Alfie, Part Two (Alfie & West #2)

Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

West Scott

G et through the day, get through the day.

It was a day to celebrate. I’d officially started my annual five-week vacation. And yet, I left work with a sense of impending doom, and I knew why. How was I going to entertain myself for over a goddamn month when I couldn’t stand the current state of my mind?

Thank fuck, I had the children this week. I was going to tire them out with my incessant fear of being alone. But then what? Alfie took over on Friday, and Trip started second grade on Monday.

We had long since decided to give Ellie an extra year because, frankly, she wasn’t ready for school. We’d enrolled her in a private program that would prepare her for first grade but still allow her to be a full-time kid. The program focused on creativity and spending a lot of time outside, all while she’d get used to having some minor homework from playtime that incorporated simple math and reading.

Besides, Trip had started first grade at seven too. Alfie and I had both started at six, and we felt it was early.

How long was that? I checked my watch. Approximately eleven minutes without wallowing in despair. That might be a record. Now, if only the fucking traffic could ease up…

I rolled down the window and took a sip of my coffee. At least the last heatwave had ended. We weren’t expecting another one until next week. For now, we could enjoy milder temperatures of roughly eighty degrees and less humidity.

Fall was my favorite. When temperatures dropped below sixty, the trees burned in oranges, reds, and yellows, and the children looked forward to Halloween. When it made sense to light a fire in the living room. When it got darker.

Because you’ve truly coped well with darkness lately.

I grimaced and wished I could mute my own thoughts.

I needed a new hobby. I’d played way too much golf lately, at least four or five times a week if I didn’t have Trip and Ellie. Unfortunately, golf wasn’t a sport that swept you away on mental adventures. Instead, it offered me extra time to overthink my life and go back and forth between various regrets I had.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a good night’s sleep.

It was possible I’d lost some weight in the last couple of weeks as well. A snarling stomach had reminded me that I’d forgotten lunch more than a few times. I’d buried myself in work and helping Colby get settled in.

He might think I was overbearing at this point. I was going completely overboard with his new living arrangements. I’d had a new TV delivered, I’d bought him a PlayStation, I’d had the place repainted last weekend when he was with Alfie, and I’d installed a direct line of communication between the guest studio and the kitchen in the house.

He could obviously come and go as he pleased, but I worried he might feel lonely. Either those concerns were valid, or I was projecting. Regardless, we’d agreed that he would at least come into the house for dinner every night, unless he was messing up his life with mobster affairs.

Alfie didn’t exactly work regular hours. He picked up Colby every morning after I’d already left for work, though that would change soon. Colby was in the process of getting his driver’s license.

I’d once hoped having Colby staying with me would grant me more moments with Alfie, but the opposite had happened, and it was slowly killing me.

It wouldn’t shock me if I lost my shit tonight when Alfie joined us for dinner. The children had asked, and that was one of those instances we couldn’t say no.

I only did that, flat out, with my parents.

The fucking nerve on those two.

At this point, I wasn’t sure our ongoing conflict was temporary anymore. I’d reluctantly agreed to lunch the other week, last time I’d had the children, and it’d started out okay. Then they’d apparently “heard through the grapevine” that a “troubled teenager” was moving in to my house, which could only mean one thing. They’d found out about Colby moving in from one of my nosy neighbors, and the troubled part came from digging. My father had poked around and used old contacts with the FBI to map out Colby’s entire life.

It was a good thing the kid hadn’t been present at that lunch when Dad produced his list of arguments about why I shouldn’t let Colby stay with me. I would’ve gone postal. Colby may be rough around the edges, but I could tell he was worried about overstepping and saying or doing the wrong thing. Being subjected to my parents’ judgment would’ve hurt him. I was certain.

Just like it’d hurt Alfie—and I hadn’t protected him from that.

I wasn’t going to make that mistake twice.

My parents were no longer welcome in my house. They could watch the children every now and then—I didn’t want their relationship with them to suffer—but if I detected a single trace of my parents’ attitude in Trip and Ellie, I wouldn’t hesitate to sever the ties completely. I’d made that clear.

“I’d take care of it every day!”

“Princess, you’re not getting a pony.” I accepted the steaks from the guy behind the meat counter, and I placed them in the cart. Only almond flour and toilet paper left on my list. We had everything for the barbecue later, and I hadn’t forgotten the cereal I’d noticed Colby preferred.

I just knew he wouldn’t request it.

“Or a baby goat!” Ellie pleaded. “I said baby goat also.”

“You’re not getting a baby goat either.” I checked the signs above the aisles and started regretting letting Ellie attend that damn camp this week. Oh, the brochure had been lovely—let your kids spend a week on a nice farm just twenty-five minutes outside of the city, feed the animals, learn about them, lunch and snacks included, one adult for every three kids in the ages between five and ten…and it hadn’t been outrageously expensive.

I’d thought it’d be a wonderful learning opportunity, and two of her best friends had been there too.

The joke was on me. My daughter’s wish list for Christmas was officially ridiculous. She thought she could raise ducks in our pool, and my Sopranos joke had flown right over her head.

Alfie would’ve laughed.

At least I had Trip on my side. He’d been horrified at the notion.

“They will poop in the water!”

He’d actually raised his voice.

Once we were done, we made our way to the registers, and Ellie kept pleading with me while Trip was immersed in his game on his phone.

Nope, no pig or alpaca either, Ellie. Definitely no cow.

“Lizzie R is getting a pony,” she whined.

I smiled apologetically, a bit embarrassed, at the cashier before I turned to Ellie. “This discussion is over, Noelle. I’ve told you several times that we can’t have a pet. There’s no one to take care of it when I’m at work.”

“But, ohhhh!” She stomped her foot, and her face got all flushed like it did before a tantrum.

Time to go home. Stat.

She blew up the moment I pulled into the driveway, and I spent the next couple of hours trying to ignore her screaming from her room. Every now and then, she came out to yell something at the top of the stairs.

“I’m gonna ask Daddy instead! He will say yes because he loves me!”

I suppressed a sigh and soaked the steaks in the marinade. Alfie and Colby were due to arrive in about twenty minutes, and I wanted everything finished before then. I had a feeling spending an evening with Alfie was going to fry my brain one way or another; I was already frustrated and anxious.

“There’s no way Dad will say yes,” Trip muttered at the kitchen table. He was working on his German castle. Three thousand matches and counting. “Is there?”

“Of course not.”

“Daddy, you’re dumb!” Ellie screamed. “You’re so dumb, dumb, dumb!”

I clenched my jaw and stalked out of the kitchen, and once in the hallway, I spotted her at the top of the stairs.

“We do not call people dumb in this house, Noelle,” I told her sternly. “If you can’t be nice, go back to your room. Do you hear me? You can come out when you’re ready to apologize and—” God-fucking-dammit, the doorbell rang. “Go back in your room,” I ordered.

“No!” she shouted. “I wanna stay with Daddy instead!”

Oh great, she’d reached that age. She could fucking dream. Alfie and I may have our problems, but we were never going to let her pit us against each other, nor was she going to get into a habit of staying with the parent whom she deemed nicer at the moment.

I opened the front door, and of-fucking-course Alfie was early. Fuck my life.

He lifted his brows at me, and I had to avert my gaze altogether. He’d…dressed up. No vest this time, but he’d donned similar clothes to what he’d worn at the pub.

“Daddyyy!” Ellie wailed. “I’m so sad!”

Alfie stepped in, and I noticed Colby wasn’t here.

“Don’t even try, baby girl,” Alfie responded. “I heard what you called Daddy from outside. What’sa matter wit’chu? We don’t call people names in this family. Go back to your room.”

I drew an unsteady breath and let the relief wash over me. I hadn’t doubted him taking my side, but it felt so damn good to really feel that we could still be a united front.

Ellie grew even redder in her face, and she cried and screamed uncontrollably. “You’re both dumb!”

“Noelle!” I barked out.

“Oi!” Alfie got heated in an instant, and before I knew it, he was running up the stairs two at a time, and Ellie flinched and shrank in on herself. “What the fuck is this about? Why’re you acting like a spoiled brat?”

“I would t-take care of it!” Ellie sobbed.

Alfie glanced down at me, and I offered a pointed look.

“Jesus Christ, is this about another pet?” He turned back to Ellie, visibly ticked off. “You know why Daddy and I say no, Ellie? Because an animal needs owners who can take care of it properly. How you gonna do that when you go back to kindergarten and Daddy and I work?”

She sniveled and cried about how Lizzie R had a dog walker, and her older sisters were home too.

“This fuckin’ Lizzie R again.” Alfie pinched the bridge of his nose.

There was nothing wrong with Lizzie. Her parents, on the other hand. They gave her whatever she pointed at.

“Listen, Ellie.” Alfie squatted down in front of our girl. “We’re not getting a pet. You can cry all you want, but we will never hire someone to take care of a living thing because we don’t have time to do it ourselves. And we will sure as fuck never get a pet because you want it so badly that you’ll scream and call us bad names.” He pointed to her door. “Get back in there. When you’re ready to say sorry to Daddy and me, we’ll talk.”

She let out another rage-laden cry and stomped back into her room.

I blew out a heavy breath.

“Is this just a shitty day, or is it the start of a behavior we wanna nip in the bud?” Alfie asked as he trailed back down.

“I hope the former,” I replied. “She’s at that farm camp this week, so she’s gone bananas over a new animal every day.”

“Ah. So we’ll keep an eye on things.” He peered into the kitchen. “Hey, buddy. That looks incredible.”

Trip didn’t even look up. “Hi, Dad. Not now. Concentrating.”

We let out a chuckle, and we locked eyes to the muted sounds of Ellie crying upstairs.

“Where’s, uh…where’s Colby?” I asked.

“His brother called from Dublin. He’ll be in soon, I reckon.”

Got it.

Needing something to do, I nodded for the kitchen and said we could start the grill. In reality, I was going for the smokes I kept hidden in a pot on the terrace.

The trick for surviving tonight might be to keep myself occupied. Perhaps it’d been a bad idea to finish all the prep for the barbecue.

“Do you have another pub night planned later?” I asked as I opened the terrace door.

“No…?”

“Oh. I figured, with the clothes…” Today’s colors were two shades of dark blue, and he looked out of this world. Paired with rustic tan leather shoes and a matching belt, it reminded me of what I’d stupidly bought last week in the city. I’d seen a simpler model of a watch from a brand I’d always admired in a store window, and I didn’t know what I’d been thinking. I’d gone in there, thinking I might buy something, and then I’d laid eyes on a display picture of a beautiful chronograph that had to be ordered directly from Switzerland. It had a white dial but dark blue accents and a leather strap, so it would go very well with what he was wearing today. Blue and brown was one of my favorite color combinations, especially leather, especially those earthy tones of saddle brown and tan. And he knew this.

He glanced down, then shrugged. “They’re growing on me more.”

I could tell. He looked comfortable, albeit tired.

The latter was relatable.

We’d only seen each other at drop-offs since that night at his place, and we hadn’t spoken properly. Just kid-related topics.

I loathed it.

I stopped at the doors outside the guest room, and I dug the pack and a lighter out from a potted rosebush.

“Fuck, it’s like you can read my mind. I’ve been craving one all day,” he said.

“I usually cave when I’m stuck in traffic after work.” I lit mine up and handed the lighter to him. “It’s been one too many lately, though.” One too many late-night drinks too.

We automatically snuck around the corner of the house, where we’d have more privacy. If Trip came out, we’d hear him and have time to hide the evidence.

It wasn’t our first rodeo.

“Colby mentioned you look like shit lately.”

I frowned. “Pardon?”

“Not in those words. He said you’re tired.”

Well, thanks a lot.

I swallowed uncomfortably and pretended to find the hedges interesting. They needed trimming soon.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Fuck, not that question.

No, I wasn’t fucking okay, and it wasn’t okay that he looked to be okay.

The pressure on my chest increased, and I took a quick pull from the smoke.

“It’s been a lot at work before my vacation,” I said. That wasn’t too much of a lie.

“Oh, right. You’re off for five weeks now.” He exhaled some smoke. “Any plans?”

I shook my head and peered down at his wrist. I wanted to give him the watch.

Would he find me utterly insane? I had no real reason, aside from missing him. Missing the days we sometimes surprised each other with little gifts, missing the days he casually adjusted my tie for me, missing the days of closeness and intimacy.

I just plain missed him.

“Would, uh…” I cleared my throat. “Would you accept a gift from me?”

“Huh?” He looked over at me.

“Or is it too weird?” I wasn’t sure. “I saw something after a meeting in the city last week, and I—” I stopped short, my heart rate picking up, and I handed him my smoke. “I’ll be right back.”

I rounded the corner again and walked briskly toward the guest room’s terrace door. I’d left the box on the bed?—

“Yeah, it’s kinda weird!” I heard Alfie holler.

Right, but it was too late now. I was committed. I needed his reaction to it, because a gift like that would evoke his unfiltered honesty. That was what I was after. My initial sentiment about the gift was genuine. I’d simply wanted him to have it. But now, I…I couldn’t cope without something changing the status quo, and I was too chickenshit to do it myself.

I’d brought this misery upon myself. I’d left his house. I’d set boundaries. Respectable boundaries, in my opinion. Boundaries my mind was set to keep, whereas my heart wanted to flush them down the toilet.

I grabbed the box on the bed and walked out again.

I was an idiot. More than that, I was selfish and disrespectful and downright heartless, because this would undoubtedly trigger anger too. Rightfully so. He’d view it as my toying with his emotions.

Deep down, what I really wanted was for him to save me from myself.

Alfie waited for me around the corner, and he extended the smoke to me.

“Here,” I said. “I saw it in a store, wanted you to have it, ordered it, and…so, here.”

He had suspicion and weariness written all over him as he accepted the box. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what it was. I hadn’t gift-wrapped it, so the brand was embossed on the surface, and?—

“Vacheron…” He trailed off and shifted where he stood. “Are you fucking kidding me, West?” There was no heat to his question, only exhaustion.

I took a quick drag from the smoke, unable to speak.

“You don’t just see this kind of watch in a store,” he told me, lifting the lid. “You find it online and order it, usually for a CEO in the private sector who’s retiring after fifty years of making everyone rich.”

He trapped his smoke between his lips and picked up the leather pouch the watch came in, and he detached the strap.

“I did see it in a store,” I said. “In a catalogue picture they had on display.”

He rolled his eyes but said nothing.

I stubbed out my smoke and stashed it in the tailpiece of the drainpipe for later.

My nerves were officially shot, and if I spoke, emotional nonsense would fly out. I wasn’t much of a crier, but I’d reached my fucking limit for what I could handle. My stomach felt tight and unsettled, I couldn’t escape the pressure on my chest, and my eyes burned.

Alfie swallowed as he saw the watch, and without thinking, he dropped the smoke and put it out under his shoe.

Say something.

“No, you know what?” he said without looking away from the watch. “This is the kind of gift a wife gives a random cabana boy to piss off her cheating husband.”

His comment did something to the air around us, deflating it somehow, and it sucked the words out of me before I could think twice.

“That’s specific. But a cabana boy wouldn’t care about something so classy.”

“It’s probably the cheating husband’s favorite brand.” Alfie didn’t miss a beat, and he glanced up at me. “Who’re you tryna piss off, West?”

Wait, what?

“Nobody.” I frowned.

“Try again.” He pinned me with an intense stare I wasn’t sure I’d ever received before. “You don’t give someone a sixty-grand watch for nothin’. Are you fucking with me? I can think of one gift you’d give your ex-husband, and it’s a Father’s Day present from the kids.”

The fact that he was in the right ballpark of what that watch cost put me on edge for some reason. I hadn’t expected him to expose me to that degree, and it threw me off.

“Happy early Father’s Day, then,” I replied stiffly.

“Quite the fuckin’ upgrade from the perfectly acceptable mug you had them give me in June,” he snapped. “I guess I’ll tell them to choose something other than a tie for you next year? Maybe a yacht would be more appropriate? You have a birthday comin’ up too. You want a house in the Hamptons?”

I gnashed my teeth. “If it bothers you so much, I’ll return it?—”

“Fuck no! You gave it to me—it’s mine.” As he spoke, irritated and ever so unpredictable, he removed his old watch. “It’s mine. Put it on me. Fuck me, it’s breathtaking—but you’re off your damn rocker, West. Tell me why you gave me this.”

Roll with the punches, roll with the punches, roll with the punches.

“I wanted you to have it.” I got to touch him again, even if it was only his wrist.

“Bullshit. We’ve been over this. Is this platinum?”

I had to take a calming breath and slow things down. When Alfie grew heated and started thinking out loud, it was too easy to get swept away by his ranty monologue.

“It is. And I did want you to have it,” I insisted. “But yes, I anticipated a signature Alfie Scott reaction to go with it.” I pretended to struggle with the double clasp of the watch, just so I could brush my fingertips over the ink around his wrists.

Since the first time I’d seen his inked body, I’d discovered numerous designs I wanted to ask him about. I’d spotted our children’s birthdates, of course. Ireland, Puerto Rico, and Italy were heavily represented in the artwork. But so was I, which meant he’d chosen to eternalize memories from our years together even when he’d been trying to recover from our divorce.

I remembered the restaurant I’d taken him to for our first date, and it couldn’t be a coincidence he had the street sign for that address inked right there on his arm.

“O’Dwyer,” he said quietly.

No.

I swallowed hard. That was a gut punch. Nausea crawled up my throat.

“You changed it back?” I finished fastening the watch and had to withdraw my hands.

He studied his watch and brushed his thumb over the crown. “Not yet, but it’s on my list for next week.”

Fuck.

“Scott suits you better.” I had absolutely no right to say that.

He chuckled and peered up at me with the biggest fuck-you smile I’d ever seen.

“If it wasn’t for this watch, this is where I woulda told you to go fuck yourself,” he said. “Don’t do this to me, West. Just don’t. It’s cruel.”

I knew it was, and I felt like the biggest piece of shit on earth.

I was desperate, though. I woke up broken, and I went to bed broken. I’d made a decision that made it impossible for us to get another chance, and yet that was all I wanted.

I had to clear my throat as more emotions threatened to surface, and I didn’t know how to be honest with him without losing my composure.

Fuck composure.

“I…I don’t know how to let you go,” I managed to get out. He immediately clenched his jaw and looked away. “I can’t even fake it anymore, Alfie. I can’t sleep, I have little to no appetite, and I?—”

“Figure it out.” He got angry, and I couldn’t blame him. He shot me a glare that was so packed with hurt that I instinctively reached for his hand again, but he shook his head and stepped back. “No, you can’t do this to me. I keep thinking there’s nothing left for you to break, and then you pull some shit …and here I am again. Motherfucker —” He stepped back even more, and he scrubbed his hands over his face.

“I’m so sorry, Alfie.” I coughed into my fist, and sharp jabs of panic attacked me from within. What the fuck was wrong with me? What had I done? “I’m sorry,” I repeated. “This is my mess to deal with. I’ll…” A breath gusted out of me, and I hurriedly wiped at my cheek as a traitorous tear rolled down. “I’ll handle this on my own. I apologize.”

He stared at me tiredly, half turned away, as if all he wanted was to find the nearest escape route.

“You’re not well,” he murmured.

A new round of tears welled up, and I exhaled a laugh at the ridiculousness of my life. “No, I’m really not. I think I’ve hit rock bottom, to be honest with you.” I sniffled and did my best to push back my emotions.

His jaw ticked with tension, and he looked to be struggling with something. Whatever it was, I’d made it worse. Except, his expression lost some of its hostility when he inched closer to me again, and it was replaced by defeat.

His next move shocked me. He closed the distance between us and hugged me, much like I’d done the night he’d returned from his “work emergency.” I screwed my eyes shut and squeezed him to me for all I was worth, and I wondered if I looked as broken as he had that night.

I miss you. I miss you. “I miss you. I miss you so fucking much.” I miss you more than words can express.

Christ, I’d said that out loud. But no regrets. Not a single ounce of it.

Alfie shuddered and nodded once, and he tightened his hold on me. Then he sniffled and released me much too soon. His hands slid down my shoulders and chest before he withdrew them completely, and I stood there bereft.

“I need your permission to play dirty,” he said thickly.

I was sure my confusion was written across my face.

“I have one more card to play,” he elaborated. “A while ago, I said no because I was tryna honor our deal. I wanted to be as honest as I could be.” He coughed and cleared his throat. “This is my compromise. By giving you a heads-up. So if you agree, then I’ll…set something in motion to essentially manipulate you.”

Pardon me? I frowned. “What do you mean by manipulating me?”

“What you’d hear would still be the truth,” he said. “I just can’t call it a fair tactic to use in order to win someone back.”

To win someone…

That was the goal with his suggestion, then? To win me back?

He believed he had a way to manipulate me—with the truth?

“Do it,” I said. I couldn’t be more resolute about it either. He’d warned me. I’d agreed. I wasn’t sure one bit it was going to work, but let’s fucking try.

“Okay.” He nodded minutely and offered an uncertain, sad little smile. “I gotta go make a call—and when I get back, I propose we keep shit civil for Trip and the terrorist, if she comes back down.”

“You’re not going to explain more about this manipulation first?”

“No. You’ll see soon, though.”

So be it. “All right.”

“All right,” he echoed. He started walking back toward the terrace, and I followed dumbly. “By the way, ask me what time it is.”

“What time is it?”

“Let me check my gorgeous new watch.”

My mouth twitched. That little…heartbreaker and…goddamn bastard.

The morning after, the house felt empty without Alfie. Emptier than usual, I should say.

Even though he and I had poured all our focus into the children, Colby included, last night at dinner, Alfie’s presence had filled the house with life and laughter. It had naturally benefited me too. When he smiled, the world was a better place.

Ellie had apologized somewhat reluctantly, and she’d been very clingy for a while, going from my lap to Alfie’s until she’d been ready to come out of her shell. She’d even asked to skip camp today. But something in her behavior, particularly this morning, made me think.

I sat across from her at the kitchen table as she ate her toast and colored in her new farm-themed coloring book. The cows were white and brown. The horses were black or brown. The pigs, a pale pink color.

The farmhouse was neon pink, and the grass was blue.

When it came to animals, Ellie went for accuracy and precise representation. The children’s books she preferred were exclusively about animals. All kinds. She went bananas for every dog she came across, she aww’d at every cat, she was first in line at every petting zoo, and nobody was allowed to fast-forward commercials that had animals in them.

She may have the attention span of the child she was, and she may change her mind more frequently than I’d gone back and forth about Alfie and me, but her love for animals shone brightly every single day. It always had.

Whining and stomping her foot notwithstanding, she deserved to be listened to. And perhaps Alfie and I could come up with a compromise. Cats were easier in terms of maintenance, and they could be left on their own during a workday.

Naturally, Alfie and I would have to be ready to take care of the furball if Ellie lost her interest.

I’d like to avoid getting a dog. I’d had one growing up, and it’d taken me over a year to get over his death.

I was dealing with enough grief and instability in my life.

“I need your permission to play dirty.”

I took a sip of my coffee and tried to shake the intrusive thought. I’d wasted all night twisting and turning, wondering how on earth he could manipulate me with something he’d warned me about. I’d be more prepared now, surely. But what if it worked? What if Alfie could be mine again?

Because I was so over all this going back and forth. I was so over missing him.

“Since Ellie isn’t going to camp, I thought we could go out and buy new backpacks today,” I said. “Daddy sent me links to the ones you picked out online.”

Trip perked up. “Yeah! Can we get hot dogs after?”

I chuckled. “Sure. But we’re having chicken alfredo for dinner, so we’ll do hot dogs for lunch.” I’d already taken out the chicken to defrost on the counter. “What do you think, princess?”

She nodded. “Can I pick another one? I want a yellow one instead. Or purple.”

Of course. “You’ll pick whichever one you want.” Just as I finished my sentence, the doorbell rang. “One day, Colby will have to learn to use his key.” I’d thought he’d made progress yesterday, when he’d already been in the kitchen when Alfie and I had returned from our emotional roller coaster ride.

I went out into the hallway and opened the door—and I was smacked with surprise.

“Alfie…?” Had I forgotten something? Had we made plans? He was dressed in cargo shorts and a tee, his sexy ink on full display. And the watch I’d given him, I noticed.

“Mornin’, gorgeous.” He reached up and kissed the corner of my mouth, which didn’t fucking help with the surprise, and he walked right in.

I…

“Hi, Daddy!” I heard Ellie exclaim.

“Are you gonna be with us today?” Trip asked hopefully.

“Hey, kiddos. Yeah, I think so,” Alfie replied. I closed the door again and returned to the kitchen. “I see Colby’s taking advantage of his day off.”

I didn’t know he had a day off, though it could explain why he wasn’t here. He might be asleep.

Alfie walked over to the counter and helped himself to coffee. “Have you checked your phone, honey?”

Who, me? Was I honey?

“Uh.” I went back to the table and dug my phone out from under today’s paper, and I noticed I had a text from a number I didn’t recognize.

The children rambled to Alfie while I read it.

West, this is Shannon O’Shea. Alfie gave me your number, and I was wondering if you were interested in joining me for a round of golf today. I have a tee time at eleven-fifteen at Green Grove.

What on earth?

One part of me instantly agreed because I loved that course. Green Grove Park was a private golf club west of Villanova, and I was in line to join, with two members recommending me. But it would probably take a while; it was a popular club. For starters, they didn’t have a par-3 until the sixth hole, preventing delays and bottlenecking. Secondly, fewer crusty old men who believed a tee time was when you rolled up to the range or wrestled your bag into the golf cart. Third, it was a golf club, not a country club.

It was another step away from my parents’ community. Every time I visited our club, I risked running into them.

The text had been sent six minutes ago.

I glanced over at Alfie, finding him watching me.

Was this the act of manipulation? Did he think a round of golf at a club I liked would persuade me?

He smiled faintly. “This is where you text him back and say you’ll meet him there.”

Right. Because of course I was going to tee off with a mobster today. I wanted nothing more. Particularly this mobster, the boss’s father…and technically, Alfie’s uncle.

I lowered my gaze to the text and hovered my thumb over the keyboard.

“Did youse make any plans with Daddy today?” Alfie shifted his attention to the children, and Trip was happy to answer. Ellie was even happier to add that she wanted a new lunch box as well. “We can do that. Backpacks and lunch boxes,” Alfie said. “Daddy’s gotta help a friend first, so he’ll meet up with us later. And I’m thinkin’ he’ll buy us ice cream when he gets there.”

Sure, sure, all the ice cream. Ellie and I were getting donuts, though.

At ten-fifty, I locked my car and wheeled my bag toward the clubhouse, where I spotted Shannon O’Shea waiting right outside. He wasn’t alone, but judging by the other guy’s outfit, he wasn’t joining us.

Green Grove was like a breath of fresh air. The clubhouse was a New England-style house, recently repainted in white and pale blue. They had a modern website, their own app for logging scores, more new money than old, excellent food in the restaurant, and fewer members who required a golf cart. I preferred to walk.

New money rather than old also promised younger members. Fewer seventy- and eighty-year-olds and far more from my generation.

Shannon had a pushcart similar to mine, so I assumed that meant he hadn’t reserved a golf cart.

When he spotted me, he exchanged a few words with the leather jacket, who nodded and stepped to the side on the wide porch.

“West, it’s good to see you again.” Shannon walked down the two steps and extended his hand.

“You too, Shannon.” I wasn’t sure if that was a lie. Either way, I shook his hand firmly. “Do you prefer Shan or Shannon?”

“Both work just fine, but I hear Shan more often.” He smiled politely and gestured to the porch. “I took the liberty of signing you in. Alfie told me you’re a four handicap, so I warmed up at the range already. We’ll see if I can keep up with my lowly eleven.”

“All I hear is, you have a life and I don’t,” I chuckled.

“We’ll see what you think about the life I lead in a moment,” he responded with a smirk. “If you don’t mind, hand over your phone and other devices to Mikey here. I intend to speak very frankly with you out on the course, and I’d like to play it safe.”

I stood straighter automatically and processed the words coming out of the mouth of this…six-foot-four…ish…mobster. We were the same height, shared the same frame too. Was he armed? He wouldn’t possibly murder me on a golf course after signing us both in. Right? Unless he hadn’t actually done that?

Oh, for fuck’s sake. I had to trust Alfie. He was setting this up.

I dug out my phone, and the leather jacket—Mikey—came over and accepted it.

“No smartwatch or anything?” Shan asked to make sure.

“God, no. Foul things.”

Shan grinned. “This bodes well. Okay, let’s get going. I need to stop by the restaurant to fill up my mug.” He gestured to his travel mug in the bag’s cupholder.

I followed him into the clubhouse, where we came across a painted driftwood sign that pointed toward the restaurant, the showers and locker rooms, and the course. Nothing else was necessary. No damn spa or cigar lounge.

Low traffic today, though it was a Thursday morning when most people had returned to work after their vacations. Even so, my own club attracted enough retirees to make it difficult to get a tee time early in the day. Except for noon, when the sun stood at its highest.

We reached the restaurant’s coffee and water station, and Shan filled his mug with black coffee.

“Would you tee off first? It’s possible Alfie gushed about your drive too, and I need to see a pro in action.”

I let out a laugh. A pro? So far from it. “I appreciate the flattery.” I wasn’t in the mood for coffee, so I just grabbed three bottles of water. I couldn’t remember if they had a water station out on the course. “Alfie can’t have gushed about anything else. He’s only seen me on the driving range and putting green. The one time I tried to get him interested in golf, he threw my driver into a lake.”

“Oof—and you forgave him?” Shan laughed gruffly. “Alfie and Kellan share some traits, that’s for sure. Zero patience, quick to get defensive.”

Yes, that was my Alfie.

My Alfie. Fuck. Oh, fuck me.

Once we were done, I followed him out to the other side of the house, where a paved path took us down to the course. From here, the view was magnificent. The land was surrounded by forest and fields, no freeway as far as the eye could see, just greenery, ponds, and the bane of my existence: bunkers.

We walked past a screen that showed today’s local forecast, and eighty-three wasn’t too bad after a liquid hot July of over ninety degrees.

The tall pines would provide shade in some places too.

“Have you been a member here for long?” I asked, putting on my cap.

“No, just a couple of years,” he replied. “My previous club lost the plot when they put cheaper sand in the bunkers, removed the water-refilling stations on the course, and banned alcohol outside the restaurant.”

What the fuck? I would’ve left too. Christ.

“To be clear, I’m all for a drinking limit,” he added. “But a nice Friday afternoon requires a beer or two.”

“I hear you.” I felt the exact same way, especially in the late afternoons when summer was slowly morphing into fall. “My club could use a limit. Slow play is almost always caused by a group of senior citizens hitting the flask too much.”

Shan chuckled as he donned his own cap. He was a Callaway fellow. “One of the reasons I like this place. They’ve designed it to prevent all kinds of slow play. Water bottles available on five, a pop-up café with quick service on nine, you don’t have to rake the bunkers yourself, and the assistance of a caddy once a month—should you need one—is included in the fee.”

I let out a low whistle. “Hopefully, they’ll accept my request to join soon.”

“We can get that sorted, West.” He grinned faintly and came to a stop as we reached the first hole. We only had one twosome in front of us, and they were teeing off right now. “Do you know any members here yet?”

I inclined my head. “I have two acquaintances who recommended me.”

“That’s good, but I daresay my name weighs heavier.”

I had no doubt. I smiled wryly and opened the side pocket where I kept my tees. “I’m not sure I want to be in your debt, O’Shea.”

“And we have lift-off,” he laughed. “Oh, it would be more for my sake. I’m surrounded by children most days. I turned fifty-one the other day, and you know what I got? My grandkids filled my fridge with drawings, and my son gave me a headache. Thank goodness for Kellan and Emilia—but even they are young.”

I smiled to myself and grabbed my driver from my bag. Had the manipulation started yet? By Shan trying to become friends?

I put on my glove too.

“Alfie didn’t know the dial-up sound,” I admitted.

I’d never felt so old as I had the evening I’d played the clip. He’d looked so confused.

“Hurts, doesn’t it? Kellan and Finn don’t even remember a time before the internet.”

I wasn’t surprised. “This is why Generation X is the last good generation.”

“Hear, hear.” Then he frowned. “Except, we’re foolish enough to get married to the youngest millennials.”

I chuckled. Touché .

It became our turn, and I walked up first since he’d requested to go second. I teed up like I always did, and I swung the club twice before getting into position.

It was a par-4 at 320 yards, fairly straight fairway, good wind conditions, and I didn’t have the sun in my eyes. I should get close to the green from here.

I relaxed my stance and tightened my grip, and then I swung back and struck the ball well enough to earn myself a muttered “Goddamn” from Shan.

I squinted down the fairway, and the ball bounced once before rolling forward several yards. That oughta do it. I’d wedge that right up onto the green.

Shan and I switched places, and I put the club back and pulled out my scorecard pad and a pen. These days, I actually preferred tracking on an app, but mostly because I wanted to keep my tracking in one place, and when it rained, a paper card was useless.

“All right, feel free to say what I’m doing wrong,” he said.

“Will do.” I folded my arms over my chest and eyed his stance. Nothing wrong so far—never mind. He sliced the ball, causing it to land in the rough.

He sighed heavily and turned back to me. “As you can see, I’m a notorious slicer.”

Indeed. “Which begs the question—what do you excel at since your handicap is still decent?”

He lifted his cap as if it were a top hat. “World-class putter, if I may say so.”

Then maybe we could learn from each other. I could improve there.

I pointed to his club. “You have the timing wrong. You go slow on the backswing and then drop it too fast. You’re gonna wanna do the opposite. Let gravity do its thing. Try to swing back hard—” I demonstrated by getting into position and pretending I held a club. “Right here, just past the midpoint of the backswing, you ease up. The club carries enough weight to come down with the force you need.” I paused. “You could also adjust your grip. Many who struggle with slicing don’t hold the club tightly enough.”

He puffed out a breath and stuck his club back in his bag. “I should’ve had you next to me at the range instead. You’re telling me the opposite of what so many others are saying.”

“I’m telling you what I’ve observed from the pros on the Tour,” I chuckled. “Watch them. They never pull back slowly.”

“Good to know. If only golf weren’t so damn boring to watch.”

I laughed. “It really fucking is.”

We grabbed our carts and started our walk down the fairway, which took us away from nearby members and activity. In other words, I wanted to speak more freely too.

“Alfie promised me manipulation,” I said. “Has it begun?”

He laughed through his nose and side-eyed me. “Not yet. I warned him that I was going to be selfish first.”

“Selfish, how?”

“By actually making it about golf ,” he chuckled. “No one in my family shares my interest in the sport, and I’m trying to get back to it with more regularity. I’m two years past a long hiatus, and it would be nice to meet up with someone close to my age for a round or two every week. Kellan offered, but I like my clubs too much.”

I grinned and slowed down as we reached his ball. “Plus, he doesn’t remember a time before the internet?”

He tapped his nose, then grabbed his 7 iron.

This time, he didn’t struggle. His ball landed close to where mine was, and our walk continued.

“I suppose I could begin now,” he mused.

“Just in time for you to fuck up my game.”

He laughed at that.

I smiled and got one of my wedges ready, and I had to admit I was enjoying myself. Shan was fun. More often than not, I played with work associates or friends I had in common with my family, and they were usually older and dreadfully boring. The other times, I just played alone.

The mobster was kind enough to let me take my shot first, and I watched my ball roll closer and closer to the pocket. The green slanted a little to the east right there, so I knew it was going to take another shot, but one under par wasn’t too shabby.

“I hope Alfie told you it’s not a vicious act of manipulation,” Shan said. “It’s more about me telling you things from my perspective. From the inside of our organization.”

I scratched my jaw. “He mentioned wanting to be honest because it’s not going to be a fair approach to win someone back.”

He inclined his head and positioned himself for his next shot. “Our priest used the same tactic when my daughter-in-law was on the fence about my son.”

I felt my eyebrows crawl higher. “An actual priest?”

He concentrated on his play before he nodded and stood straighter. Time for our putters to get some action.

“It’s quite simple, West,” he told me. “Emilia is my son’s heart, much like you are Alfie’s.”

My steps faltered on the green, and I glanced over at him.

“Without his wife around, Finn doesn’t necessarily take on bigger risks, but he does lose his ability to empathize,” he went on. “He becomes colder and less compassionate. He may be the boss of the Sons of Munster, but it’s Emilia’s warmth that makes him the man others respect. If she hadn’t been around, the members would certainly fear him—and, one day, presumably bring him down. As the story always goes with dictators.”

It’s quite simple, West.

None of that sounded simple. In theory, perhaps.

“Now,” he said, “a sane person would argue that it’s up to each individual adult to make their choices—and stand by them. What Alfie does is his choice. But the fact remains, he will likely be more compassionate and empathic with you by his side.”

That truly was an asshole tactic to put on someone’s shoulders.

I grabbed my putter and stepped onto the green, and I shook my head to myself. He was literally telling me that Alfie would be a kinder mobster if I gave us another chance. And if I stuck by my principles and made us both miserable for the rest of our lives, he was likelier to become more ruthless.

“Fucking mobsters,” I grumbled under my breath.

Maybe not quietly enough. Shan chuckled somewhere behind me. “Think of it this way, West. You can’t change our syndicate’s existence from the outside. But you can most certainly remind Alfie of his morals from the inside. And don’t get me started on the impact you’ll have on young Colby.”

New level of emotional manipulation unlocked.

My ball was too close to the hole for me to stand there and measure distance, the quality of the turf, and the angle, so I just took a deep breath, knocked the ball gently, and pocketed it.

“You start off with a birdie,” Shan noted.

“I’d like a mulligan for my life,” I muttered.

“You don’t mean that.”

No…no, I didn’t.

“For the record, I see plenty from the outside that makes me nauseated to consider getting cozy on the inside,” I had to tell him. If Alfie wanted honesty, I’d extend that courtesy to Shannon too. “When was the last time you took a stroll through Kensington?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Are we including Fishtown these days? They have some lovely art galleries.”

“Not in this conversation.” I wanted to roll my eyes but refrained.

He offered a wry smile. “When was the last time anyone took a stroll through Kensington?” He lifted a brow. “If you’re implying that the Sons are contributing to the drug trade there, I’m happy to educate you. We saw what heroin did in Dublin in the eighties—it kills the customer. Why would we want to kill our buyers? Heroin and shit like fentanyl are a business for those at the bottom of the barrel.” He paused briefly. “I’m not denying it’s a billion-dollar industry. It’s just not ours. We’re not the only organization in this city, you know.”

I frowned.

They might not be the only organization, but they were absolutely the largest and most widespread.

“If you wish to pick up a coke habit, however, we can talk,” he finished.

He walked up to his ball next, and I felt petulant enough to mess with him. Petulant and annoyed and slightly rattled.

“Maybe I’m wearing a wire. Maybe I’ll bring you all down.”

His shoulders trembled with his silent amusement. “We didn’t start the syndicate yesterday, my friend. Mikey followed you all the way here.”

Oh, that fucking bastard.

Today’s little outing had been so spontaneous too. Surely not by accident.

Shan sank his ball and could jot down a four on his scorecard.

I jotted down three.

As we walked toward the second hole, Shan took a sip of his coffee and appeared to be building up to his next speech.

“Out with it,” I said.

I didn’t know how to feel about this anymore. I was fairly certain I should go back to my car and drive off, but that ship had sailed. Running away hadn’t been an option for quite some time now.

“Do you know how many homicides remain unsolved in this country? And in Philly?”

Oh, I wanted to roll my eyes now too. “I do watch the news, Shan. About half of them.” Many more if we counted all crime.

He nodded with a dip of his chin. “You’ve produced specials about all of it—our beloved Killadelphia. The health care system, our country’s education, crime rates…corruption?—”

“The latter of which I understand you play a significant role in,” I noted.

“Allegedly.”

I snorted under my breath and nodded at the tee box. “You’re up. Amaze me, mobster.”

At least I made him laugh a lot.

“You remind me of Emilia,” he said. “Her first pet name for Finn was criminal.”

“Was she too weak to run away too?” I mean, clearly, she had been.

“Different circumstances.” He went up with his driver and rolled his shoulders. “She was eighteen years old, wise beyond her years, and severely mistreated by her alcoholic father. Finn offered her a way out.”

I wasn’t in such a vulnerable position—nor was I wise beyond my years.

I watched Shan swing back and make his shot, and not much had improved. If anything, this one was worse. It was another par-4, this one at 290 yards, and he’d need one or two strokes to reach the green. The grass was pretty high where his ball had thumped down.

He turned to me with a frown. “Did you give me shit advice?”

“No, you’re just shit at following good advice,” I told him. “You twisted your body weirdly.”

His frown deepened as he walked off the teeing ground, and it was my turn.

I didn’t know if he’d planned it this way all along, or if my bluntness about his drive had triggered a spark of defiance, but Shan spent the next hour or so talking about how fucked the world was.

How corrupt the world was.

For example, two goddamn Sons on the board of where I worked ? I’d played golf with Steve Curry in Boston, for chrissakes. I received a nice bottle of scotch every Christmas from Rick Moloney.

I didn’t know how to process this.

What the fresh fucking fuck.

Whether the Sons of Munster had managed to justify their acts was irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was that they operated on a philosophy that revolved around protecting their community—all while making bank. And this evidently included having an influence over local media outlets, such as the show I produced.

“It allows us to move around more freely. Make more money, do more good.”

Do more good. Right.

When I jokingly asked if they saw themselves as some fucked-up version of Robin Hood, he said no. Not at all. They made no excuses. Shan merely explained they did what they did and why. It just happened to be easier in a society where the government was, in his words, failing the whole country.

“It doesn’t matter what issues you vote for today,” he said. “Everyone knows the money will go to the wrong places. Besides, you can’t fix a country in four years, no matter which way.”

To be frank, he wore me the fuck down.

I knew very well about our issues. I knew the system was fundamentally flawed when so many people fell through the cracks. I knew the corruption and lobbyism were nationwide, from the bottom to the very top. I knew how politicians filibustered themselves halfway into a coma to say a lot without saying anything at all. I knew promises were a dime a dozen with almost no following through.

And in that mess, the Sons of Munster had built up an empire that got rich by stealing a lot of fish—and teaching some others how to fish. While sponsoring their first fishing rod and boat.

It wasn’t a new concept. For as long as the mafia had been around, they’d been very charitable in some regards. And maybe, just maybe, the Sons did it because they genuinely cared for their community. But nobody could expect me to believe every mafia donation to a charity was for the right reasons. It was all about write-offs, tax breaks, and money laundering.

I told Shan all of this right before he sank a ball into a pond, and he clenched his jaw and took a deep breath.

“You’re lucky we’re not playing for money,” I commented.

He shot me a stubborn look. “Next time.”

I smirked.

“For the record,” he said, walking toward the edge of the pond, “no one can make me feel guilty about screwing over the government. Every presidential election is just four more years of red tape, and we’ve long since given up.” He dropped a new ball in the rough and brought out his scorecard to make a note. “Same with corporations, of course. You’ll never hear of a bailout going to regular employees. Parachutes and ridiculous severance packages are for the ones who don’t need them.”

No matter how correct he might be on the matter, I had to interject. “My, you sound like a socialist.”

He grinned. “I’m Irish, West.”

Oh, please. Like I hadn’t read up on their history over the years. I knew who they’d joined forces with during the Troubles, for instance. I’d seen the politicians Finnegan had shaken hands with on both sides, and I could make a guess about why he’d named one of his sons Reagan.

The Sons of Munster couldn’t be placed in a left or right box. They played the field depending on what suited them at the moment. But sure, particularly with Finnegan’s outspokenness about tradition and family values, he was more culturally conservative than many.

Alfie had given me a little insight too.

“When you start getting to know him, you’ll wonder if he’s a homophobe—because he’ll make a face every time Shan and Kellan’s marriage comes up. In truth, he’s just dealing with the remnants of getting over the fact that his best friend married his old man. Also, when Kellan came out—they were like thirteen or fourteen—his parents kicked him out. So Finn went to our church and legit asked Father O’Malley if it would be a sin to stab Kellan’s parents for bigotry.”

What it boiled down to for Finnegan was that he wanted everyone married and producing children. Gay or straight—though, preferably Catholic.

“You should see Emilia when he gets started on a rant,” Alfie laughed. “According to…pretty much everyone…he’s mellowed out because of her.”

Because she was his heart? Because she made him more compassionate?

“Think of it this way, West. You can’t change our syndicate’s existence from the outside. But you can most certainly remind Alfie of his morals from the inside.”

That was what Emilia had done. She’d gone on to marry Finnegan. She’d given him children. And she was supposedly softening his hard edges.

“If Kellan asks, my neck is red because you got violent on the course.” Shan rubbed his sunburned skin and winced.

I chuckled under my breath and pocketed my scorecard. This was going straight into my app when I got my phone back. Because despite the mind-numbing topics, my play had been on fire today.

“Alfie reminded me to put on sunscreen before I left,” I admitted.

He’d always been caring that way.

“In other words, I’ll blame my boy for this,” Shan muttered. “Can I buy you a beer? You look like you need it.”

More than that, I needed to sort out my thoughts.

I nodded once, and we headed up the path toward the clubhouse.

Then again…what thoughts? My head was chock-full, but I couldn’t identify a single thing. I just had this overwhelming feeling of being done denying myself the future I so desperately wanted, morals and principles be damned.

Every time I considered Alfie’s offer of leaving the Sons behind—the mafia aspects of it all, anyway—a proverbial noose tightened around my neck. I couldn’t go there. He’d found his home with these people; they were family. He’d always been close with his parents, but this was a whole other realm of a family feel . I’d seen it at the pub. I’d seen it when he’d taken the stage with Liam and the others.

Was it wrong? Of-fucking-course it was. But it wasn’t a black-and-white issue.

I was struggling cutting ties with my own family, and they were fucking assholes. They were very much part of what was wrong with society.

I did have one thing I needed to bring up with Shan, though. Something I struggled with even more than with Alfie handling…fuck if I knew, cocaine? Stolen merchandise? I could only assume it was something like that. Which was insane; it was so beyond fucking bizarre to even think about. My kind, wild, untamed sweetheart, contributing to the drug trade in our country. Just not…heroin and other opiates.

Jesus Christ.

Shan and I made our way inside the restaurant after leaving our carts outside, and he got us a table in the far corner by the windows. The restaurant was divided into clear sections, with low walls providing seclusion and a bit of noise cancelation.

We ordered beers, and Shan added something called the Hunter’s Treat from the menu too.

“It’s three kinds of jerky from Alaska with some other snacks,” Shan said. “You’ll beg me to make you a member after you’ve tried it.”

I smiled faintly and removed my cap, placing it next to me on the table.

Make that two things I wanted to bring up with Shan. His behavior today. I’d noticed it mostly in the last half hour, how some of his arguments had felt…not forced but not natural either. Something in his posture had made me wonder if there was a part of him that was uncomfortable acting like a recruiter.

What I knew about Shannon O’Shea was primarily limited to what was public, but this was a supposedly respectable man. He’d been a combat medic in the Army, and then he’d studied to become a children’s psychiatrist or psychologist—I didn’t quite remember. He dressed very well. He had a bit more silver in his hair than I did. Beard neatly trimmed.

“You don’t strike me as someone who’s eager for people to join your syndicate, whether they’re future members or ex-spouses.”

He exhaled a chuckle and peered out over the putting range. “I’m truly not.”

“Yet, you’ve been pretty damn persistent today,” I said.

He inclined his head and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open and set it in front of me, and I saw the picture. Several, actually. He had a small stack of pictures, some edges poking out, but the top one was unmistakable—and it kind of smacked me in the face too, because it was that very thing I needed to talk to him about.

Loss. When shit went wrong. If someone got hurt. Death.

“Your eldest son.” I studied the photo of a young boy, Patrick O’Shea. He’d been murdered a few years ago when the syndicate had been at war with a mafia organization in Italy.

Shan nodded and grabbed his wallet again, to look at the picture. “He was just eight when this was taken. Long before my life choices sent him down a path he wouldn’t survive.”

I hummed, thinking back on all the research my reporters had presented to me. “You were born into the syndicate too. Your father was a boss.”

Not to defend him or anything, but it was difficult to call them Shan’s life choices. Well, I supposed he could’ve walked away, and as I’d already established, that wasn’t easy.

“True on both accounts,” he confirmed. “Not that it matters. It goes without saying that I will live with that guilt for the rest of my life. Any parent would. Finnegan finally understands it—he has children of his own now. But Kellan… When I have one of my depressive periods, he’ll try to remind me that Patrick was a grown man who made his own choices and he wouldn’t have left the Sons for anything.”

I understood what he meant. It didn’t matter whatsoever how true that might be. Not to a parent who’d lost their child.

“But this is why I care, West.” He pocketed his wallet again. “I don’t want to lose anyone else, and I can do more good from within the syndicate than if I walked away.” He cleared his throat. “I can’t stop anyone from joining, but I can make damn sure they’re operating under the best conditions.”

I let out a breath as everything suddenly became clear.

“It’s why I actually like that Finn is so adamant about members going to church regularly.” He chuckled a little to himself. “And I’m an atheist. So is my daughter-in-law. Kellan has issues with organized religion too.”

“But it unites the syndicate,” I murmured.

He nodded again. “More than that, it offers a port in the storm. Something that humbles a man, reminds him that there’s more to life. Family, loyalty, love, music…”

He really was two sides of a coin. I guessed they all were, to a degree, including Alfie.

I sat forward and rested my forearms on the table. “So, on the one hand, you’re a family man. You’re married, you have grandchildren, you don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

He smirked a little, probably knowing what was next.

“And on the other, you’re the adviser to your son, the boss of a mafia organization,” I went on. “Allegedly, of course.”

That made him laugh. “Right. Yes.” He threw a cursory glance around us, always careful. “That’s where we run out of explanations. At the end of the day, we can only reconcile our split personalities because we’re sufficiently fucked in the head, mate.”

Fuck, that was blunt.

I sat back again and had absolutely nothing to say. Good timing for the server to stop by, though. I watched, in a daze, as she set our beers and the wooden snack platter on the table.

…we’re sufficiently fucked in the head, mate.

And so was Alfie. I knew that deep down. The edge to him wasn’t for show. The edge I’d found captivating from the day I’d laid eyes on him.

Clearly, I had to be sufficiently fucked in the head too, considering I still found that edge utterly addictive. Always had.

His crudeness, his lack of finesse, and how he fumbled like a bull in a china shop were all things I’d fallen so hard for. Hell, when Ellie was a baby, Alfie never let go of his phone. There was always something he wanted to Google for the future. Such as the time he’d literally looked up when babies became “housebroken.”

Not an age appropriate for potty training. No, no. Housebroken.

In retrospect, perhaps I should’ve considered Alfie’s gray areas where morals were concerned too. Back in the day, I’d found his behavior equal parts shocking and amusing at times—not to mention exhilarating and refreshing. The instant justice he sought when someone was a douchebag was just so…satisfying. He and another bartender had thrown out a drunk who’d been too rough with his girlfriend. Alfie hadn’t stopped at throwing the guy out, however. He’d scratched up the dude’s car.

I supposed the most damning evidence was his love for self-checkout grocery stores. When he bought organic fruit and vegetables but paid for the cheapest version available.

Definitely mobster material.