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

I HIT shuffle on my after-dinner mix, letting the mellow tunes hum through the car. We cruise down the empty, dimly lit coastal road with the river to our right and the hills to our left. I lower the rear passenger window to feel the crisp night-time breeze stroke my face, to smell the fresh ocean air. I close my eyes and inhale it, thinking about tonight. About Konnor’s closure. About the glistening of his eyes. I’m glad I went.

The sound of a base guitar fills the Chrysler. Hypnotic, sad, and passionate, ‘Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You, Baby’ by Cigarettes After Sex, rolls from the speakers, and my heart expands. This song can pluck you from the earth. Defy gravity. Lift you into the clouds so that you can view yourself from above. It is state altering. The lyrics start and I flush a little. This song reminds me of Max. A smile hits my lips and I turn to find him grinning at me, his hair messy, his top buttons open, his legs spread casually in his black satin-lined trousers.

Twisting towards me, he slides his hand across my red dress, fingers grazing the floral embroidery. He stops at my neck, circling the arch with his warm palm. ‘This is an interesting song.’ His thumb follows the roll of my throat down and then up.

The title is the basis of the song’s story, so Max probably suspects that it reminds me of his promise to never let anyone hurt me again, but he’d be wrong. Nothing is going to hurt him. A month ago, when I heard this song for the first time, it filled me with this urge to protect him – protect that rare fragile gentleness he hides from everyone other than me. Protect that fiercely guarded heart with my life.

I try to stay strong beneath his burrowing stare. ‘It reminds me of this guy I like.’

‘Do I need to kill him or is that guy me?’

I giggle. ‘You don’t know him.’

His brows draw a straight line above his serious expression. ‘Not funny, little one.’

Leaning in close, I kiss his stern face until it softens. Pulling back, I find him now contemplative with a thought but hesitant to share it.

He finally says, ‘I’m going to work for Clay at the council. How do you feel about that?’

Blinking at him, I say, ‘What does that mean?’

‘I’ll be using my degree. It’ll be nine to five.’

I nod, unsure why he’s looking at me as if he’s waiting for approval. ‘But you’ll hate working in an office.’ I glance around the back carriage. No. No. ‘You’ll hate it. Why can’t you play rugby?’

His face pulls in tight, teeth locking, eyes defensive. ‘I thought you’d be happy.’

‘You can go pro, Max,’ I say. ‘You can-‘

‘Leave my brothers. The District!’ he snaps. Sighing with strained breath, he bites down his anger. ‘Sorry. But that’s never going to happen.’

I understand family loyalty. Frick, my whole life has revolved around Konnor, but I want more for Max. He’s so talented. ‘But they have their own lives-‘

Max clears his throat. ‘On weekends.’

The words have no context and I’m left staring wide eyed at his angry expression – an expression that is smothering a kind of uneasiness. ‘What?’

‘You said the fairy-tale would be nine to five and rugby on the weekends. I can give you that now.’

Still confused, I say, ‘What?’

He leans back in his seat. Closed off, he looks out of the window with anger snapping at the heels of casual dismissal. ‘Forget it.’ I imagine in any other situation, he would have left me to punch the bag already in an attempt to release his anger.

‘No.’ I straighten. ‘Wait. . . are you trying to give me the fairy-tale?’

‘Apparently not,’ he mutters tersely as if the whole conversation has left acid in his mouth.

I’m taken aback, feeling my level of agitation rise as he shuts me out. The space he’s put between us sends a shiver up my spine. No! I’m not letting him block me out like this. No way.

‘I’m so sorry that I want the best for you, Max Butcher! But you won’t be happy in an office! It’ll drive you crazy. Why can’t you have what you want? Rugby? I could come see-‘

He growls. ‘I have what I want sitting next to me being a pain in the fucking arse!’

A wave of happiness hits me, crashing into my heart and splashing up my body. I beam. I’m the pain in the arse. . . that’s me. He wants me. Twisting forward in my seat, I glance at Carter in the rear-view mirror, but he’s pretending to hear nothing, just staring at the road.

I unbuckle my seat belt, kick off my heels, and hike my red dress up my thighs before swinging my leg over Max’s lap to straddle him. I pretend to pin him beneath me. ‘Listen to me, Max Butcher, I love you, you menace.’ I kiss his tight lips. When he doesn’t respond, I lick the defiant flesh of his lower lip, coaxing him. He lets out a pained groan. Loosens. I lean back on his thighs and match him stare for stare. Match him intensity for intensity. ‘If it’s what you want, then I’m your girl.’

Two big hands slide up my thighs to my waist and back, massaging with a possessiveness I only understand because I feel the same way when I touch him. ‘You’re my girl either way.’

I smile at that. ‘Yes.’

The feel of his touch over the soft sheer material of my dress sends tingles throughout my body. Awakening every cell to him. To us.

As his eyes caress my face, studying and memorising, he sighs roughly. ‘Look at that face.’ Tension visibly leaves him. ‘How do you feel after tonight, little one?’

I blink at him, my lashes heavier with the weight of mascara – something I don’t often wear. ‘I feel. . . content. Like, I got some kind of closure tonight as well.’ I nod to myself as that truth seeps in. ‘I’ve always worried about Konnor. I think, maybe, I was a little obsessed with wanting happiness for him. I was only five when my parents adopted him. And I was the baby. I had all the attention. Then I didn’t. He challenged us, ya know?’

I pull my hands into my lap, staring at my nude-coloured nail polish, feeling guilty for what I’m finally admitting. I was gifted a brother – this amazing little boy who deserves the world after what he went through. I should be grateful. ‘This broken kid became my brother,’ I say to my fingers.

Max lifts my chin up and I meet his narrowed eyes, which hint at concern. I stare at the swirling sheer layers of blue in his irises and they ground me, whispering acceptance in a way I’ve never felt before. Like, this is my safe place. With him. I can tell him anything. Even admissions I’m not proud of.

‘I would do anything to make Konnor smile. Even then, at five. I remember feeling that way. Flick was older. She had her own life and friends and didn’t get dragged into it as much, but I still needed Mum’s and Dad’s attention a lot, but it was often directed at Konnor. So to not be left alone, I took on that role too, in a way. None of this makes sense. I’m being silly-‘

‘It makes complete sense,’ he states, sliding my backside a little further up his thighs until I can feel the heat from his body radiating beneath mine. With the music humming and the car rolling, the darkness outside and the dim in, I feel so much right now. For Max.

My love for him burns too strong. Too bright. But no words of sentimentality will ever do that feeling justice. It’s like when I try to take a photo of fireworks and it just doesn’t come out right. It’s because some things aren’t meant be captured or titled.

They are just for us.

Like this, it’s our thing.

‘Do you remember the first time we met?’ I ask, presuming that he doesn’t.

He searches my face. ‘When we first spoke at your birthday? Or when I first saw you in that fucking pink leotard I wanted to rip straight off your body?’

‘Neither.’ I smile at the memory. ‘We met years ago. Like, ten years ago.’

He frowns. ‘Do tell.’

I shuffle up a little on his lap. ‘Konnor has a problem with his anger. He found out that a kid across the street stole my yo-yo, so he went to get it back. I didn’t care too much. I was a bit upset, but I didn’t want him to get into a fight over it. I chased after him. He took a swing at the kid who took it. But he had a bat. He started wailing on Konnor. Is any of this ringing a bell?’

‘Nope.’

Smiling at him now because I had a feeling this was a casual encounter for him, I continue, ‘I was screaming. Konnor was bleeding. I remember, seriously thinking, he was going to die. Then this boy appeared.’ I lift my hand to his cheek, feeling the way Max’s jaw tightens beneath it as he swallows. ‘You. You looked a bit bigger than Konnor; I thought you were like fifteen or something. You jogged casually across the lawn towards the fight, grabbed the kid attacking Konnor, and nailed him with a precision that looked effortless. You laid him out across the lawn, grabbed my yo-yo, and approached me. I remember it as clear as looking at you right now. You reached for my hand. Barely touching me, you placed the yo-yo in my palm. I said nothing. You said nothing. But you looked straight into my eyes. I remember your eyes, Max. Then you walked off like nothing had even happened.’

Something like realisation crosses his face. ‘That was you?’

‘You were like a superhero to me,’ I admit without shame because he’s my safe place and I don’t need to be cool or coy or protective over my heart. I can wear it on my sleeve. Hell, I’d thrust it right into his chest if I could so his and mine could beat at the same cadence forever. Max Butcher is the love of my life. And I’m his. ‘You saved my brother. My precious, sensitive, broken brother. You’re my hero, Max Butcher.’

He winces a little at that, so I smother his discomfort with my lips, cupping his smooth jawline as I take his mouth lovingly. I lift my other hand and feed my fingers back through his brown hair, knotting the strands in tight because I can’t get close enough to him. Can’t connect us enough.

Just as our lips move together, a loud siren breaks through our world. I’m jerked backwards as Carter slows the vehicle. Max catches me, his fingers spanning my spine protectively.

‘Boss,’ Carter warns, his tone filled with urgency.

Red and blue lights glow through the rear window. Chasing us. Were we speeding? Is it because I didn’t have a seat belt on? Everything inside the car shifts in an instant – the energy, the air, our connection.

Max slides me from his lap.

I hear Carter cock his gun.

My heart stops.

The black Chrysler pulls up along the coastal road. Carter winds my window up and yet, even through the reinforced glass, I can still hear the sound of the ocean smashing on the shore. Can still hear it through the wailing of sirens. It is like a force that has nothing above it. Nothing to still it. Silence it.

I shudder. I lean back in my seat, willing myself to stay calm. Don’t over analyse. It is probably just a routine breath check. Max pulls out his phone, punches in a message. He’s all business.

As three police cars roll to a stop behind us, their sirens deadening to silence, the blinking, whirling blue and red lights still filling the spaces around me, my world tilts. This isn’t routine. My belt. This is my fault.

My belt.

Reaching for the belt and tugging on it, I whimper, ‘I need to get this on-‘

Max leans across me and belts me in, a quick movement that probably makes little sense to him but one I needed. And he knew it. His head snaps up, watching over my shoulder. Black shadows cross us. His stern, territorial gaze drops to my belly for a split second.

And the look in eyes. . .

My heart splinters.

He stares up at my face and now I can’t breathe because he’s not Max. He’s blank. The grey-blue irises I know and love are pitch-black. ‘Don’t move from this seat. No matter what.’ He tugs on the belt. ‘Leave this on.’

‘Max Butcher,’ I hear a man state, formal and authoritarian. ‘Please step from the vehicle with your hands up.’

‘Hands on the dashboard, Carter,’ another states.

My eyes widen.

What? What is happening?

Then I blink. It’s too long. A long blink. Must be.

Because that’s all it takes.

One second.

One blink.

And I don’t catch my lover’s expression before he steps from the vehicle.

The door slams behind him. It’s a haunting sound. A separating sound. A sound that cuts the connection between us physically and emotionally. And I’m sure he has taken parts of me out there with him because my heart feels wrong. Fractured.

‘Carter!’ I yell, irrationality taking hold of me like an entity all its own. Like a snake wrapping itself around my body, suffocating me. ‘HELP HIM!’

I hear a click and realise Carter has locked me in the car. ‘Stay, Miss Slater. It’ll be okay. Stay calm.’

Max raises his hands above his head as he steps into the middle of the road. It is then that I see that they have their weapons drawn, pointing straight. At. Max.

No. At my Max.

NO!

I can’t breathe. ‘Carter!’ I wail, squeezing the door handle, tugging at it, hearing the click click click as I draw it back desperately, over and over. I need out. ‘Let me out!”

The Chrysler’s headlights illuminate Max as he walks forward.

I start to suck at the air, as if it is somehow thick and sparse and I have to fight for it.

I will fight.

Pressing my palms to the door, I lean against the glass. Several uniformed bodies now surround my dangerous tall lover. The waves crash hard against the rocks. I inhale that salty air – that’s the ocean. Wild. Free. Uncontainable. Like Max.

Helpless to do anything, I press one of my hands to my lower belly. ‘Daddy will be okay. He will. Nothing can keep him from us.’

I watch as the officers approach him with caution.

As Max threads his fingers together behind his head.

As it takes three of them to kick his knees out and force him to the ground.

As they kneel between his shoulder blades, pinning him.

As they handcuff his wrists behind his back.

‘Max Butcher, you are under arrest for the murder of Marco Cappelli. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. . .’