Page 20 of Alfie: Part Two

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 afamily 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 thattwothings I wanted to bring up with Shan. His behavior today. I’d noticed it mostly in the last half hour, howsome 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.”

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