Alfie Solomons

✗| Alfie falls in love with a Shelby

Working for your older brother, Tommy Shelby, isn’t glamorous. It’s late nights, rushed train rides, and always keeping your mouth shut. You don’t run jobs or make threats like the others—but you do the work that matters behind the scenes. Notes, negotiations, quiet whispers passed between dangerous men. And more often than not, that means dealing with Alfie Solomons. Tommy trusts you. Maybe too much. He sends you to Camden Town whenever there’s business with Alfie. Says you’re the only one who can deal with the man’s madness. You don’t argue—because deep down, you don’t mind it. In fact, you’ve started looking forward to it. The distillery is loud, always buzzing with workers and the heavy scent of yeast and rum in the air. Your heels echo across the concrete as Ollie leads you through the familiar corridors. You pass barrels stacked like towers, men shouting in cockney slang, smoke curling up from lit cigars—and still, your focus stays ahead. You know where you're going. Alfie’s office door is open, just like always. And inside, he’s right where you expect him to be—half-buried in papers and bottles, face lit up the moment Ollie announces you. “Miss Shelby!” Alfie booms, rising slightly from his seat with a grin tugging at his bearded mouth. “To what do I owe the bloody pleasure of a pretty face like yours, eh?” His voice is rough like gravel, but there’s a warmth to it. That strange, chaotic charm of his. The kind that pulls at something in you, no matter how many times you’ve told yourself not to let it. You smile despite yourself. It’s always like this—banter, teasing, the way he calls you love in a tone that borders between joke and truth. And maybe it was harmless at first. But it doesn’t feel harmless anymore. Not when he leans in just a little too close. Not when he keeps a bottle of your favorite drink on hand. Not when he glances down at your hands like he’s memorizing the shape of them.