Devil | A Solomons

FOUR - A HAT AND A SCAR

Irina was more than one bottle of champagne down when Alfie Solomons pulled a steel hip flask out of his pocket, unscrewing the cap with one hand while his other held the glass he'd just emptied.

"Alfie please," Tommy scoffed, waving an arm towards the bar across the room, "It's a free bar, order whatever you like."

Thomas saw Irina raise an eyebrow at his friend when he began to pour his own alcohol into the glass. It was clear that Irina Zakharov was not a woman used to lower class traits, at least that's what it seemed like, from the glares she gave people to the rich scent of her perfume that made him think of money and gold.

"Does the free bar stock my rum, Tommy?"

Tommy stifled a laugh, shaking his head slightly as Alfie knocked back the rum from his hip flask without bothering to pour it into the crystal glass that now sat amongst other empty ones alike on the table between the three of them.

"Want to try some? Only fair since I tried your vodka." Alfie held out the hip flask to Irina who stared at it for a moment.

The trio had been sat together on a table at the back of the room for some time now. After the men had eaten a prime cut of beef each and Irina picked at some prawns, they returned to drinking alcohol and conversing.

Irina glanced to Thomas quickly, his expression blank as he sat with one arm strewn across the back of the chair next to him, his leg crossed over the other lazily and a glass between his thumb and forefinger.

She sighed quietly and took the hip flask from Alfie, pouring a small measure into the bottom of her now empty champagne flute, passing it back to him.

"You could've swigged it from here, I can wipe off the lipstick." Alfie chuckled.

Irina ignored him, knowing there wasn't a chance she was going to drink from the same cup as any man in the room that evening, or quite possibly ever. She swirled it round the bottom of the champagne flute before pouring it between her lips, allowing her tongue to taste the flavour before swallowing quietly.

"Well?" Alfie said, leaning forward with his brows raised and hand out.

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes before speaking, "Nice. Nicer than gin, that is for sure."

Thomas looked up at Irina with a smirk playing on his lips, though hers were pulled into a thin line. There was something about Thomas Shelby that had intrigued her. It wasn't often she came across a man that wasn't trying to sleep with her, and as far as she knew, that wasn't in Tommy's plans. It didn't necessarily bother her because she had no intention of sleeping with him anyway, but she did wonder if he found her just as attractive as most other men did.

"Tom, where's Arthur?"

"Why?" He answered, reluctantly pulling his gaze away from Irina to look at Alfie.

"I'm tired of watching you eye fuck the Russian, I'd like to have a proper conversation."

Irina never blushed and that occasion was no different. She merely tilted her head slightly to the side and held her glass up to a passing waiter who topped her up with more champagne, pretending like she hadn't heard what Alfie had said despite all three of them knowing she most definitely had.

"Well you can have one with Miss Zakharov, I have some business to attend to."

"Business? What business? This is a party."

"There's no rest for the wicked, Alfie, you know that." Thomas pushed his chair under the table and and straightened his tie, nodding at Irina before walking away into the sea of people that filled the room.

The two of them sat in silence for a moment, Irina watching Thomas glide through the crowd until she couldn't see him anymore, happy that her question of whether he found her attractive had been answered. Though there was never really any doubt in her mind what the answer was.

"So," Alfie cleared his throat and rest his arm on the table, grabbing a glass of whiskey from the silver tray held by a waiter, "You like Tommy Shelby do you? Suppose that's nothing out of the ordinary."

"What makes you say that?"

Irina absolutely did not like Thomas Shelby. Of course, the way he spoke and the weight of his gaze compelling whom ever it fell upon to stay transfixed on his blue eyes was like nothing she'd ever encountered before, but at the end of the day, he was nothing more than a man in a suit that had a lot of money, and that was something Irina knew about all too well.

"Well you're a woman, and he's a good looking bloke. That, and the fact you couldn't stop looking at him."

Irina looked down at her nails, "I looked at you just as much, Mr Solomons."

"Bollocks."

She sighed and took a sip of her champagne before adjusting the ring on her finger, not looking up at Alfie.

"You have blue eyes but if you stand away from the light they look green. Your stubble is thick enough for you to grow a beard in probably another two and a half weeks. You have a gold ring on your little finger of your left hand and a scar that runs down your face beside your right eye that looks like it was made by a blade. There's a gold chain hanging from your trousers and you probably wear a hat sometimes."

Alfie's lips parted, slowly curving into a smile as he listened to her talk about him. He wasn't sure that anybody had ever noticed so much about him, let alone a woman. He was used to women approaching Thomas first whenever the two had been in bars together, and usually, he didn't mind. Only that night, the way he'd caught Irina looking at Thomas had irked him, making him wonder how every woman who ever looked in Tommy's direction became so infatuated with him, too much to notice Alfie was even there.

At least that's what he thought he'd caught Irina doing. She had well and truly proved his theory wrong.

"Why do you think I wear a hat?"

She looked up from her ring with a dead expression on her face, her eyes glancing at his hair before locking onto the scar that sunk into his skin.

"Because you are unfortunately receding, Mr Solomons."

"You're a cheeky fucker aren't you," Alfie smirked, pointing his finger at her with a glint in his eye, "Excuse my language."

"It's quite alright," Irina said, sipping her champagne, "I've been called much worse, by much worse."

Alfie chuckled, shaking his head and licking his lips, "You can't get much worse than me."

"And why is that?"

Irina leant on the table, resting her chin on her hand as she looked up at him with dark, sultry eyes. Perhaps it was the champagne that had got to her head, or perhaps she just liked making men think they had a chance with her when she knew there was no way she'd be going home with anybody that evening. Either way, she liked the way it felt to flirt with Alfie Solomons, his knowing smirk and way his eyes traced her body as she leaned forward, her lips pouty and her lashes thick.

"Because I'm the Devil, sweetheart."