Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
I had no idea what that meant. “I’m not going to pretend I understand.”
“In short, I stayed outta sight,” he replied with a shrug. “I carried around his work phone all day and scheduled sit-downs and deciphered code. I knew countless names but not the faces they belonged to. I responded to messages from members without ever meeting with them.”
Oh.
All right.
I…
Fuck. I didn’t know how to process any of this. My knowledge of the mafia came from documentaries and Wikipedia. I’d had four investigative reporters put together specials for the show, specifically about the Sons of Munster, and they’d had high ratings. People always wanted to see behind the curtains of organizations that ran parallel infrastructure with normal society.
It disgusted me to know Alfie’s affiliation. Sickened me. Made me feel like the man next to me was a complete stranger. But what sickened me more was this natural curiosity and intrigue to know more, to pull me back in.
“But things have changed now…?” I half asked. “You’re suddenly showing up at O’Shea’s for a barbecue. Our son and daughter call the head of the Sons uncle.”
He offered another shrug. “Family is everything to him.”
“And it isn’t to me?”
“I didn’t say that.” He scowled. “I don’t gotta hide shit no more, though. You don’t know how fucking liberating that is.”
Was he kidding me?
“If you’re implying I pushed you toward them—”
“No! Jesus Christ.” He upgraded his scowl to a swift glare. “I made some dumb moves all on my own, and then there they were.” He lost some of the heat, and he eyed our kids briefly. Trip was making friends with the two baby goats. “But I’m not sorry,” Alfie went on quietly. “I’m gonna find the balls to be upfront with Mom too. Not about…whatever. Not about what I do, but—family. I’m not gonna hide anymore. I don’t have the energy for it.”
I unclenched my jaw, and his evident exhaustion rubbed off on me.
No matter the actions that’d led him to knock on Finnegan O’Shea’s door and ask to be part of their family, this was his reality now, and it created a distance between us that had never seemed so vast.
Fuck moving on with a new partner. He’d joined a whole new family that survived on secrecy and crimes.
One of the last sentences in his texts came back to haunt me.
Consider me cut out of your life.
Had he not already been cut out the past two years?
“Were you just bullshitting me when you said you were never gonna hurt anyone?” I asked. “Or do you honestly believe the O’Sheas will let you keep your hands clean?”
He cocked a brow and had the nerve to chuckle. “Funny you should use those words. It shows how little you know about this, West. The management does keep their hands clean—and yeah, I trust them.” He took a breath, and I did my best to keep calm. If I wanted more information, I couldn’t yell at him. “Don’t believe everything you see on TV. This ain’t New York in the ’50s. Hell, half the wiseguys today run a podcast or a YouTube series. There’s no juice left.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re using lines from my own fucking show—and don’t come here and tell me they don’t commit heinous crimes like murder anymore.”
“I’m not sayin’ that,” he defended. “I’m just sayin’ it’s not an everyday thing for a mobster to go up and shoot someone. Mob-related killings make headlines today because they’re so rare. I’m not gonna hurt anyone, West.”
I shook my head and had to look away from him. I couldn’t make eye contact with a glittery butterfly who spoke of organized crime in such a casual manner. I knew very well that the mafia today was very different from the glory days before RICO—and the couple of decades that followed. But there was more to go to prison for than murder.
Alfie had been on the phone earlier, something about someone compromising a location. What the hell had that been about? Even if he spoke the truth and he ended up never hurting anyone physically, what would he be doing? And what had he meant by the management keeping their hands clean? Was Alfie management? Just like that, because he happened to be related to an old boss he’d never met?
My God. My head was swimming.
“Lemme ask you this,” he said. “Why do you still own a gun? You stopped competing in your twenties.”
I frowned at him. Where the fuck was he going with this?
“Do you own a gun?” I countered.
“Yeah, and that’s neither here nor there,” he replied flippantly. “I’m asking why you do. Don’t tell me it’s only sentimental value.”
“It absolutely is,” I insisted. “It was the one sport I shared with my father.”
“I don’t believe you. I think it makes you feel safer. I think it brings you some comfort to know it’s there in case you’d need it.” He jutted his chin. “The Sons are my gun. I’ve never felt safer. Ellie and Trip…? Yeah, they were probably as safe as they’ll ever be when we were at their pool party. My house is now rigged tighter than a bank. The windows in my car are bullet-resistant, and if I ever need help with something, I have people I can call.”