Part 1 of 2 • Second Chances • Irish Mafia • Family • Hurt/Comfort • Age Gap
Two broken hearts, pent-up anger, the right amount of Philly grit, painful yearning, and the complete inability to move on… This is Alfie and West’s love story. It begins in the wreckage they created.
Mom always warned me when I was a kid. Remember, mijo, stay away from the Sons of Munster, she’d say, wagging her finger at me and all. They were bad. They were mobsters. Then we’d head into church, and she’d hold my hand almost as tightly as she clutched the secret of who my biological dad was.
Since I’d been a bit of a screw-up all my life, it only made sense for me to blow it out of the park when I finally gave up on my marriage years and years later. Then again, who could blame me? I had two success stories—my kids. I loved them to pieces. But the man I shared them with—the love of my life—was moving on. I was also done pretending to be someone else, I was sick of the lies, and…to be honest, I was going through an identity crisis.
So, to hell with it. Since West wasn’t taking me back, maybe the Sons of Munster would accept me.
—————-
Alfie belongs in the This Life universe by Cara Dee. However, Alfie and West’s story has been written so it can be enjoyed to its full extent as a standalone.
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I pulled into the driveway and parked next to West’s Mercedes, and the kids jumped out. They ran for the door, both forgetting their backpacks.
I grabbed them and braced myself for my weekly West spotting.
Motherfucker.
The front lawn could be a golf green. There was even a tiny fountain at the center with a stone path around it. Flower beds and little trees. Perfectly trimmed hedges. A gardening service that came once a month.
The house itself was a modest monstrosity, if such a thing existed. Luxury on a slightly smaller scale. The second floor had a balcony, with its two pillars coming down to flank the front door. Everything was white and pristine, and the backyard was made for mingling and bullshit like that.
A few times, I’d heard from the kids when West hosted wine mixers and charity events.
I suppressed a sigh as West opened the door, immediately attacked with hugs.
“Hi, Daddy—we’re not late!” Ellie climbed him like a tree.
West chuckled warmly and squeezed them both tightly. “It’s so good to have you home, sweethearts.”
My home is their home too, douchebag.
I wished I could let go of him. I’d done fucking everything in my power to be the man he deserved—and I was still trying, to an extent. But, nada. He’d pulled the plug. We kept shit civil in front of our children, but the moment they left the room, I could tell he was looking for the nearest exit.
I let them get the hallway catch-up out of the way, with both kids rambling about the week we’d had, and West soaked it up and wordlessly grabbed the backpacks from me.
I stood on the doormat. I rarely walked farther. From here, I could spy the kitchen to the right, the den to the left, and the stairs in the center. The door to Ellie’s room on the second floor was visible, and it was filled with her drawings and her name.
“Can I get a hug before you disappear, kiddos?” I asked.
“Duh!” Ellie ran over and jumped into my arms, and I was quick to hug her.
This part fucking sucked.
I closed my eyes briefly and breathed her in.
One week. I’ll see you in one week.
“…and then Grandma and Grandpa will be here tomorrow evening,” West was saying.
“Okay, but I can stay in my room and read, right?” Trip asked to make sure.
“Of course,” West chuckled. “I might join you.”
Trip snickered.
I smooched Ellie’s cheek and reluctantly let her back down. “Love you, baby.”
“I love you the mostest!” she sang. “Bye, Daddy!”
“Bye, honey.” I forced a smile on my face and swallowed the emotions that threatened to resurface like clockwork every other Friday. Trip was next, and he came in for a hug too. I squeezed him and kissed the top of his head. “I love you, son. I’ll see you next Friday.”
“Love you too, Dad.” He smiled up at me. “Will you get my pillow from Nonna and Pop-Pop before, or should I bring the one I have here?”
“I’ll pick it up on Tuesday,” I said with a nod. “Nonna promised me lasagna then.”
He gasped. “Save me a piece?”
“Always.” I grinned and watched him fist-pump the air, but almost subtle-like, and then he grabbed his backpack and jogged up the stairs.
I bet he was going to give his pillow a big hug. The li’l lad was obsessed with memory foam.
“Dinner’s ready in five, kids!” West called up the stairs.
“Okay!”
They shut the doors to their rooms, and our reasons for being in the same room once a week were gone. Time for me to leave.
“Have a good week,” I said, opening the door.
“Alfie—a moment, please.” West walked ahead of me, to my surprise, and stopped right outside. “I need to tell you something, and I don’t want you to hear it from them.”
I lifted a brow. It was best to keep eye contact to a minimum. West was always going to be the man in fitted pullovers and slacks, if he wasn’t wearing a suit, and my reaction to him was evidently always going to be the same too. My whole fucking body screamed for his. The comfort and sturdiness he’d represented. Always so solid, tall, warm, and caregiving.
Until he’d grown cold and said we were done.
He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his head. A few more streaks of silver had appeared lately.
“My parents are watching the kids tomorrow night,” he said. “Knowing my mother, she’ll probably say too much, and I… Truth be told, I’m not sure I even want to—” He stopped with a sigh. “I have a date. That’s all.”
No.
Please fucking don’t.
I clenched my jaw and averted my stare as I broke all over again. My chest suddenly felt tight, from one breath to the next, and I couldn’t fucking believe it. I mean, I could—I’d waited for this day, knowing it would come sooner or later. But my fucking God, it hurt. Holy shite, I needed to go. Stat.
“Got it.” I nodded once and started making my way back to my car.
Run. Escape. Hide. Cry. Fall apart where no one can see.
He was officially moving on. Maybe he already had. Who knew how many one-nighters he’d had the past two years—although, that wasn’t his MO. But whatever. He had a date. He was getting out there. One day, he’d introduce someone to our kids—
Fuck me, I was gonna be sick.
Nausea crawled up my throat, and I hurried to the car.
“Is that it?” West asked. “We once said we’d discuss things when we met someone.”
“Ain’t fuckin’ nothing to discuss,” I snapped over my shoulder.
I unlocked the car and got in behind the wheel, and I noticed my fingers were trembling. Rage and jealousy and despair, emotions all too familiar for me. And now the day was here. Fuck Fridays, bitch-ass motherfucking shite.
I saw West’s expression as I started the engine, arms wide, eyes flashing with disbelief, so I rolled down the windows and backed out.
“Are you honestly leaving?” he called. “You’re clearly upset!”
I backed out of the driveway and laughed humorlessly. “Nah, I’m thrilled! I hope you and Whatshisface ride off into the sunset together!” I legit flipped him off. I wasn’t sure I’d given anyone the finger since high school.
West could not look more incredulous. “Alfie, what the hell!”
“Yeah, go there and rot! Piece’a shit!” I gnashed my teeth, stepped on the gas, and rolled up the windows again.
Oh my God, I wanted to kill someone. Maybe the motherfucker West had asked out.
Had they fucked already? He’d been old-school with me. I’d suggested he rail me in the alley behind the bar I’d worked at, and he’d sort of blanched. Then he’d demanded he take me to dinner first.
Perhaps that was why this hurt so fucking much. West was all heart, and he didn’t go very far until he was ready to go the distance.
I sniffled and realized my vision was too blurry, so I angrily wiped at my cheeks and blinked back the tears. Well, too late to take anything back. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I punched the steering wheel and let the fury burst out of me.
As if on cue, my phone rang, and I picked it up and saw it was West.
Back to the mafia world where I first discovered Cara Dee. The Irish mafia in Philadelphia, the Sons of Munster. This book is VERY TAME in terms of violence compared to the others. Instead it is more of a man finding who he really is and making no apologies for it.
We get a quick first chapter flashback of Alfie and West meeting. Chapter 2 brings us back to the present. And a lot has happened in those years. The scenes or flashbacks to what has happened are pretty seamless in the story itself. It never felt clunky like, oops, I’d better explain that. It all just flows.
Now we have two men, divorced, co-parenting two kids while being barely civil to each other. And that is just for the sake of the kids. Whom I really liked and also fit really well into the story.
While West is a tv producer and comes from money, Alfie is a street kid from Philly. And even though he had a seemingly lucrative career as a model in the past, Alfie ingratiates himself into a position in “the syndicate” AKA, the mafia. Insisting he is stays more in the shadows for the sake of his children, but he feels so at home and welcome in this group that is family. Literally and figuratively.
All of this while still nursing a broken heart from his divorce. A divorce that wasn’t his idea at all. West had his reasons, and the reasons really are valid. But so are Alfie’s.
The pacing of the story was just spot on. Nothing was rushed, nothing was forgotten. My only nitpicking- and it is that, nitpicking- is the stereotypical Irish stuff-the drinking, listening to the Dropkick Murphys all the time- and the random “aye”, “shite” and “mate” spoken by Americans.
But still, I cannot wait for book 2.
4.5 pieces of eye candy
I’m often awkwardly silent or, if the topic interests me, a chronic rambler. In other words, I can discuss writing forever and ever. Fiction, in particular. The love story—while a huge draw and constantly present—is secondary for me, because there’s so much more to writing romance fiction than just making two (or more) people fall in love and have hot sex.
There’s a world to build, characters to develop, interests to create, and a topic or two to research thoroughly.
Every book is a challenge for me, an opportunity to learn something new, and a puzzle to piece together. I want my characters to come to life, and the only way I know to do that is to give them substance—passions, history, goals, quirks, and strong opinions—and to let them evolve.
I want my men and women to be relatable. That means allowing room for everyday problems and, for lack of a better word, flaws. My characters will never be perfect.
Wait…this was supposed to be about me, not my writing.
I’m a writey person who loves to write. Always wanderlusting, twitterpating, kinking, cooking, baking, and geeking. There’s time for hockey and family, too. But mostly, I just love to write.
Find Cara on social media here: https://www.caradeewrites.com/cdwlandingpage
