Page 33 of Alfie: Part Two

Never again did I want to hear Alfie complain about the finer things in life. He made good money. He wore watches most couldn’t afford on a year’s salary, his car was worth two hundred grand, and Villanova was his new hangout for barbecues and birthday parties.

The day we found a new house we both loved, it was undoubtedly going to cost a fortune. A backyard with a pool was bad enough, but to add a Center City location? Or close by?

I wasn’t sure backyards actually existed downtown unless we wanted a rowhome with an inflatable kiddie pool.

“Kellan and Shan are here,” Alfie mentioned. He nodded at an Audi R8. You didn’t see those every day. “You can park in front of it.”

“Got it.” I made sure not to knock down the potted magnolia next to the hedge. “And Liam wasn’t going to be here today?”

Alfie shook his head. “No, he couldn’t make it. He’s at some car show. But Luna and the boys are here.”

Uh-huh. A car show. Right.

The golf round with Shan had helped a lot. I wasn’t as nervous as I thought I would be. After killing the engine, we made our way toward the entrance, and I kept thinkingI was going to a social function with a bunch of mobsters, and…I wasn’t as bothered by that as I should be. Shan’s straightforwardness and honesty—at least I assumed so—had desensitized me enough. As had getting back together with Alfie after he’d already joined this criminal empire.

My eyes were open, and I was still going in.

“Yay, there’s music!” Ellie cheered. “Do you hear it, Alfredo?”

“What the fuck!” Alfie threw his arms out. “Do I have a target on my back today or what?”

I exhaled a laugh and caught Trip snickering behind his hand.

Ellie beamed proudly, holding the bouquet of flowers I’d bought for the hostess. Emilia O’Shea, mobster wife. Or, as Ellie called her, Auntie Emilia.

Alfie huffed and rang the doorbell, and I folded up the sleeves of my button-down. Despite his reassuring me it was casual, I felt like I’d just rolled out of bed. He’d picked out the khaki shorts for me, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn them. I’d been taught a grown man was only allowed to wear shorts on a beach—or at a water park. In public, that was. I wore swim trunks around the pool all the time.

Okay, perhaps I was nervous after all.

I took a deep breath as someone turned the lock inside the house, and then the big door opened.

I’d expected Emilia, but it was Finn. With a screaming toddler in his arms. Would that be one of the birthday boys?

“Oi! Come on in. I just gotta run upstairs and change this one’s diaper,” Finn said. “Kian decided to kick off the party with a wicked shit.”

Yes, we could smell it.

“Hi, Uncle Finn!” Ellie ran in like she owned the place. “I have flowers for Auntie Emilia!”

“Hey, sweetheart,” Finn chuckled. “Everyone’s out back.”

“Okay!” She was already gone.

“Oi, mate.” Alfie walked in next and slapped his hand to Finn’s, before he ducked in to give Kian’s cheek a quick smooch. “What’chu cryin’ about, trooper? Huh? It’s your party!”

Kian sobbed and babbled something incoherently, and Alfie played along, saying he agreed with the boy 100%.

I couldn’t help but smile. What he lacked in finesse, he made up for with his energy.

Finn shifted his attention to me and extended a hand. “Good to see you again, West. Especially now when youse’re back together. Bonus points for kicking my old man’s ass in golf.”

I mustered a smirk and shook his hand firmly. “Given what he set in motion, I won’t gloat.”

He chuckled and stepped aside so we could enter. “Don’t give him too much credit. From what I hear, you didn’t need that much of a nudge.”

Oh, I didn’t know about that. I may have been on a path where I would’ve surrendered eventually regardless, but Shan had spared Alfie and me plenty of heartache. We could be stubborn as hell.

Kian demanded his daddy’s attention again, and Finn excused himself to head upstairs. In the meantime, Alfie and Trip led the way through a nice foyer and past the staircase. Emilia and Finn had family photos everywhere, and I liked that. I also liked how they’d decorated their home. These grand estates were usually so devoid of comfort that I could never relax. I’d grown up in a house much like this one, but without warm colors and trinket dishes. Or what Alfie called crap bowls.

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