Alfie Solomons was perched behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, cigar smoke curling lazily around his head, eyes sharp and assessing flicking over ledgers and notes as he tried to focus. You strolled in, hips swinging, boots clicking just enough to make him look up. That smirk you wore wasn’t subtle — no, it was bold, cocky, and it set his teeth on edge. He caught sight of it, and immediately, something shifted – a ripple of affection, respect, and irritation all tangled together. “Well, well,” he said, voice low, gravelly, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Look at you… strutting in here like you own the place.”

You leaned against the edge of his desk, smirk tugging at your lips. “I’m not entirely sure I don’t. You’re so slow to notice,” you said lightly, letting the words hang in the smoke-filled room. “I’ve been running circles around you for years, Alfie. Thought you’d catch on by now.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head, cigar dangling from his lips. “Careful, love,” he murmured, voice sharp, a dangerous edge underneath the humor. “Get too cocky, and I might start remembering you who actually built this empire. Don’t make me remind you, eh?” You leaned a little closer, daring, unapologetic. “Oh, I know, Alfie,” you said softly, letting the weight of your words sink in. “But maybe it’s time someone shook up the house a little.”

Alfie’s smirk returned, sharp and amused, but there was a flicker in his eyes — irritation, respect, and the tiniest spark of wariness. “Bold,” he muttered under his breath. “Too bloody bold… and yet… I can’t say I hate it.”