The Sharpest Jewel | Alfie Solomons |

~ Chapter 38 ~

Camden, London 1924.

A few days later, Florence was back in the familiar grind, surrounded by stacks of ledgers and invoices that seemed to multiply each time she glanced at them. The morning had come too early, her sleep too light and fitful in the unfamiliar comfort of Alfie's guest room. Her flat repairs were dragging on, the landlord's promises feeling as empty as her own flat. But even as she missed her small apartment, Alfie's home was undeniably grander—its heavy drapes, old wood, and labyrinth of rooms that hinted at untold stories. Yet, each night, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was trespassing on territory that wasn't truly hers.

She worked quietly at her desk in the small office adjacent to Alfie's. It was barely noon, but Florence had already made decent headway, her pen scribbling away at the numbers and names. She was a model of quiet efficiency, a professional front that kept Alfie's business in check, even if the man himself seemed to operate in a constant state of charming chaos.

The occasional sounds from Alfie's office kept her on her toes. She could hear his low, rough muttering, an occasional bang of something hitting his desk as he flipped through paperwork. His voice would rise in irritation now and then as he read over letters or telegrams from the various associates that endlessly circled his business. It was one of those mornings—she'd noticed it right away. His short answers, clipped tone, the slight snarl in his words. Alfie was in a foul mood, and she'd learned enough about him by now to know he'd likely stay that way for the day.

As she glanced at the wall clock, a faint, annoying grumble from her stomach reminded her she'd skipped breakfast. The midday hour was creeping up, and she knew a quick break for food would clear her head. She stared over at Alfie's closed office door, half considering just slipping out without a word, but that would only invite an interrogation later. Alfie never liked not knowing where his people were.

Steeling herself, Florence smoothed her skirt, tucked a stray curl behind her ear, and made her way to his office door. She knocked gently, a soft tap, not wanting to disturb him too much. "Alfie?" she called, nudging the door open just enough to peer inside.

He was seated behind his desk, his shoulders hunched, thick fingers tapping the tabletop in an impatient rhythm. His gaze didn't waver from the paperwork in front of him, his brows drawn in a dark scowl. She took in the slight slump of his posture, the tense line of his jaw as he skimmed the letters before him, and the barely contained frustration in every movement. The sight would've been almost comical if it weren't for the low simmering intensity that Alfie exuded when he was like this.

"I'm heading out for a bite to eat. D'you want anything while I'm out?" she offered, trying to keep her tone neutral. Without even glancing up, he barked a gruff, "No," the word cutting through the air with that rough, dismissive edge. "Not unless you're planning on bringing back a fucking miracle or two." He punctuated it with a dark mutter under his breath, flipping another page in irritation. "Now fuck off, will ya?"

Florence barely contained a scowl. She was used to his temper by now, the way he'd growl and snap at anyone nearby when things weren't going his way. And she'd also learned not to take it too personally—Alfie's temper was as constant and fleeting as the tide, rising and falling as the day wore on. But she knew better than to linger when he was in one of these moods.

"Right, then. Won't be long, Boss," she replied with a slight edge, knowing full well he hated when she called him that. There was something about the title that got under his skin, as if it painted him as something distant, impersonal—something Alfie didn't want to be, at least not with her. She smirked as she shut the door behind her, catching a muttered curse from him in response.

She grabbed her coat, slinging it over her shoulders as she stepped outside, letting the brisk spring air sweep away the tension she'd been carrying from Alfie's scowl. The narrow streets were busy with people on their lunch breaks, and a few market stalls offered the usual spread of breads, cheeses, and steaming pies. She wove through the familiar vendors, who greeted her with nods and polite smiles as she passed.