I MAKE my way upstairs to my dad’s office, leaving Carter to make a few phone calls – which I think means he needs to check in with Max. I hope my dad isn’t swamped with work and he’s in a talkative kind of mood.
As I move through the second storey corridor, I have to admit to myself that I somewhat miss my family home. It’s still a huge house just like Max’s, but it was built in the 19th-Century, and while it’s been renovated a few times, it still holds its old-world charm.
When I walk past Konnor’s room, something catches the corner of my eye. Taking a step backwards so that I am in the open-door jam, my face lights up at the sight of my beautiful big brother on the bed. With his deep emerald eyes downcast and focused on something in his hand, he hasn’t noticed me. As I study him, a smile plays with my lips. With those eyes, the double dimples he often throws my way, and the strong lean physique of an athlete, he’s just such a beautiful man.
Troubled at times, though. Despite being on the path to recovery from alcoholism, Konnor still seems to be suffering from a kind of post-traumatic stress disorder, although never clinically diagnosed.
‘I never received a congratulations from you,’ I say with a knowing smirk because it’s no secret that my brother does not like The Butcher Boys and most definitely doesn’t approve of Max Butcher sweeping his little sister away.
His head shoots up. ‘Pipsqueak. I wasn’t expecting to see you.’ He holds a hand up. ‘I’m happy to see you though.’
I grin. ‘You’re the one who lives hours away, not me. You should have told me you were in town; I would have come to see you.’ I glance around, squinting at him as he lowers his gaze to the small photo in his hand. ‘Where is Blesk?’ I ask.
‘She’s shopping with Elise.’ His gaze rises to mine. ‘You remember Blesk’s best friend Elise?’
Chuckling at that, I say, ‘Who could forget Elise? She’s like my spirit animal.’
‘Yeah,’ he mutters, moving his attention back to the photo, an action that might be rude coming from anyone else, but Konnor gets lost in his thoughts more than anyone I’ve ever met.
‘What is it?’ I make my way towards him and sit on the edge of his bed. Leaning closer, I stare down at an old photo of some people about my age. ‘Who are they?’ I ask just as my eyes snag on the handsome face of our father. ‘Oh my God! Look at him. He’s so cute.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
‘What are you doing with this?’
He points to a pretty girl with light-brown hair. Offering me his attention, I stare into perfect green irises that hint at trouble and pain beneath their sheer layers. ‘She’s my biological mother.’
‘Oh.’ I swallow hard before focusing on the woman who raised my brother until he was four. Until he was taken from her. Only for her to die a few years after. . .
Perhaps she died of a broken heart.
I shield my lower belly with my palm, heat hitting the back of my eyes. He looks so much like her. As I study the image, I remember the night my father told us that he was friends with her in high school. Told us that he loved her. Told us some of the District’s secrets. About the Mafia. About Jimmy. Max. The conversation still sits heavily in my stomach.
‘She’s pretty,’ I say.
Despite needing to visit my father before Carter takes me home, the pull of my brother’s discomfort keeps me rooted to the edge of his bed. I put my hand on his tanned one. ‘What’s going on, Konnor?’
He twists to face me, dropping his gaze to where my hand spans my stomach. ‘You’re going to be a mother.’
I blink at him and take a deep breath in before folding my hands in my lap. ‘Yeah.’
Locking his jaw, he speaks through a slow shake of his head. ‘I was fucking furious when I found out he’d knocked you up, Cass. I’m not gonna lie. I was on the verge of driving all the way here and choking him with my bare hands.
‘Blesk stopped me, of course. She wouldn’t let me call you either. I had the phone in my fist and was ready to, but. . . She settled me down. And then, a few days after that, I got thinking about my mother. And how I’ll never know her. And. . .’ He sighs, eyes deep with emotion. ‘I don’t know. Now I’m a little jealous. I just wish I had someone in my life, anyone, who shares my blood with me. Someone I can spot similarities in. Sorry.’ He nods as a genuine but sad smile touches his mouth. ‘You’re going to be an amazing mother.’
The backs of my eyes begin to prickle. ‘You don’t need to share my blood. You know this. You’re my brother, and you’re his uncle.’
His blond-brown eyebrows rise. ‘His?’
‘Well, according to Max’s dad, there hasn’t been a female-born Butcher in over three generations, so I just call him a boy. He probably will be.’
Konnor groans as he all but spits out the word, ‘Butcher‘. He curls his nose up. Thrusting his hands through his hair, he then pulls them back down his face. ‘Can’t he be a Slater?’
I glance around dubiously before fixing him with an apologetic smile. ‘No, Konnor. He can’t.’
Before he can reply, my phone vibrates. Konnor nods at me to take it, so I pull it out of my pocket.
Carter: I have to get you home soon.
Frowning at the screen, I text back a reply.
Cassidy: Why?
Carter: Max.
One word that somehow delivers an entire explanation.
Cassidy: Ten minutes.
‘Fuck, he’s a controlling prick. Tell him you’re with your family,’ Konnor snaps, glowering down at my phone.
I bite my lip and blacken the screen. ‘He worries, that’s all. Sorry, big brother, I have to go. I love you.’ I cuddle him quickly and then wander from his room.
At the end of the corridor, I tap my knuckles softly on Dad’s office door.
Before I can announce myself, I hear his gentlemanly voice say, ‘Come in.’
Pushing open the door, I step inside, my arms opening wide. ‘Guess who?’
He jumps to his feet and rounds his desk, moving quickly to scoop me up into a tight embrace. ‘I’ve missed you.’ He pushes me out in front of him as he eyes me thoroughly. ‘How do you feel? I’ve wanted to be nosy and visit, but I was trying to pretend that I understand you’re a grown woman and that I don’t need my little girl anymore.’
‘Don’t you mean, that I’m a grown woman who doesn’t need her dad anymore?’
‘No. I meant what I said.’
I giggle a little at that. ‘I will always need my dad.’
‘Good,’ he states, gesturing to a seat. ‘Sit. To what do I owe the pleasure of my favourite person?’
Walking over to the spot opposite his desk while he moves back to his chair, I mull over how to delicately have this conversation. Resting my hands in my lap, I smile at him and inhale a breath of courage.
Mafioso.
When that word taunts me again, I decide to just get it all out. All my questions. Show all my cards.
‘I want to ask you what you know about Max’s family. About the Mafia. About Jimmy Storm. I want to know how to ignore what you know. . . about them. Because I’ve seen things. And I’m wresting to keep my concerns suppressed. I’ll never let go of Max. No matter what you say or what I see.’ I pause for a moment, always having known those words to be true but never having said them aloud before. Clearing my throat, I continue, ‘I just. . . want to know how you handle it.’
He stands up slowly and then heads straight for his cabinet, pulling out a bottle of scotch. He pours himself a drink before making his way back to his seat. Instead of drinking it, he entwines his fingers in front of him. ‘What have you seen, Cassidy?’
A man die at my own hands.
A woman looking at my boyfriend with true fear.
Blood and bruises and secrets so terrifying I don’t even ask for them to be shared with me, afraid of what I may hear and the apathy attached to the way I may hear it.
I drop my gaze to my fingers and pick at my nail polish.
‘He is not a bad man,’ my dad says. He nods as if convincing himself too. ‘I wouldn’t call him a good man either, but I’m not sure there is such a creature. . . Women are good. Men are. . . apes in shoes. We all do what we must to protect our own.’ He reaches for the glass, sipping the harsh liquor a few times before setting it down again . ‘I don’t ignore it, Cassidy. . . But I don’t know enough to make judgements. For a long time now, I have trusted in his ability to make the right decisions. He’s clever. And he stands beside Jimmy Storm.’
I wrinkle my nose in confusion, having thought he was talking about Jimmy all along. ‘Wait, who?’
‘Luca Butcher. . . ‘ He pauses with his thoughts, rubbing his hands down his cheeks and entwining his fingers at his chin. ‘How do I explain this to you? Do you know what the District was like before Jimmy Storm flew in from Sicily?’
I shake my head. ‘No.’
‘Drugs.’ He leans back in his chair. ‘Poverty. High unemployment. We are far away from the capital and the Eastern States didn’t care enough to aid in infrastructure or pay us many dues. Ninety percent of the mines employed fly-in-fly-out workers from other countries or the other side of Australia. We had a tiny budget for public servants – police, nurses. No one wanted to work here, so we had poor trades and poor doctors. There was so much violence in the streets. Bashings. Breaking and entering.’
My body feels strange, like my heart can’t decide whether to beat uncomfortably fast or slow down. I have known for a while that the District is built on corruption; stitched into the lining of most prosperous families’ pockets is that truth. It just sounds so concrete coming from my dad’s mouth. ‘But there is still violence,’ I say. ‘Lots of it.’
He smiles tightly. ‘Not on our streets. Not in our homes. Can you imagine if people started breaking into houses under Jimmy’s watch?’
That elderly lady’s distraught face flashes behind my eyes. Her harrowing cries ring between my ears. And a name – his name – finally claws out from the depths of my subconscious. Marco.
‘People die under his watch,’ I blurt out, feeling my face pale as the truth whirls around me like a frosty breeze.
Marco is dead.
This man is dead, and he has people like me that love him – miss him. Max’s cold stare bores into my mind, his impatient dismissal when all along he had known. . . had maybe even done the deed himself. ‘The brother you want!’ Xander’s words blister my ears, demanding my attention. ‘One that can hack a guy’s head off and sleep soundly at night!’
My lungs strain for air, but I try to hide it, sneaking in long, vibrating breaths.
Is Max capable of such an act?
‘Not our people,’ my dad states. ‘Remember that. Not honest, hardworking people. Our employment rates are the best in the country. Jimmy secured our residents a huge tender for employment on the mines. He cleaned up the streets. He has given us wealth. Safety. I decided a while ago that I would accept the good in that man until I saw the devil in him.’
So Marco wasn’t an honest, hardworking person? Is that what I am to believe and hold on to like a fricking lifeline? I let that sink in, move through my body, and expand my chest, filling it with fresh air.
Blinking at my dad, I ask, ‘So what do I do?’
‘I suggest you do the same. I didn’t want this life for you. I fought very hard to keep you out of it. But you fell in love and the rest is history. I know love. And I’d never deny it for you nor push you away from it.’
Remembering how sensitive my father is, I project a smile. ‘You’re such a softy.’
He shrugs. ‘Yeah.’
I leave my father’s office with my mind and body in a state of absolute exhaustion. The need to choose whose side I’m on seeps through me like dye, spreading out and changing the very essence of me. My heart. My morals. I accepted the gun. Accepted that in his line of work he hurts people. But can I accept that he’s capable of real brutality?
Walking out onto the veranda, I stare across at Carter who is leaning patiently by his car. He’s a good man. And he works for Max. Max doesn’t hurt people like me. . . And he’s a great judge of character. . . Blinking a few times, I realise it’s not a hard decision.
I trust Max. Always. Blindly or not, I do.
Nodding at Carter, I climb into the car.
