Alfie was astounded. Astounded and livid. That fucking old bastard. How fucking dare he threaten his wife and how dare he think he could turn up after God only knew many fucking years and think they could play happy families again. Only Alfie wasn't stupid; he knew that once his father had gotten what he wanted in destroying the Shelbys that he would have no qualms in destroying his son, just as Janowicz had all but admitted. But Alfie also knew that now he needed to do something he hadn't wanted to; he needed to inform Tommy. Which was why he and Niamh, along with a handful of men that he knew he could trust irrevocably, were pulling up to Arrow House after having set off almost as soon as Niamh had been released from jail.
Now that Tommy was engaged and expecting a child, he had finally decided to put all of that extra money he was making to good use and had purchased what could only be described as a great big fucking mansion. Alfie had been surprised that the vast land it was set upon didn't come with a lordship or some other toff nonsense.
Turning his head to glance at his wife, Alfie's heart clenched painfully. Aside from relaying his father's message, she had refused to utter another word to him and when he had reached out multiple times during the journey to take her hand, she had clenched her jaw and turned her back to him in lieu of staring out of the window. She was still upset with him; he knew that and he also knew he had to respect that, but he so desperately wished she could change her mind or that she could at least acknowledge an understanding of the situation he had been forced into.
As well as dealing with the inner turmoil he felt regarding Niamh, the unexpected arrival of the man he called father but who he regarded as little more than a sperm donor, had forced Alfie to confront demons that he thought had been exorcised a long time ago. He was forced to acknowledge that the little boy he had once been, who had been forced to grow up too quickly, was still bitter and still hurt. It was fucking fanciful really to be in his mid-thirties and somehow feeling like he was that eight year old child again who had been left with nothing more than a hat and his mother's tears as a reminder of the man who should have provided for him, raised him and moulded him. But the man's absence had moulded Alfie; it had helped him to become the ruthless businessman he was today and the king of an empire he had built from the bottom up. And as much as little Alfie wanted nothing more than to believe that his father finally wanted him, that his father might be proud of him, the Alfie grown didn't give a flying fuck. Which was where the difficulties inside of Alfie's mind lay; the twisted trap of emotions that he had no desire to feel. One thing Alfie knew for certain though was that no matter how much it would hurt the little lad inside of him, he would be damned if his old man would waltz into his life and get what he wanted. Not now.
No fucking chance.
The car came to a halt as the reached the front of the magnificent home that Tommy Shelby and his soon to be wife called home, and Niamh was out of it, tearing up the steps to the front door before Alfie could even stop her. A maid answered the door and Niamh was quickly ushered inside as Alfie climbed out of the car himself, giving instructions for the men he had brought with him to scatter around the perimeter of the mansion.
"Why the fuck is my sister crying her eyes out in her fucking night dress?" Tommy appeared in the doorway as Alfie approached.
"Lovely house you've got Thomas," Alfie murmured. "Only expecting one baby aren't you, not a whole tribe of 'em? Then again you gypsies breed like fuckin' vermin, don't you?"
"I'm not in the mood for your little comments today, Alfie," Tommy spat, his eyes the same colour as his sister's glowering. "If you want to step foot inside my house then you'll start talking."
Closing his eyes briefly, Alfie sighed. His perky facade was nothing more than a way to try and keep the upper hand when it came to what was going to happen next. Just because he loved Niamh and he had married into this family of fucking gypsy degenerates didn't mean he was going to let them walk all over him now that he needed their help. But then Niamh's face as she had told him she didn't think she could ever trust him again flashed through his mind and Alfie Solomons, the gangster, dissipated into Alfie Solomons, the husband.
"Well, it's quite simple, Tommy," he muttered. "Fucked up mate, aint I?"
…. …. …. …..
Niamh was tired. So tired that she wanted to enjoy the decadently soft mattress she lay upon and the warm duvet with its peach silk covering and do nothing more than sleep until this nightmare was over. She wanted to sleep until her heart didn't hurt anymore. But it was because she hurt so much that sleep refused to come.
As she had soaked in the bathtub belonging to one of Tommy's numerous guests suites, she had washed away the grime of the jail from her body, but had been unable to wash away the feeling of uncleanliness that had come from the look in Alfie's father's eyes nor the wandering hands of his slimy associate. Tears had dribbled down her cheeks as she wondered how life had gone from being so perfect to suddenly nothing short of an unfathomable nightmare. More tears had poured down her face when the image of the hurt on Alfie's face when she had told him she didn't think she could ever trust him again popped into her mind. She hadn't wanted to hurt him with her words, just as she knew he hadn't intended to hurt her with his actions, but sometimes the line between loving and loathing was as thin as the fragile silk of a spider's web and Alfie had entangled them both in that web.
Now as she lay in bed, Niamh wondered if things could ever go back to the way they were before.
There was a firm knock on the door and as much as she detested Alfie in that moment, the temptation to open the door and beg for his arms around her was so overwhelming that she almost gave in to it. Almost.
"Go away, Alfie," she muttered finally, raising her croaky voice loud enough to be heard.
"It's me," came another voice and Niamh sat up as Polly pushed open the door and eyed her with a look that said she knew everything.
Bursting into tears, Polly's embrace wasn't the same as Alfie's but it was comforting nonetheless. It was the feeling of home.
"Did they hurt you?" Polly took Niamh's face in her hands, shrewd eyes searching for something only another woman would see.
"No," Niamh murmured. "They just… I was so scared, Pol."
"He'll get what's coming to him," Polly spat vehemently. "Tommy and Alfie have a plan."
"Of course they do," Niamh huffed out a dry laugh. "Well, I want no part of it. I want no part of any of this. I'm done with men; brothers and husbands and fucking insane fathers in law."
"You can't bury your head in the sand, love," Polly sighed.
"I can and I will."
"You can't," Polly was firm. "And you won't because you're not just because you're a Shelby but because you're the wife of Alfie Solomons too."
"For now," Niamh gritted her teeth.
"Oh give it a fucking rest," Polly shook her head. "Look, he hurt you, I know that. He told me himself what he did and why he did it, and while you might not want to hear it I think he did the right thing."
"You think he-"
"Shut up, I'm talking," Polly growled. "He's a man, and when it comes to the women they love, men are foolish. They lose all normal function of their brains and act like fucking idiots; like cavemen. It pains me to say this but that man down there is utterly besotted with you and the fact that he sided with our family when he could have easily taken us down proves that. The fact that he lied to you in order to protect you proves that, and as much as I can't stand the mad bastard, I will not allow you to throw away the happiness that you've been granted just because your pride is wounded."
"My pride?" Niamh scoffed. "It's not about my pride, Pol, it's about the fact he lied to me."
"So what he fucking lied!" Polly shouted exasperatedly. "If you dig deep into your fucking soul you know that the only reason you feel betrayed is because you think he should have trusted that you were mature enough and brave enough to take it, but you're not! You're fucking not because you are not like the rest of us! You're not like us and we're fucking glad of it! But right now, you are more like Tommy than I had ever realised. Closing yourself off just to save face!"
Niamh wanted to scream; she wanted to shout and tell Polly that she was wrong. But she couldn't. And with that realisation dawning upon her, she threw herself back onto the bed with a strangled sound.
"I'm sorry for being harsh on you, love," Polly murmured softly, running her hand down Niamh's long mane of hair, just as she had when she was a little girl.
"It's alright," Niamh replied quietly. "You were right, Pol. Infuriatingly right as always."
"Not always. I thought that you marrying Solomons was going to ruin your life and I was definitely wrong about that."
"Maybe," Niamh shrugged. "I suppose that depends on whether or not we all make it out of this unscathed."
"Oh, we will," Polly smirked knowingly. "Like I say, they have a plan."
