Cosa Nostra: A Steamy Mafia Romance (Kids of The District Book 2)

THE PARTY IS STILL in full swing when Flick and I attempt to get a bit of peace and quiet. A girl dressed as Dracula’s wife stops me on our way outside. ‘Cassidy.’ She touches my shoulder. ‘Where’s the bathroom?’

I beam at her as if she’s just told me how beautiful I am or how good Max and I look together. All the sweets. . . ‘Under the stairs’ –I point– ‘is a powder room.’

She grins. ‘Thanks. Great party by the way.’

Eeeee!

Flick eyes me, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘You’re ridiculous.’

‘She knew my name,’ I squeak. ‘And that I’d know where the bathroom is.’

‘Everyone knows your name. They did well before Max Butcher, I might add.’

‘Sure. . . still.’ I giggle.

Carter follows us as we wander down the grass hill towards the edge of the canals. The murmur of guests dwindles the further we go. It’s nice to get some quiet.

The canals run all the way down to Stormy River and out to sea. Looking out over them, I take the moment in. This is my favourite kind of weather. The breeze is warm, and the air is dry with a slight crispness to it. As the gentle wind hits the canals, it sweeps the earthy scent up the banks and sways my hair around my shoulders. Searching the horizon, I can make out the silhouettes of houses on the opposite side.

We stop at the grass mound just before the water and sit down. I wait patiently for Flick to talk, knowing she needs to express herself. I lean back, placing my hands on the grass, squeezing the blades between my fingers.

She sighs and places her hand over mine. ‘You seem really happy.’

I smile at that. ‘That’s because I am.’

‘You need to go see Mum more.’ She lifts her chin. ‘Her little girl has moved out and is having a baby thug. She needs to see you more.’

Maybe I should get defensive, but that just makes me giggle. ‘Can you get me a onesie with ‘baby thug’ written on it, please?’

‘I like him, you know.’ She stares straight ahead. ‘I do.’

‘That sounded convincing.’

She looks at my face. ‘No. I do. He’s a complete dickhead sometimes. Borderline psychotic. But. . . the other day, I saw a picture of you two on Twitter. The caption said, ‘Get yourselves a man who looks at you like Max Butcher looks at Cassidy Slater’. Not the most original of captions, but it suited the image. He worships you. It is so plain to see.’ She pauses for a moment with her thoughts. ‘You can change him.’

I stiffen. ‘I don’t want to change him. I just want to be there for him and-‘

My eyes snap around at the sound of a glass smashing against something hard. Carter is already beside me, not concerned with the ruckus, only with me. I hear muffled growls and grunts. I climb to my feet.

‘Stay here,’ I whisper to Flick before walking back up the bank and around the front of the house. Carter speaks into his chest microphone, ordering for back up. He’s in my shadow. His feet basically hit mine as I walk, he is that close. Which should warn me to be cautious, but I want to know what’s going on.

Rounding the side of the building, I find Xander pinning another man to the floor, pummelling his head into the aggregate driveway. The man swings back. As I catapult forward, intent on pulling Xander away, I’m swept backwards by strong arms around my middle.

‘That would be a very silly idea, Miss Slater,’ Carter states, carrying me back a few steps. ‘I will take care of this.’

Two guards appear beside me, another on the other side of the driveway. I hear a female growling and turn to see a man holding Stacey back from entering the fight. She is ready to dive in to protect her best friend.

Carter walks towards Xander as he rolls around on the floor. He’s now on his back with the other man on top. Casually, a guard blocks the front door while another stands staunchly near the side entry, ushering away a few prying guests.

Carter stops beside the boys as they fight. ‘That’s enough, Xander.’ He grabs hold of the black-haired man on top, lifting him easily and throwing him away.

The man collects himself. Wipes his bloody jaw. ‘You’re fucking insane.’

I take a step closer, my hands shaking for some reason. ‘What happened?’

‘You!’ He points at me and I step backwards instinctively. ‘You’re the fucking problem. They have all gone mad. I just said that you’re cute and he fucking started swinging at me.’

My breath catches. ‘What?’

Xander stumbles to his feet. His costume makeup is all smeared around his face, making his expression seem crazed. He dives towards the man again, but when Carter catches the back of his shirt, he whirls around and starts swinging at him instead. I stare, my mouth agape. My back and neck suddenly turn rigid and uncomfortable, like a twisted rope.

Carter fends off Xander’s advances, blocking his punches with his palms.

The youngest Butcher boy stops abruptly. Sways in place.

Holding out his arms, he shouts, ‘Isn’t this what they want, Carter?’ Advancing on him again, his fist connects with Carter’s jaw. Carter steps back, allowing the attack but blocking most of what’s thrown his way. I’m sure he could push Xander to the ground if he chose to. But he doesn’t.

Xander stumbles again, seemingly getting tired.

Suddenly, his tempestuous blue eyes lock on my wide, concerned ones.

‘I am sorry, Cassidy,’ he cries, the tremble in his voice reaching right inside my chest and squeezing my franticly beating heart. ‘I am so sorry. I fucked up.’ He stumbles towards me, sloppy in his movements. As he reaches out to me, Max charges into him, ploughing his little brother to the floor.

I jump as the air is smashed from Xander’s chest. He heaves. Whines. And then he ignites. He punches his brother’s chest. Again and again. Max takes the hits as if they are just rain smacking the pavement. He glares down at his brother, searching. Confused. Pained. There is so much hurt in both sets of eyes right now. I want to scream at them to stop.

Stop!

‘Isn’t this what you wanted, Max?’ Xander grits out between sobs. ‘The brother you want! One that can hack a guy’s head off and sleep soundly at night!’

All of a sudden, breathing becomes hard. I suck at the air, trying to draw it in, but it seems dense and boiling hot. I force Xander’s words down. Down. They have no place in my life or in my mind and I won’t analyse them.

Xander breaks, bursting into tears, but he still swings at him – weak, lazy swings that barely affect Max at all. My pooled eyes study Max’s face. His jaw muscles pulse in time with his little brother’s hits. Not from the pain, as I am sure there is very little, but from the emotion driving Xander’s fists forward.

He doesn’t retaliate. He waits for Xander to lose momentum, to lose energy.

Slowly, Xander’s fists stop. He buries his face in bloodied hands, sobbing into them without restraint.

I never thought I’d see a Butcher boy cry. It makes me weak with sadness. Tears slide down my cheeks, over my top lip, and fall onto the driveway.

Is this my fault? What did I do?

Leaning forward, Max pulls his brother’s shaking body into his arms, holding him against his chest and rocking him back and forth. ‘It’s okay, buddy. It’s okay.’

‘Max! I’m sorry.’ He cries into Max’s shirt, his face distorted, crumbling.

‘No,’ Max states tersely. ‘I am. Now stop this.’

Two large bodies now stand beside me – Carter and Bronson. But I’m unable to pull my eyes off Xander falling apart on the driveway. Then it dawns on me. This is about the auction. About what happened to me. I step forward and kneel down beside Max and Xander, surprised when no one stops me.

Xander releases his hold on Max and reaches for me. Twisting his torso, he pulls me into his desperate and quivering embrace. Max leans back on his heels, allowing our interaction.

‘I should have killed him,’ he mutters into my shoulder as the smell of vodka from his breath drifts around us. ‘Right then. Right there. It’s what Max would have done. Bronson. I let them down. I let you down.’

My throat locks onto the words I wish to say, the heat from my tears like steam expanding inside me. The salty drops track down my face and fall on to him. His on to me. I shake my head slowly in the tense crook of his neck.

‘I don’t blame you,’ I manage to say. ‘I never have.’ Cupping his cheeks, I lift his face up to meet mine. ‘Let this go.’ Pleading with my expression, I look up at Max. ‘You too. Let it go. . . I have.’