Forbidden Alliances // Alfie Solomons Peaky Blinders

(137) Survival of the Fittest

*edited 04/14/23*

"Wot the fuck are you doing, Love?"

"Sit," she instructed, turning Alfie and pressing her palms to his shoulders before thrusting him into the couch of the Russian's celebration room.

Alfie was staring at her curiously, allowing her to push him down but wondering how he got himself in that position

He was helplessly enamored.

There was shock and hesitance and yet he couldn't say no. He probably should have, but he didn't want to.

Freya casually snapped her fingers as if she always had the authority to and pulled one of the men serving drinks over to her and Alfie. She took a bottle of vodka from his tray and shooed him away just as easily with a flick of the wrist. 

She stood in front of Alfie, towering over him and giving the bottle in her hand all her attention as she guarded him; from what, Alfie didn't know, but it was clear to him that something had set her off.

She was possessive; threatening. She was dominant and anything but shy about it. She was very sexy, very feminine, very dark, very mysterious, and very powerful.

He assumed she was still worried about history repeating itself, that she might be concerned with Alfie being mistreated because of his bloodline or religious practice. He thought she might have been taking advantage of their freedom to public affection to protect him, but it was so much more than that now.

He was still the brute nobody dared to mess with. He hadn't transformed into the man he was with her yet. He was the scary Jewish gangster of Camden Town. He was the intimidating London boy people were wary of, but to Freya, he was always just Alfie Solomons.

As he kept up his dominant, scary facade, Freya slipped one foot in between his shoes and slowly spread his legs apart, looking for a way to ease him into relaxing.

"Wot the fuck are you doing?" he asked in a hushed tone, fighting her leg and stopping her from putting any more room in between them. 

He shifted in his seat and sat up, hoping that Freya would see that he was confused and didn't want to be seen being so intimate with her in front of these people so soon; especially without knowing where her head was at. 

Freya took a deep breath and smiled innocently. She closed her eyes and Alfie watched as her shoulders dropped. "I think it's safe to assume this isn't kosher?" she smiled, opening her eyes and lifting the bottle of vodka into the air. 

Alfie quirked up an eyebrow and slowly shook his head in confusion. 

"Right," she sighed, quickly looking over her shoulder and looking at all the waiters who stood along the walls, waiting to be called upon to serve in whatever manner these fuckers wished. Her eyes landed on the man that got them there: Stefan Radischevsky. It was the kid she found through Pip, the one that had been talking to John and Arthur through the post.

"Is water kosher?" Freya wondered, slightly tipsy but not enough to give credit to her stupid question. "Can you drink tap?"

Alfie leered and furrowed his brows. "Of course I can drink bloody water. Wot the fuck are you on about?" he whined incredulously, dropping his jaw slightly and staring at her quizzically. 

Freya ignored Alfie and cleared her throat loud enough to reach Stefan despite the boisterous music playing off a gramophone in the other corner of the room. 

Stefan noticed her and widened his eyes in fear. He didn't expect her to single him out. It wasn't smart to socialize with him being the rat of the house. If the Russians caught on, he was a dead man and their whole plan went to shit. But he couldn't ignore Freya. Even if he wasn't undercover, he still wouldn't be able to deny her.