she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "But especially to those who don't understand what you're truly after."
Ahmad's smile faded, replaced by a cold seriousness. "What I'm after is not something you need to worry about, Miss Moore."
"On the contrary," she replied, standing from her seat and smoothing her gown. "It's exactly what I'm paid to worry about."
As she turned to leave, Evelyn paused by the door, casting a glance over her shoulder. "I'll be watching you, Mr. Ahmadi. Be careful who you make your enemies."
Ahmad watched as she disappeared from the room, his mind already racing with possibilities. He had underestimated Evelyn Moore, and that was a mistake he would not make again.
"Kamal," he called softly.
His bodyguard appeared at his side almost instantly. "Yes, sir?"
"Find out everything you can about her," Ahmad said, his voice low and controlled. "I want to know who she works for. And what she's planning."
Kamal nodded and slipped silently from the room.
Ahmad remained seated, staring into the flames of the fireplace. Evelyn Moore was a threat, that much was certain. But she was also an opportunity. And if there was one thing Ahmad had learned in his years of building the Continental, it was that threats could often be turned into advantages.
The game had just become far more dangerous. But that only made it more interesting.