Page 79 of Alfie: Part Two

I let out a long breath and unballed my fists.

Tomorrow.

“I’m not gonna kill them, West. I promise.”

I nodded again. Another deep breath. “Good.”

Silence followed, and I got lost in my mind. We sped up, and we slowed down. I went to war with all the different perspectives in my head. The one that called me a hypocrite for wanting them dead but needing someone other than Alfie and me to do the job. The one who wanted to take part in the torture. The one who wanted to kill them. The one who worried Alfie might need me there to hold him back.

We crossed the Schuylkill again, and we got stuck in a traffic jam.

On autopilot, I opened the glove compartment and found a pack of smokes, and I lit one up and rolled down the window a bit.

“Can you tell me what you’re thinking, papi?”

“Swear on our lives that you won’t kill them,” I said.

“I swear on our lives.” He reached out and gave my knee a squeeze. “I’ve asked Kellan and Colm to make sure I don’t cross that line. Okay?”

Okay. Okay, yes, that did feel good to hear. I just didn’t believe he could cope with the aftermath if he murdered someone, no matter how much they deserved it. This was me being selfish. I didn’t want him to suffer from trauma and nightmares following such an event. I wanted him happy and free from doubt. He struggled with that enough, to be honest.

“In that case, please sever a limb or two from me,” I stated.

He choked on a chuckle. “I fucking love you. I can do that.” He paused for a beat before he spoke again. “Does that mean you don’t wanna get in on the action? It’s okay if you do, you know. Finn will allow it.”

I shook my head. “Tempting, but it’s best I never see their faces.”

“Gotcha. No face, no case.”

That was one way of spinning it.

I took another swallow of whiskey and checked the time.

Shan was due any moment.

I hadn’t showered. I hadn’t unpacked. I hadn’t moved any of the moving boxes in the hallway that’d sat there since we’d emptied the last of Alfie’s house. I couldn’t get up from the damn couch.

I’d fed Shorty and made sure he had water. That felt like all the accomplishment I could muster today.

It was a little past noon on a random Thursday, and I was going through the most sluggish identity crisis in my life. I just sat there and stared into space, while my brain did a slow relapse of what I’d sworn off on Thanksgiving. As in, no more wondering what made a good man. No more worrying about consequences. The only thing that mattered was that Alfie and I were happy and together.

Oh, and the small detail of me wanting to torture two no-good fuckheads for what they’d done to my mother-in-law and several other women.

Who had I become?

I’d never even been in a fight!

I contemplated texting Phil to ask if he and Giulia would mind watching the children tonight. Giulia wouldn’t be returning to work until after the holidays, so she’d called more frequently lately, wanting to have them over.

Oh, fuck it. I wouldn’t be a good dad today. I was too busy wondering how I went from boring TV producer to partner of a mobster who hid cash all over the house, handled deliveries for a criminal organization, was off to torture two men tomorrow, and, somehow, made me the happiest son of a bitch in the world.

After throwing back my whiskey, I pulled out my phone and messaged Phil. I knew he wouldn’t say no, but I still wanted to make it up to him. And the best way to do that was to offer up my access to the company club suite for the next Flyers game. One ticket was always reserved in my name, though I tended to give it away. Parking pass and food included. I bet I could arrange so that he could bring his brother.

Just as I sent the text, someone rang the doorbell, so I dragged myself up and headed to the hallway.

Shan was right on time.

I opened the door—ah, fuck me.

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