ATONEMENT | MAFIA ROMANCE | SMUT

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

"Umbrageous." I smiled pityingly, and the muscle in his jaw pulsated. "Has the syndicate given you a reason to believe that we practice sexual orientation discrimination?"

His cheeks puffed on a deep inhalation. "No."

"So, is the defensiveness necessary?" Holding out a hand, I accepted the envelope from Nate. "I come bearing gifts." I slide the non-disclosure agreement across the multifunctional coffee table. "For you."

Alfie knew I meant business. "I am disinclined to work for the institution. The last time I stepped foot inside the Warren Manor, I came away with four-less digits." A black sock-covered his deformed hand. "If that would be all, I would like you to leave."

"It's not for the syndicate." Nate dropped a holdall on the ground. "It's for Alexa." Going to one knee on the medallion navy rug, he extracted sterile gloves first, then a sealed package. "Remove the sock."

Alfie discarded the utilised coverage from his disfigured hand and extended an arm to Nate, who patiently assessed the aftermath of his boss's temper.

Adjusting his black-framed glasses, Nate clicked open the leather case to retrieve the point-digit prosthetic fingers. "One-handed operation and various levels of flexion," he explained, twisting each titanium and stainless steel digit into the durable hand-and-thumb strap. "You can lock each mechanism into fifteen unique positions." He looked up. "Palm upward."

Alfie listened to instructions.

"Relax." Nate secured the leather strap to the man's stump. "It will take some time to get used to the weight and flexibleness." He left a list of questions and answers on the table alongside a book. "Pick it up."

Alfie reached for the book, struggling to curl his bionic fingers around the spine. "It doesn't work."

"You have fake fingers," Nate said sarcastically. "Move your knuckles."

His trembling hand hovered and sagged with listless frustration atop the old paperback, which became the cynosure of all in attendance as he concentrated on the task. One by one, his knuckles spasmed as he slipped each mechanical digit between the pages. Desperate, he snatched chapters into a tight fist. "Why is it so exhausting?"

Nate rested on his haunches. "You need to practice."

"I am no good to Mrs Warren." Alfie's voice was a pained whisper. "How can I ensure her safety when impaired?"

I lit a cigarette. "Are you ambidextrous?"

"No," Alfie said, and the thought of unmet expectations seemed to leave him in a state of self-disappointment. "I am right-handed."

My frown sharpened. "Is the functionality of your right hand compromised?"

His undamaged hand curled into a fist. "No, Sir."

"You are sound of mind," I said with a dismissive hand wave. "You have arms and legs and a well-functioning trigger finger. What else is necessary to ensure my wife's safety?" Puffing the cigarette, I retrieved the envelope from the inner pocket of my suit jacket and tossed it on his lap. "An advanced payment for her happiness."

Understanding passed between us.

"Mrs Warren requested my return," he said knowingly, and I did not deny it. "You do not wish for a bodyguard. It is friendship that you seek."

I breathed through my nose to calm increased irritation. "Did it pain you to spend time with Alexa?"

His gathered brows softened. "No, Sir."

"Then, what is the issue?"

"There are no issues." Not bothering to check or count the money, he individually inspected his new fingers. "I have a lot of time for Mrs Warren." His twisted expression suggested that his fondness and respect did not extend to me. "How is she?"