Alfie, Part Two (Alfie & West #2)

Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

Alfie Scott

T he following morning, I welcomed the numbness that’d set in after I’d bawled my eyes out half the night.

I got ready and drove over to my folks’ to pick up the kids, and I just hoped the empty feeling inside me lasted. Because dropping Trip and Ellie off at West’s was next. It was his week.

The kids were in a great mood and rambled about what they’d done with Nonna and Pop-Pop. I nodded and commented in all the right places. Mom, however, with curlers in her hair, eyed me in the way that let me know she was aware something was wrong. But she was still giving me grief, so I didn’t expect her to dig for answers anytime soon.

“Okay, kiddos, let’s get your butts out to Daddy’s,” I said. “I assume there’s a pool you wanna jump in.” I handed the car key over to Trip. Old Mr. Thomas was sitting outside reading his paper on the stoop, and he loved the kids. When his grandkids were here, they played with Trip and Ellie.

“Is Mr. Thomas outside?” Trip asked.

“You know it. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Okay.” Trip rushed out the door with his backpack after giving Mom a hug. “Bye, Nonna!”

“Ciao, topolino —see you soon! My beautiful Ellie, I’ll miss you.” Mom sent Ellie off with a hug too. “Be good, nena . Don’t forget your prayers!”

“Yeah, okay!” Ellie gigglesnorted and was already halfway down the stairs, and I reminded her to stay close to her brother.

“Not so fast, Alfredo.”

“Blergh.” I made a face. “I hate it when you call me that.” The only thing worse was, of course, when she’d full-named me as a kid. When she’d hollered, “Alfredo Alejandro O’Dwyer, you get back here right now!” my ass was cooked.

“Shut up. You have a beautiful name, after my grandfathers—God rest their souls,” she replied, doing the Sign of the Cross. “What’s wrong with you? Your face—it’s all…” She gestured at my face and said something, mixing Spanish with Italian. Cazzo this, revolú that.

“I didn’t sleep well, is all,” I said. “We gotta go.”

“You are lying to me again,” she told me. “It’s become a habit since you joined the mafia.”

“Yeah, aight. Good talkin’ to you, Ma.” I turned and headed down the stairs?—

“Wait!”

I threw an impatient look over my shoulder, only to see her hurrying out of the apartment in her robe and slippers. She stopped on the step above the one I was standing on, and she grabbed my face.

“You’re breaking my heart when you’re sad, my sweet baby boy—but you gotta walk away from the Sons!” She slipped her hands down to my shoulders and shook me a little. “Don’t you see? I’m sure that’s why you are sad—no? Did they hurt you?”

“No, they fucking didn’t, Mom,” I groaned, backing away from her paws.

“Don’t curse!” She wagged a finger in my face, and I was done. She cursed all the fucking time.

“Dad!” I yelled, my voice echoing in the hallway. “Come get your crazy!”

“Don’t call your mother crazy!” he yelled back from…probably the living room. “Giulia! Get’chur crazy ass back in here. Leave the boy alone!”

Cue mad heated rant from Mom in two languages I didn’t speak.

“How many times I gotta tell you!” I hollered at her. “I don’t fucking understand!”

She’d stopped trying to teach me Spanish when I’d struggled with English in second grade. Whatever shit I’d known before then had been forgotten. Well, most of it. I could tell when she was hauling out threats, kind of like now, so I checked out and left.

This time, she didn’t run after me.

I jogged down the two flights of stairs and pushed open the door to humid freedom.

“Have a good one, Mr. T,” I said, passing the old man.

“You too, boy—you take care of those kids.”

“Always, sir.”

I was parked right up front, and I opened the back to make sure Trip and Ellie were buckled in.

Trip handed me the key back. “Ellie hoped you forgot to check the seat belt.”

“You’re such a snitch!” Ellie yelled at him.

“Hey—easy, easy.” I frowned and picked up an empty soda cup from the floor. “Be nice to each other.”

Maybe it was a good thing it was West’s week. I just wanted to go home to eat ice cream and waste the day in front of the TV.

Just when my numbness began to fade, right around the time we reached West’s street, a text from Kellan saved the day.

Fuck ice cream and TV.

Lunch at Finn and Emilia’s if you’re not busy getting railed.

I wasn’t busy getting railed. I’d never be busy getting railed ever again.

I responded once I’d pulled into West’s driveway, and I noticed his car was here. Either he’d gone into the city to pick it up already, or he’d driven it home last night.

I’ll be there.

Eric, Finn’s master tech genius guy, had told us all to be more active on our private phones. It included making plans together, using names, dropping dates and locations, and simply showcasing our family ties to whoever might be paying attention.

As a result, Kellan had started a group chat for Finn, Liam, Colm, Eric, me, and himself. So far, Colm and Eric had contributed with memes and suggestions to meet up for beer, and Finn had reminded us about church on Sunday and extended invitations to the birthday party for Ryan and Kian in a few weeks.

It was the weekend right before Trip started second grade.

“Dad, can you come in the pool with us?” Trip asked.

I wish.

“Another time, buddy.” I grabbed Ellie’s backpack as she’d already darted for the door. “You know what you can do? Start looking at backpacks. You said you wanted a new one for school, right?”

“Oh yeah! I can’t wait!” He was such an oddball.

West opened the door, and Ellie was quick as ever to jump into his arms.

He received the same ramble I had about their sleepover with Nonna and Pop-Pop.

I refocused on Trip instead, not wanting to make eye contact with West. It would kill the last of my indifference.

“A hug before you run off, please,” I said.

Trip grinned sheepishly and came in for a squeeze.

“I’ll see you on Friday,” I said and kissed the top of his head. “I love you, son.”

“Love you too.”

Ellie was next, and I picked her up and hugged her extra tight.

It made her giggle, a sound I was going to miss the next several days.

“Love you, baby girl. See you on Friday, yeah?”

“I will be there!” She popped a kiss to my cheek before squirming her way down to the ground. Then she was off, so that was my cue too.

I couldn’t spend a second alone with?—

“Can I have a word, Alfie? Please.”

Fuck.

I clenched my jaw and came to a stop, though I didn’t really turn to face him. “Is it about the kids?”

“No, but I?—”

“Then it’s way too soon.” I headed for the car and balled and unballed my fists.

Numbness, please take me away again.

“Uh-oh. You don’t look like you reconciled with your husband, hon.”

“That’d be correct.” I dipped down and kissed Emilia’s cheek, and then I entered the house. “False alarm.”

“Aw, I’m sorry. You looked so happy last night before you left.”

Yeah, well. I’d been wrong to be hopeful.

I followed Emilia toward the backyard, and I asked where the kids were. It was weirdly quiet in here.

“Autumn is out shopping with friends. The rest are upstairs,” she replied. “The loudest two are down with the sniffles, so the place is suddenly a spa retreat.”

I chuckled. Sounded like my girl. When Ellie was sick, she was surprisingly docile and quiet. All she wanted was to sleep and cuddle.

We stepped out onto the patio, where lunch was set up already. Emilia seemingly always went all out. Today, it was salad and a spread of quesadillas and taquitos with chips and guacamole at the center of the platter. Shan and Finn were seated, and Kellan was…elsewhere?

I’d already figured it would be a small gathering. Liam had an early flight back to Chicago, and Colm and Eric were working.

“Hello, Alfie.” Shan smiled.

“Hey, guys.” I plastered a polite smile on my face.

“Oi.” Finn jerked his chin at me. “How did it go last night?”

“It didn’t.” I sat down next to Emilia since Finn sat at the head of the table—and I assumed Kellan was showing up to sit next to Shan. “Where’s Kellan?”

“In the bathroom, enjoying his hangover.” Finn smirked, then scratched his eyebrow and cocked his head at me. “Why didn’t it go last night?”

I sighed heavily, wondering how I could describe this in the shortest way possible.

“Dig in, please.” Emilia pushed a salad bowl to Finn.

He furrowed his brow. “Princess, when you shove the salad at me first, you gotta see it makes me feel attacked.”

“Good lord,” Shan muttered.

I stifled my amusement and picked two quesadillas, one chicken and one shrimp. Emilia had stuck little toothpick labels in them and everything.

“That’s cute,” Emilia said, fanning out a napkin across her lap. “Mere years ago, you would’ve called that argument ‘snowflake and feminist propaganda.’ Are you turning into a snowflake, dear husband?”

I fucking loved Emilia. Like, legit. She was a queen. She treated Finn like a king—until she felt he needed to get his feet back on the ground, and then she was a stunning bulldozer for a hot second.

Finn grabbed the salad bowl forcefully and stared at her. “You’re not my favorite right now.”

“I will be by tomorrow,” she responded casually. “I think I can survive till then.”

“What happens tomorrow?” Finn scowled.

She was all smiles, however. “The big O-word, if my math is correct.”

O-word? Wasn’t that orgasm?

I felt my forehead wrinkle.

Finn’s scowl was gone.

“Are youse talking about sex in front of your old man?” I had to ask.

Shan coughed into his water, and Emilia looked horrified.

“Of course not!” she insisted.

Finn laughed.

“ Well …” Shan cleared his throat, half amused, half uncomfortable. “Indirectly, I suppose.” He faced me a little. “I think it means ovulation.”

Oh.

“Definitely indirectly, then,” I agreed. “You sick freaks.”

Emilia face-palmed, evidently embarrassed, and Finn was still highly entertained. He’d also passed on the salad bowl in favor of the nachos.

Shan shook his head and started filling his plate. “As long as I don’t get more details, I’m just happy to welcome new grandchildren in the future.”

Ironically, my mom would fit in here. She’d been on my case before the divorce, wanting a third and fourth grandchild. I’d kept saying she should’ve had another kid if she wanted an army of grandbabies.

“Excuse me while I go check in on the kids,” Emilia said stiffly.

“We have a nanny for that, baby,” Finn laughed.

She shot him a glare before she stalked off.

My bad! It hadn’t been my intention to take down the queen, however temporarily.

“She’s my favorite again,” Finn chuckled around a mouthful of chips. “You’re a close second, Alfie.”

“That can’t be good,” I drawled, smirking. “By the way, should we be worried about Kellan?”

“Nah.” Finn waved that off.

Shan checked his watch. “I’ll give him another five minutes. He ran in right before you arrived, so…”

“For the third time,” Finn added.

In other words, they’d stayed at the pub late last night.

I bit into my chicken quesadilla and immediately had to take a bigger bite to catch the melted cheese running out. My fucking God, this was good. The chicken had a nice kick to it too.

“So, anyway…” Finn twirled the finger of doom, indicating he wanted to circle back to something. “You and your man. It would really work better for me if you got your shit together and remarried. Exes are unreliable.”

My eyebrows went all the way up there.

“Finnegan, for chrissakes,” Shan chastised. “Alfie’s marriage is none of your damn concern.”

Finn strongly disagreed. “It is when a love-sick Son is running his mouth to a possibly scorned former spouse who then feeds leads to the cops. It’s not rocket science, Pop. The reason we walk free is because we know when to keep our mouths shut.” He shifted his gaze to me. “Your ex may very well be trustworthy, but I can’t know that for sure, and I gotta draw the line somewhere. If you’re married, there’s increased protection by law—but most importantly, hopefully loyalty . In your case, I don’t know what you have. I don’t know what you share with him, if anything.”

I set down my quesadilla and cleared my throat, and I wiped my fingers on the napkin. To be frank, I understood his concerns, so I was gonna be honest.

“We have a peace treaty as co-parents,” I said. “For the sake of his sanity, and in exchange for his silence, I share minor shit.”

He leaned back in his seat and lit up a cigarette. “Give me an example of minor.”

I nodded, thinking about the other night when West had to take the kids. “All right. The night we got called in for the shit about Tony and Colby. I had to drop Trip and Ellie off at West’s first, and when I came back, I had Colby with me. Naturally, I had to tell him something.”

He inclined his head.

“I told him the bare minimum,” I said. “I’ve admitted I’m basically Kellan’s PA, and most of what I do is making calls and answering texts. And then, as he got to experience, shit happens occasionally. So I told him I put together teams for work gigs, and sometimes we gotta go in to fix mistakes.”

“Did you use that term, or did you say deliveries?”

I squinted, honestly not remembering. “Does it matter? It might’ve been deliveries.”

He nodded once and flicked ashes on the ground. “In short, you gave him enough intel to get a case started against you,” he said. “If he goes to the Feds, they’ll wanna map out your routines and habits. If you let your ex-husband know you’re handling some of our deliveries, that’s an excellent piece of information the authorities are gonna wanna know.”

I automatically sat up straighter, and I felt the need to defend myself—and West. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“ How do you know ?” He put emphasis on pretty much every word. “Youse’re divorced, and you’re clearly still hung up on him, but does he feel the same way? What happened last night? I don’t think you’re the reason you’re not getting back together.”

Fuck. I could really use a shot of indifference right now. Instead, I was feeling unsettled and flustered. And I didn’t fucking do flustered.

“I don’t know how to sum up almost a decade of history, Finn,” I replied. “But if I didn’t feel I could trust West, I wouldn’t have shared anything at all. And let me be clear—I don’t share shit about anyone else. No dates, no locations, no names outside the family, nothing incriminating?—”

“When you share information about your role in the syndicate, you share information about all of us,” he corrected. “The Feds always wanna know more about our operations, whether we’re suspects in something or not. Right now, they probably have a picture of you up on their boards, and it’s highlighted with a big fucking question mark. Don’t do their work for them .” He took a quick drag from his smoke and faced Shan. “This is what I’m talking about. If they’re married, I don’t have a problem with what he’s sharing—unless it goes overboard, but by the sound of things, it’s standard vague shite.”

“If I may,” Shan interjected and turned to me. “Is a reconciliation out of the question?”

I nodded once. “With 99% certainty.” I explained, briefly, a little about what West had told me last night, what his issues were—and his fears about possibly being associated with the Sons, what it might mean for himself and our kids. That he could lose his job and whatever.

I didn’t go into detail about West not wanting to put me in a position where I had to choose a family. There was no point.

“Why would he lose his job?” Shan wondered. “I thought he was a TV producer of some sort.”

“He is. It’s… I mean, they’re understandable worries when you don’t really know what’s up,” I said. “They’re just not based on what happens in reality. I seriously don’t think he’d lose his job.”

“Where does he work?” Shan asked next.

Finn responded. “He’s the producer of that Morning in Philly show. Emilia always has it on when she makes breakfast.”

A Good Philly Morning , but yeah.

“Oh, I didn’t know it was that show,” Shan mused. “I watch it too. I particularly enjoy their debate segments—and that we don’t have to sue them after their specials about the Sons.”

Heh…

“That’s understandable, though, given we have two Sons on the board,” he added.

What?

Finn was confused too. “We do? I thought we only had people at NKP2 and South?—”

“That’s the company West works for,” I blurted out. NKP2 Productions had their headquarters in Boston, but they had offices and studios in Philly, Pittsburgh, and Miami, cities with their own morning shows.

“Fuck, that’s right,” Finn chuckled. “I forgot they’d merged with that Jersey company.”

I knew about that too. What the fuck was going on? A Jersey-based production company had headhunted West, eventually resulting in us relocating back east. And around the time he and I got divorced, NKP2 Productions had merged with—or swallowed up—the other company.

“Why do we have people on the boards of production companies?” I asked.

Finn smirked faintly. “Because it’s much easier than having people on the inside of the networks they eventually sell their productions to.”

That didn’t answer my question.

Shan was ready to clarify, thankfully. “We have to know what’s being said about us, at least on a semi-national scale. NKP2 focuses on East Coast productions within news media, and then we have one member with South Helen Broadcasting that produces a show in Chicago. Some radio and podcasting too, I believe.”

Finn nodded and put out his smoke. “These days, social media weighs heavier, but we still gotta keep up with TV and print media.”

I guessed that made sense, the more I thought about it. I’d just never considered how many pockets they might have their hands in.

“To be fair, it’s not only about knowing what’s being said about us,” Finn said. “I’d say it’s less about that nowadays.”

“True,” Shan conceded.

Finn smiled. “It’s about control.”

Of course it was.

I sat back and swallowed, and I wondered just how much influence the Sons had. I mean, I knew they interfered all over the place. Mainly, politics. You wouldn’t catch a Son voting for legalizing fucking anything. It was business lost in the drug trade.

In order for Finn and the syndicate to gain influence, they had to control at least a bit of the narrative that shaped cities. And so…they had people watching. Watching online, watching the productions, watching trends…

Holy shite, if only West knew.

“Alfie, may I have West’s phone number?” Shan asked. “I have an idea.”

Before I could answer, we heard a groan from the doorway, and it was Kellan coming out, clutching his stomach.

It was the first time in fucking ages I’d seen him in casual clothes. Gone were the classy pants and suspenders. He was wearing sweatpants .

“What the fuck are you wearing, mate?” I hollered.

“Don’t talk to me,” he snapped. “My shame is already colossal.”

Finn and I laughed.