Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

West Scott

I swallowed dryly and moved on to the next photo on Emilia O’Shea’s account.

Emilia and Alfie grinning in a selfie, with a young child squished between them. Another picture, where I saw Ellie and Trip in the pool with a bunch of other kids. The caption for the ten photos jumped off the screen. Pool day and barbecue fun with the family . The man himself, Finnegan O’Shea, was in some of the photos too. One in particular where he was squeezing his wife to him, kissing her cheek, while Alfie and another man walked by in the background, their half-blurry expressions frozen in laughter.

More photos of children—in the pool, out of the pool, eating hot dogs, ketchup smeared all over, then eating ice cream just as messily. Ellie was laughing her butt off with another boy, and both had ice cream all over their faces.

My ears started ringing.

I went back to Alfie’s account and looked at the counter again.

Four new followers. Emilia O’Shea, Nessa Murray, Autumn O’Shea, and one “Colm Noneya.”

Alfie had posted a single photo, revealing only our kids in the water, and it was impossible to identify the location. It could’ve been any pool.

The caption, though.

A good day to spend with new family.

I swallowed hard and set down my phone on the kitchen island, and then I closed my eyes and scrubbed my hands over my face.

Part of me wanted to text Trip and ask if he was okay.

Another part of me said it was time to give Ellie a phone too.

He would never put the children in harm’s way.

Then there was that part.

It was a blessing and a curse, truth be told. Wanting to rescue the kids didn’t mean I believed they needed to be saved. I’d regretted my words the moment I’d asked Alfie if they were safe with him. But my fucking God, was I furious. I just wasn’t sure why—or rather, for how many reasons.

I let my hands fall, and I stood there in my kitchen. Empty, silent, zero life around.

I clenched my jaw.

His novel of a text series went on a loop in my brain today too.

I tightened my hands into fists and relaxed them again, and they tingled and prickled uncomfortably. This entire weekend had been a quick drop into madness, and I felt myself spinning out of control. I’d lost my footing in some way. I didn’t know what was happening. I’d thought I didn’t know Alfie either anymore, but now it was… Fuck, I really didn’t know him, and it pained me. It hurt more than I could describe, because I was literally raising my children with a stranger.

A stranger and a mobster?

He’d lied to me so much.

The bizarre part was his focus on not revealing who his biological father was. Honestly, I couldn’t care less.

No, that wasn’t true. Rather, I could understand his reasoning—if it were true. If things had occurred the way he’d described them in the messages, there was nothing to forgive. I knew how close he was with his old man. They didn’t talk very often, but they saw each other every week and had a special bond.

The rest, however…

I didn’t know where to begin. Surely my father hadn’t told Alfie anything.

I couldn’t believe that. Every time I tried to think back on those days, on our beginning, when we’d flown out to introduce each other to our parents, I only recalled happiness. I’d been so goddamn happy. Granted, my mother had been on the fence initially, and she’d never warmed up to Alfie as much as she had to my brothers-in-law, but I would know if she or my dad had said anything untoward to Alfie.

Right?

Tension wrapped its tendons around my head, and I blew out a breath and rubbed at my forehead.

I’m fucking lost.

It would’ve made more sense if he’d said my mother had said anything inappropriate. I’d spent years keeping an eye on her uppity ways around my family.

Christ, I needed something. Something. Something to ground me, something that assured me half my life hadn’t been an illusion.

I cleared my throat and picked up my phone again, and I scrolled down to Trip’s number. Perhaps talking to him for a few minutes would help. If they had anything planned today, they shouldn’t have left yet. It was still quite early.

To my relief, he answered on the fourth ring.

“Hello, Dad?”

I exhaled. “Hello, buddy. How are you?”

“I’m good…? I’m great!” He sounded confused as to why I was calling, and no wonder. This wasn’t a habit. We’d given him a phone for emergencies. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “I suppose I just wanted to hear your voice and ask how your weekend is going.”

“Oh! Um, we’re going to church without Nonna. She’s not there yet. Dad is taking us.”

I furrowed my brow. What the fuck was happening? Since when did Alfie care about church? Particularly if Giulia wasn’t guilting him into it. That was the only occasion we’d all attended Mass from time to time.

“It’s just you three?” I questioned.

“No, it’s, uh… I think Uncle Finn and Uncle Liam and all those people,” he replied hesitantly. “Um, I’ll ask.” By the sound of things, he was running down the stairs. “Dad? Is Kellan also my uncle? And Finn? He said I could call him that.”

For fuck’s sake.

I heard Alfie chuckle in the background. “It’s totally up to you. But you know how Nonna and Grandpa have cousins I call aunt and uncle? It’s kinda like that. When Finn said you could call him Uncle Finn, he’s just saying we’re all family.”

I stared unseeingly at the countertop, hearing what he was saying but not understanding a fucking word.

The boss of a crime organization had told my son he could call him uncle?

“Are you on the phone?” Alfie asked.

“Yeah, Dad called,” Trip said frankly. “I’ll be ready soon! I just gotta run up and grab my book.” The stomping on the stairs soon followed, and I missed Alfie’s response. Whatever it was, Trip replied, “Okay, I will.” He huffed and puffed, and then he was knocking on a door, presumably Ellie’s. “Ellie! We’re leaving in two minutes!”

“I’ll let you go, son,” I said. “You’re busy.”

“Okay! Can we talk later? I was wondering if we can buy an ice cream machine, or if I can save up for one. Uncle Finn and Auntie Emilia have one, and it was so cool! I had two cones with lots of toppings, and Auntie Emilia even said I could have a third, but I was full. I asked Dad, but he said there’s plenty of ice cream places in the city, and it’s not the same thing.”

I didn’t know what got into me, but I straightened automatically and made up my mind right then and there. “Absolutely. We’ll go out and buy an ice cream machine next weekend.”

Fucking mobsters and ice cream machines. What universe had I fallen into?

“Oh, awesome !”

Trip’s excitement was so loud that I had to hold the phone away for a second.

It did the job, though. He drew a genuine smile from me, and I made a mental note to research ice cream machines.

At this rate, I’d pick up a donut maker for Ellie too.

“Well…have a good time at church,” I chuckled. “Do you have anything fun planned for later?”

“I don’t know about fun, but hopefully tasty,” he said. “We’re getting burgers with CJ and Eddie and Uncle Liam. CJ is very fun because he wants me to teach him stuff. He can almost float now!”

I didn’t know who the fuck CJ was.

Alfie hollered in the background, saying it was time to go.

“We’ll talk another time,” I told Trip. “I love you, son. Tell your sister I love her too, please.”

“Okay, I will. Love you, bye!”

The line went dead, and I sighed heavily.

This couldn’t go on. Fuck Alfie and all his lies; I was by no means ready to deal with that mess, but I needed to get some control back. I deserved to know who my own children called family.

At noon, I walked over to my parents’ house three blocks away.

If I wanted answers, I had to at least confront my old man.

That part of Alfie’s texts bothered me greatly.

You know deep down that I never fit in, and your family didn’t want me to. So yeah, I changed.

What could I say to that? I…

I released a breath and checked my phone for no reason at all.

I wanted to ask, define fitting in? But was that a cop-out? If I needed to ask, didn’t that mean Alfie had a point? Because of course I’d always known he wasn’t like anyone else in my family. I’d fallen for him for those differences. He’d been so real, so vivid, so unforgettable.

Not unlike how he’d carried himself the last couple of times I’d seen him.

“Excuse me, sir!”

I walked closer to the hedge as a young boy on his bike drove past me.

On multiple occasions, I’d told Alfie how much I loved that he wasn’t like the people I’d grown up with. And when we’d decided to move back here and I’d started showing him listings of houses, he’d wondered how far my love extended. I’d wanted his differences but not the neighborhood that’d made him who he was. I’d wanted his crude sense of humor, his unpolished self…in a nice suburb where the opposite thrived.

To this day, I had no good response to that.

My priority had been Trip and Ellie. Wanting them to have a safe upbringing, in a good school district, and while that wasn’t wrong, I felt like a hypocrite. It was one of those things I’d brought up with Evan and Malina, whose marriage shared some similarities to mine and Alfie’s. Evan had been born into wealth, while Malina was from South Philly, not too far from where Alfie had grown up.

Unlike me, Evan had wanted to get a house closer to Malina’s family. She, however, had wanted to get out of the city. But, either way, she’d understood my worries about the hypocrisy as well as my well-founded concerns about safety. She’d joked and called me a slum tourist.

“You want a piece of the ghetto in the safety of your own backyard with the pool and everything.”

Then she’d added, “But you know what, West? I don’t want my daughters near where I grew up. I get it.”

I was still conflicted about it all, and despite my anger toward Alfie, it would kill me if I’d subjected him to judgment and alienation because I’d convinced him to go with a house in my world.

Frankly, it also killed me that we’d ever left LA. We hadn’t had many problems out there. The life we’d created for ourselves had fit us, both of us, and we’d hardly ever fought. Not until we’d eventually decided to move back east.

I strode up the driveway to my parents’ house, idly wondering if they were going to move at some point—though, probably not. My mother was already struggling to walk up and down the stairs, but they’d undoubtedly install a lift. I couldn’t image her leaving.

This was, ironically, my mother’s version of slumming it. A three-story New England dream in Ardmore.

I walked up the steps to the front door and rang the doorbell.

Right then and there, I didn’t know what outcome I wanted. I was angry enough to wanna be able to tell Alfie to fuck off and go choke on his bullshit, at the same time as I loved him too much. I was fucking broken. Why else was I unable to move on?

Fuck, I needed to move on.

Perhaps I should give Lance another chance.

To my surprise, it was my youngest sister who opened the door.

“Oh—hey, you!” She smiled.

“Hey. What’re you doing here?” I walked in and welcomed the onslaught of the AC.

“Just drove Mom home after our water aerobics,” Linda replied. “My baby pooch is almost gone, and Mom’s feeling more flexible. You should try it!”

Thanks, but I made do with golf and lifting weights. I loathed cardio.

“I should not,” I said. “Where are they?”

She gestured toward the living room. “Out on the terrace having lunch. I’m having lunch with Sabrina.”

Perfect. Dad was in a better mood once he’d eaten.

“By the way,” Linda said. “Say I have a friend whose daughter is looking for an internship?—”

“Tell her to submit an application like all the others,” I replied, cocking a brow. We weren’t having this discussion again.

She gave me a look . “What’s the point of having a TV producer for a big brother if he can’t help out family members trying to get a job in media?”

Where did I begin…

I dipped down as if I were going to whisper something in her ear. “He can . He just won’t.” Then I straightened and left the foyer for the living room.

“That’s all you have to say?” she whined.

“Give my nephews my love,” I added over my shoulder.

I smirked to myself and kept on walking.

I’d be more lenient if they ever returned any favors. Instead, my parents had raised three daughters who were all equally greedy and selfish.

I loved them. I just didn’t like them very much.

They’re greedy, selfish, stuck-up, and act superior—but you think they treated Alfie without judgment?

My steps faltered.

When you and Alfie went over to his folks’ for dinner, you were greeted with hugs, music, and genuine interest. You weren’t allowed to leave until you’d eaten so much that you could barely walk and Giulia knew everything that’d happened that week.

I glanced around me, seeing all the books in Dad’s library section, the paintings on the walls, the expensive art and rugs, the TV area, the fireplace… The mantel was the only place they had photos. My sisters and me—and all the grandchildren. One picture each, all professionally taken.

I hadn’t seen monetary value in objects until I’d moved out to LA after college. Once there, I was exposed to so many young people trying to make it in the business that I couldn’t have a meal without someone discussing money. It was too expensive to go back and forth between auditions, being forced to have three roommates, pay for acting classes or pay for food? The list went on for days.

I’d come to realize how blind I’d been to money. How spoiled I’d been—not because I’d demanded too much but because the cost of things had never existed on my radar. I’d never had to live on a budget. By the time I’d graduated from college, I’d received my share of my grandmother’s inheritance. I’d landed a fairly good job at a studio, not with the help of my family. However, because I hadn’t been forced to place valuable energy on public transit, scraping together money to pay the bills, being tired or stressed out, working several jobs to make ends meet…I’d had the privilege of focusing solely on scoring that position that would allow me to climb the ranks within my field.

Since then, I’d earned a promotion every other year or even annually.

Those were the advantages my parents denied we had. My mother was dismissive to such things, and my father hid behind his middle-class upbringing. That was his defense. He’d been born with a silver spoon rather than one made of gold.

I’d thought I’d worked past all this. I’d thought I had turned things around to appreciate my easy position as well as make sure others were given a fair chance. For instance, never letting my sisters’ friends’ children cut in line. I despised nepotism and cheating. I didn’t want it for my children. I’d donated most of my inheritance. But in the end, it was easy to donate money you didn’t use when your paycheck gave you a comfortable life. Additionally, I couldn’t erase everything. My upbringing had shaped the man I was today, and it was highly possible I still missed things that were obvious to Alfie.

No fucking matter. I had to speak to my father anyway—and then I could go back home and overthink at the bottom of a bottle.

I continued out to the terrace, where I found my parents under the canopy, eating whatever they’d ordered from their favorite lunch restaurant.

Dad spotted me first, and he looked surprised before he knitted his brows together. “Hello, son. Did I forget you were coming over?”

Mom turned around in her seat. “Oh hi, darling.”

“No, I just thought I’d see if you had a moment.” I dipped down and kissed Mom’s cheek. “Hey. That looks good.” They were eating some pasta dish with pesto and lemon.

“Want me to prepare a plate for you? I ordered extra.”

I shook my head. “No, I’m good, thank you.” I sat down next to her.

“At least let me get you something to drink. Water or lemonade?” She was already standing up, so there was no use in declining unless I wanted a spiel on dehydration in this heat.

“Water’s fine. Thanks.”

“I’ll get you one of each.” Why did she even ask?

I chuckled under my breath, knowing full well she was going to warm up a plate for me too.

Dad always had one glass of milk and one glass of light beer. If he could, he’d probably eat the same meal for lunch every day as well. Steak and potatoes. It was Mom who enforced the variety.

“So what’s on your mind?” he asked, forking up more pasta.

No need to beat around the bush.

“Alfie implied you told him something about his heritage the first time you met,” I said. “We’ve been arguing more lately, and?—”

“I did,” he said gruffly. And bluntly. “I didn’t want my son with a criminal, so I gave him a simple warning.”

I stiffened. “What did you tell him?”

He weighed his answer as he chewed, and he was completely unbothered by the situation.

“He told me about his biological father, for the record,” I said.

“Hm. I see.” He reached for his beer. “Then I’m sure you can guess what I told him. His father was the boss of the Sons of Munster. I know how they operate. How they recruit family members. I wanted to make sure Alfie wasn’t one of them.”

Alfie appeared to be one of them now .

“How has this become an issue two years after the divorce?” Dad questioned. “You’re not trying to work things out, I hope. You two never made sense.”

I frowned. “I’m not done with the previous topic. Why would you keep this from me?”

“That’s a stretch. I assumed Alfie would tell you. When he didn’t, he gained an ounce of respect from me.”

So he didn’t keep the secret, but he respected Alfie for doing so? What the fresh fuck.

“It was between him and me,” he added. “I was a concerned father. He swore I had nothing to worry about—that he wasn’t involved with the crime syndicate. And I advised him to keep it that way, to be the partner you deserved.”

The partner I deserved.

“And who’s that, Dad?” I pressed.

I couldn’t believe this. He was being so casual about something that had caused the first rift between Alfie and me. This was clearly the reason Alfie had felt the need to overcompensate.

He’d been much younger back then too. Not to mention already apprehensive about meeting my family.

Fuck. The thought of him hiding this… I wanted to claim I knew Alfie well enough to know this must’ve knocked him down. To come here with the hope of making a good impression, and then to have my father warn him like that? Alfie hadn’t chosen his damn parents.

Dad didn’t respond to me. Instead, his gaze caught something behind me, so I assumed it was my mother returning.

If he thought I was going to let this go just because Mom was back, he was sorely mistaken.

“Here you go, darling.” Sure enough, Mom set a tray in front of me, complete with a plate of food, one glass of ice water, and one glass of housekeeper-made lemonade.

“Thanks, Mom.” I cleared my throat and unwrapped the utensils from the napkin. “You didn’t answer me, Dad.”

“Oh, don’t overreact,” he replied. “This was years ago—and you’re divorced, for God’s sake. It’s time to move on.”

“What on earth? Are you fighting?” Mom demanded.

I kept my stare fixed on Dad as impatience and anger rose closer to the surface. Had everyone fucking lied to me? What kind of idiot was I?

Mom wouldn’t let it go without an explanation, so Dad waved me off and used as few words as possible to minimize the problem. A problem that just grew once Mom understood, because one look at her let me know she was aware of this so-called warning from back in the day.

“Oh, I don’t want you to worry about that, West,” she assured me. “Your father and I were just concerned, considering… I mean, Alfie wasn’t really…you know.”

Un-fucking-believable.

I clenched my jaw. “No, I don’t know. He was what?”

They exchanged a look, and Mom sighed and put her hand on mine.

I was quick to withdraw it, causing her to sit straighter and jut her chin a bit. Her stubbornness was making an appearance.

“You were blinded by your feelings,” she told me. “We don’t fault you for that. But we’re your parents. It’s our duty to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

“So you told my future husband at the time to be a good boy?” I asked incredulously. “He’s not a fucking dog.”

“West— language ,” Mom chastised. “You can curse at home if you insist, but not here.”

“It’s baffling how this comes as a surprise to you,” Dad stated. “Every social function he attended became awkward because he said something crass or inappropriate. It reflects poorly on us, you know. Even your sisters noticed it. How come you’re the only one who didn’t?”

“Maybe because I’m not a fucking asshole?” I snapped. I was fucking done here. I threw down my napkin and rose to my feet, and I?—

“You can’t storm off until we’ve worked this out.” Mom grabbed my hand and shot a look of warning to Dad. “Bob, don’t make this worse, please. We should have been open about this from the beginning.” She shifted her gaze up my way, and she all but pleaded with me to see her side. “I do understand why this is a shock to you, darling. Despite our thoughts about Alfie, we decided to let this run its course. He was your choice, and we respected that. I had a talk with your sisters too, after they made some comments to him. They’ve been on their best behavior since that.”

Wait, what? My sisters?

“What did they say to him?” I pulled away from her again and willed my brain to fucking think. Or process. But I couldn’t. This came out of nowhere, all the while…

Aw, fuck.

You knew the ingredients were incompatible and hoped that the final result was going to be good.

“I genuinely don’t remember,” Mom replied. “It was a long time ago—but I told them to be nice.”

Alfie’s texts came back to me. More specifically, the part where he’d pleaded with me to admit that I’d dismissed him the times he’d said he didn’t think my family liked him. It made me fucking sick. What if he was right? What if I’d ignored him? And what the hell had my sisters told him?

Actually, did I really need to know? Because when push came to shove, I knew why I didn’t particularly like them. I knew how catty they could be. I knew they’d bullied others throughout high school. I knew they talked a lot of shit.

Screw this, I was going home.

“Where are you going?” Mom asked worriedly.

“Home.” I walked back inside and ignored when she called out for me.

“I want you to meet my family…” Part of me couldn’t believe I’d said it, while the other part remained calm and certain.

He was fucking it for me. This crude young guy had trapped me completely.

He grinned crookedly and sat down on my stomach, the covers pooling around his body.

His delectable fucking body…

I couldn’t get enough of him.

“Do you hate your family, papi?” he chuckled.

I laughed quietly and watched my hands roam his thighs, up his hips and sides, and I let out a long breath.

My little hellion.

The faster we made things official for our families, the sooner I could ask him to move in with me.

Some might call it a whirlwind romance. We’d been at it almost nonstop for five months, and I hated spending a single night without him. Which would’ve bothered me more if he hadn’t felt the same way. But it looked like I’d found a guy who didn’t struggle expressing himself. He was so affectionate and sweet behind his armor of cockiness.

“There’s no rush,” I made sure to add. “I wouldn’t wanna subject you to my family during the holidays. But after…? We could fly out together for a weekend.”

He nodded slowly, tracing his fingers over my chest. “Yeah. We could do that.” He smirked a little. “I already told my ma about’chu.”

I smiled. “Oh yeah?”

He nodded again, and he dipped down and kissed me. “I said…Ma, can you fuckin’ believe it? I’m in love.” He made me shiver with that one. “I met a man from Philly in Tinseltown.”

I chuckled and deepened the kiss. “I love you an absurd amount, baby.”

I drained my whiskey and left the glass in the sink.

Maybe we’d struck gold when our plans had changed drastically—numerous times. From the moment we’d decided to meet each other’s parents, we waited two whole years for it to actually happen. Almost as if the universe was trying to tell us something—an engagement or issue always interfered. I was promoted and had to work more, Alfie landed a big modeling gig, my parents were out of the country on a long vacation, his parents came down with the flu, I had a work trip, Alfie had to cover for his boss at the bar, it just wasn’t the right time…

When we finally managed to get on a plane together, we were engaged and had already decided to look into surrogacy soon. We’d been living together. We’d had our whole lives planned out.

Was I ever going to stop mourning our shattered dreams?

When Alfie said everything in LA had been real, I was desperate to believe him. I knew what he meant; I knew the core of us had been genuine. Even when we’d moved back here. I wasn’t so jaded to think everything was a lie. Although, it felt like it sometimes.

If he hadn’t cared, he wouldn’t have sent me those messages with such urgency for me to understand that his heart had been in the right place.

I wasn’t sure it mattered.

Right now, I was too exhausted to care one way or another.

Could you hate a liar if he’d felt forced to lie?

Oh, I could. Even if I ended up owing him a dozen apologies, he’d kept too much from me.

I trudged up the stairs after shutting off the lights and activating the alarm system, and I avoided looking at our photo wall. My photo wall. Not ours. Just our kids. Some of my nieces and nephews. My side of the family. Not his.

We could put the whole family bullshit aside. I was mature enough to understand ripple effects and how circumstances could cause disasters. He wasn’t innocent, and I wasn’t either. Fine. But his job? How the hell could he move out here with me, with our family, and accept a job with a goddamn mobster?

Was it truly only about the money?

I doubted it.

I buried myself in work the next couple of days—and I studiously ignored any calls and messages from my mother and sisters. By now, I was sure my argument with them had made rounds in the family.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized I’d been an asshole to dismiss Alfie’s fears. My mother and sisters lived and breathed gossip, and they loved to judge others. Why would that magically exclude Alfie? Why would I, even for a second, assume they’d accept him wholeheartedly? Just because I had?

I got stuck in traffic on my way home on Tuesday, and it was as predictable as my work had become. I still enjoyed my position, but it’d been a long time since anything exciting had happened. The show I produced evolved at a snail’s pace, just enough to ensure decent ratings, and then we threw specials into the mix—or controversial topics—to create headlines when we needed a boost.

It was the second most popular morning show in Pennsylvania, the fourth most popular on the East Coast, and its accompanying podcast was on the rise in the ranks as well. But overall, I missed the excitement of struggling. The show was…comfortable. Fairly unthreatened. A Philadelphia staple that wasn’t going anywhere.

I hit another standstill and brought out my phone.

I’d become obsessed with checking Alfie’s Instagram.

I was pathetic.

You heartbreaking little liar.

A heartbreaking little liar who’d thankfully taken Trip for a haircut today. Trip smiled proudly in the picture and held up a sticker he’d received at the salon. Same crew cut like always, a little longer on the sides and messy up top, “Like Dad’s.” Like Alfie’s.

I hit the heart-button and made sure to leave a comment for our boy.

Very handsome. Please tell him to stop growing up so fast.

I wasn’t the only one who’d left a mark. Giulia had gushed over how cute Trip was, and so had Emilia O’Shea. And Nessa Murray…

That’s a cool little dude!

Did she view Trip as her nephew now? Did they really consider each other family?

This morning, in the middle of a meeting, I’d found myself drifting off in my mind, rationalizing and bargaining about the whole thing. Mafia had family too. Surely I didn’t have to worry about Trip and Ellie’s safety. According to Emilia’s Instagram, she and Finnegan had at least four or five children, and they hosted a lot of dinners and barbecues where children were running around. I couldn’t imagine them being unsafe in that environment. Mobsters led two separate lives—one very wholesome, one less so.

After the meeting, I’d grown sick with myself for thinking in these terms. Mafia was still mafia. They were a threat to society. They preyed on others to get rich.

That, in turn, had prompted a little voice in the back of my head.

The only difference between the mafia and a big corporation is that the corporation preys on others legally. The mafia doesn’t.

I was clearly fucked in the head. The mafia murdered too.

We’d actually dedicated a show or two to the Sons of Munster over the years. Most recently, a few years ago when the Sons had been in the middle of some kind of turf war that had taken them to Europe. Basically overnight, Philadelphia’s crime rate had gone up. They’d left a power vacuum smaller gangs had been eager to fill. And once the Sons returned, all was well again within a few weeks. They’d cleaned up the streets faster than any police force could.

We’d had a police officer and a detective on the show, comparing the situation to South American cities that were known as cartel strongholds. And the reality was that these larger organizations maintained a sense of peace that the authorities couldn’t. Because prison sentences didn’t ward off crime the way a big crime syndicate did. Their methods were harsher and didn’t offer second chances.

Finnegan O’Shea had a reputation for being equal parts ruthless and protective. Protective of the community in which he’d grown up. Ruthless to anyone who threatened it. And how he kept evading the law was a mystery to me. But I supposed the comparison to South American cartels was more than valid. After all, people still defended certain cartel leaders’ heritages. They were heroes to many in the eighties and nineties, and that reverence lived on to this day due to everything they’d done for local communities.

My phone buzzed with a message as traffic finally started moving again, and I clicked on the preview at the top of the screen to see a text from Alfie.

The children’s festival tomorrow. Ellie and Trip wanted me to ask if you’d like to go with us. I think it’d be good if they saw us spending some time together with them. Are you available for a couple hours?

Yes. Without a moment’s hesitation. I was supposed to attend a cocktail party at seven, but I could definitely skip that. It wasn’t work-related anyway, and I’d lost all my interest in family functions.