The Sharpest Jewel | Alfie Solomons |

~ Chapter 45 ~

Small Heath, Birmingham, 1924.

The next morning, the quiet still lingered between them as Florence lifted her bag and placed it into the trunk of Alfie's car. The air was crisp, and the world outside seemed to move at a slower pace. Alfie was leaning against the side of the car, his resting on his cane, Florence had taken note of the Alfie more use of his cane his complaints about his joints and the clicks and aches she heard when he moved she suggested some oils to him but he just grumbled.

Alfie's eyes were distant as he stared off into the horizon. He hadn't said much that morning, not since they'd gotten up. The usual banter that had come to define their mornings was absent today, replaced by an unfamiliar silence that hung between them like an unspoken weight. Florence couldn't help but notice. She closed the trunk and looked over at him. "Everything alright, Alfie?" she asked, her voice gentle, though she wasn't sure if she wanted an answer.

Alfie didn't immediately respond, his gaze still fixed on something far off, as if lost in thought. The pause between them stretched, uncomfortable in its quiet. Finally, he grunted, the sound almost like a sigh. "Yeah, yeah." He clambered into the car Florence following shortly. They drove in silence for about ten minutes before Florence opened her mouth.

"How did the Russian deal go ?" Florence pressed, her curiosity piqued, though she wasn't sure she really wanted to know the answer. He didn't look at her. His jaw tightened briefly before he shrugged. "It went fine," he muttered, his voice low, but not giving much away.

Florence raised an eyebrow. She knew Alfie well enough to read when something was off, and right now, it was clear something was bothering him. But he wasn't in the mood to talk about it—at least, not right now. She could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating, but she didn't push any further. She wasn't sure she wanted to know all the details. Not today.

The silence stretched again as they both stood there for a moment, the hum of the morning around them. Alfie was still staring out at nothing in particular, his expression unreadable. Florence let out a soft breath, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear before giving him a small, quiet nod.

"Alright," she said softly, shifting her gaze to the car. "Let's get going, then. Camden won't drive itself." Alfie turned slightly, giving her a look—a flicker of something, maybe appreciation for the way she didn't press him further. But it didn't last long.

The drive was mostly quiet, the hum of the engine filling the space between them. Florence glanced out the window, watching the city roll past in slow, familiar motions. It wasn't long before Alfie abruptly slowed the car and turned the wheel sharply.

Florence's brow furrowed as he pulled off the main road, heading into an industrial area she didn't recognize. The streets grew quieter, the buildings more run-down. Alfie's hands were tense on the wheel, his jaw tight in a way she had come to recognize as focused.

"Where are we going?" Florence asked, her voice breaking the silence. "Just stay in the car, yeah?" Alfie replied curtly, his gaze forward. Florence opened her mouth to protest, but she saw the look in his eyes—a silent warning. She bit her tongue, watching as Alfie turned into a large, unmarked warehouse, the tall, dark structure looming ahead. The air inside the car felt suddenly heavier, thick with anticipation.

When the car stopped, Alfie didn't move at first. He seemed to be studying the surroundings, eyes sharp. Florence could feel something was off—her instincts were buzzing, but she couldn't put her finger on it. She felt a strange, unsettling sense of déjà vu wash over her, as if she had been here before.

Alfie finally pulled the handbrake and turned off the engine. His eyes shifted briefly to Florence, a warning in them that he wasn't going to repeat himself. "I'll be back in a minute." Florence nodded absently, but as soon as Alfie opened the door and stepped out, her instincts kicked in again. She had a feeling—a gut feeling—that she couldn't ignore. Florence noticed something across the lot that made her heart skip a beat: a black, unmarked car parked on the opposite side of the street, its windows darkened and its shape all too familiar.