STILL AGITATED, I shower, dress, and head downstairs to start my day but not before switching Cassidy’s phone off. She will sleep for as long as her body tells her she needs to. Fuck ballet. Fuck anyone who wants to talk to her.
As I take the staircase down to the first floor, I look through the windows over the open balustrade. Connolly. It’s my city. Jimmy’s too. But it’s not Cassidy’s. She loves quaint urban Brussman and yet, she’s never once complained about dropping her whole life there. Her family. To be with me. To be in my room every night – alone.
Fuck.
The sight of Butch in his navy tailored two-piece suit, sipping his espresso and reading the paper at the kitchen island, stills my previous thoughts.
Staring at him, I feel my forehead tighten. ‘You’re here a lot these days.’
When he peers over at me, I catch a hint of disappointment in his eyes. ‘Morning, son. How’s your girl?’
I smirk, knowing he’s here to spend his morning with Cassidy. He has no idea that I know he has breakfast with her before she goes to ballet and he goes to Jimmy’s. She has Butch completely smitten, wrapped snugly around her sweet little finger. What a soppy motherfucker. ‘So do you want to be called Pop, Grandad, or Nànnu?’
A cocky-arse grin hits his lips. ‘Caught me.’
Moving towards the fridge, I say, ‘She won’t be down for a while. She needs to sleep. . .’ I sigh angrily. ‘You probably speak to her more than I do at the moment, anyway.’
As I make myself a protein shake, he watches me silently, his sceptical eyes following me around the kitchen.
I freeze, scowling at him. ‘What?’
He doesn’t jump to answer me, seemingly contemplative. Then he states, ‘Every man has two options in life: either be the man she needs you to be or move out of the line.’
I sneer, setting my glass down on the island bench. ‘I’ll torch the fucking line.’
He smiles, leaning forward on his heavy arms. ‘I believe you would. Love is maddening. Hasn’t watching your brother all these years not taught you this?’
Scoffing, I say, ‘Bronson was mad before Shoshanna.’
His brows draw in and he sips his coffee. This is Butch in an emotional mood. It’s a rarity, and I have no doubt it has to do with Cassidy. ‘Your brother always leans towards the theatrics,’ he says, placing his empty espresso cup down. ‘He’s more like your grandfather than me. You, you’re so much like me.’
His words settle in my stomach, like hunger or sickness, causing me to shift my weight. Was it a compliment or a dig? To know which, I would have to know exactly what Butch thought about himself. And that, I don’t know. The discomfort in my stomach is soon fuelled by the realisation that I am like him, annoyingly so. Home late. Cold. Impatient.
‘And just like you, I don’t get home until after midnight and have no time for my family.’
He leans back, folding those weapons of arms over his chest. My words rush off him like water. ‘I nearly gave up the life once.’
That takes me by surprise. ‘I didn’t think Victoria cared.’
‘She never did,’ he states adamantly and then I catch a glimpse of something in his stern eyes, a moment where they nearly reveal a secret. A truth buried deep. Something painful. ‘I didn’t nearly give up for her.’
Perhaps in other families that kind of statement would warrant a follow-up question, but we are not like other families. His business is his, and I have always taken exactly what he has offered me and never more. It’s called respect in our world. Respect for a man’s silence. ‘What would he have you do?’
Butch frowns. ‘Who?’
‘Jimmy.’
Butch’s arms unfold, and he makes a fist, cracking his knuckles. ‘Do you think of me as Jimmy’s property? That’s never been the case. Don’t mistake my quiet for compliance.’
Shaking my head with contempt, I say, ‘So you’d see me leave my brothers?’
He scoffs and it pisses me right off. ‘Max, let’s talk plainly here. Xander won’t be collecting and reinforcing. He’s more important to Jimmy than that.’
And although he’s the youngest, it’s not Xander I’m worried about. I know he’ll be working behind the scenes soon enough. It’s my reckless, emotional big brother. ‘And Bronson?’
Butch lets out a long sigh. ‘He wouldn’t have it any other way.’
I tighten my jaw. ‘He’ll get himself killed.’
‘You underestimate him; he’s made for that life – the frontline work.’
‘He’s not,’ I state curtly. ‘He has just given up on any other!’
‘And you never did,’ he bites back. ‘So why are you still treating your legacy like a goddamn burden instead of finding a place amongst it that suits your interests as well as the Family’s?’
It wasn’t a fucking question that required an answer.
Fuck.
He’s fucking right. I snarl to myself, thinking about the way everyone views me as the uninterested Butcher. The bored one. Out of all my brothers I’m the one who just finds the whole organisation not worthy of my time. What a bloody insult that must be to my family. To the Family in Sicily.
Bronson seems to revel in the intimidation. Xander can’t hack it emotionally, but that’s fine. He’s now motivated to study law and use his big fucking Einstein brain to keep us safe in his own way. Clay has embraced it, using it to his advantage. He’s slowly been manipulating the entire Cosa Nostra mould to suit his endeavours, but me. . . What the fuck have I done to make this life my own?
When Butch stands up and turns to leave, I find myself interested in his business even though I know I should keep my goddamn mouth shut. Respect, remember? ‘Who was she?’ I ask.
With his back still to me, he mutters gravelly, ‘It doesn’t matter. She’s gone.’
As he leaves, I drink my shake. The front door clicks shut, and I stare through the alfresco windows to the canals.
The fucking bored Butcher. . .
Palming my tight jaw, I press down hard and release some tension. It has never been a case of accepting the role on the ground with Bronson or disowning it.
I accepted it.
But I never wanted it.
I’m reminded of our first ever job, back when we were twelve. Bronson took that fucking cigar like it was a loaded MK37, the ash and embers the bullets, the power and allure just as dangerous. I never wanted the cigar or what it signified – loss of control. Loss of freewill. That is what working for the Family has always felt like to me. And I never wanted to arm myself with their power. I’d prefer to beat a man on the field using my own hard-earned skills and strength.
That has never been an option.
I’m in.
I’ve seen too much. Done too much.
And I would never leave my brothers.
But for Cassidy, I’ll step up and make my own way. Even if that means cementing myself to the Family. Involving myself in deep corruption. Managing it.
I text Clay and Jimmy, requesting a meeting this afternoon.
Placing my phone on the bench, I exhale loudly. I rub the tension that has returned to my jaw. There will be no going back from this. But it’ll be on my goddamn terms. With my power. My resources. My specific skill set. Jimmy isn’t nearly as educated as he believes himself to be – not even close.
I’ll no longer be just Butch’s son.
I’ll be an earner.
An associate.
I’ll control the means of producing so much fucking profit for the Family, Jimmy will be accepting my goddamn cigar. I find myself smirking at the prospect.
WHEN I STRIDE into Jimmy’s boardroom, Clay is leaning on the bar, a drink clasped in his hand. Standing beside him, Jimmy laughs – a throaty laugh that he only does when in the presence of his son-in-law. That cheerful intonation makes my jaw tic. It speaks of a bond that goes beyond Clay having married Aurora.
Jimmy isn’t his fucking family.
Always the fucking professionals, both men are dressed in dark suits and ties. I’ve only ever seen Jimmy a handful of times in anything else. They turn to acknowledge me, smiling easily.
‘Max.’ Jimmy walks towards me, arms wide. ‘Clay, get your brother a drink. We should celebrate his future arrival.’
I force a smile and embrace him. ‘Whiskey,’ I say, giving Clay a nod of acknowledgment over Jimmy’s shoulder.
Pouring me a shot, Clay says, ‘I will drink to that.’ He moves over to me and I wrap my arms around him. ‘We don’t see enough of each other,’ he says into my ear.
I release him and accept the drink he presents me. ‘I agree.’
My big brother is all business these days. I can’t remember the last time I had a casual drink with him. At his wedding, perhaps. I wonder how often Jimmy sees him, but as soon as I do, I bury that thought. Along with the resentment attached.
We drink for a while by the bar, keeping things on the lighter side. But after fifteen minutes of small talk, the tic in my jaw tells me I’ve hit my quota for sharing and receiving bullshit. We move towards the boardroom table and sit.
I relax opposite Clay, while Jimmy positions himself on my right, at the head. I text my guy and then hear a knock vibrate through the door.
‘Come in,’ I say before Jimmy can and it makes me want to smirk. My guy enters and passes me the documents, then leaves straight away. I slide one over to each of them.
Clay flips it over and then back again before flicking through to the last few pages – the summary pages. He begins to read as Jimmy opens the first page, skimming the text.
‘What is this?’ Jimmy asks, seemingly too impatient to read it.
Resting my elbows on the table, I clasp my hands together under my chin. ‘It’s an introductory framework for a new commercial construction, design, and planning compliancy policy. Once complete, it will detail a new scheme implementing more city obligated approvals for high-value commercial projects or projects in dense areas or above a certain engineering margin. Basically put, all future construction projects under this scheme will undergo a string of design approvals, covenants, code checks. . . It’s a bitch to navigate and interpret.’
Jimmy raises a black brow at me. ‘And?’
I look at Clay, who is still skimming the summary, a subtle smirk pulling at his lips. ‘Next year, when Clay gets nominated as a councillor, he’s going to introduce this new scheme and get it agreed to for a twenty-four-month trial. He’ll bring me in as a contractor to help interpret the document and implement the changes. With this policy, the City Architect will have the final say on every new commercial construction in the District.’
Clay clears his throat, closes the document, and leans his arms on the table. ‘Our city architect is fifty-nine. He won’t like it.’
I grin. ‘He’ll fucking hate it, and it’ll make him look due for retirement.’
‘And then?’ Clay asks, tilting his head. The glimmer of satisfaction in his blue eyes and the sideways curve of his lips show me he knows exactly what then.
‘And then you put my name forward for the position of City Architect after I’ve had time to win people over from the inside.’
Clay looks at Jimmy, and they share a meaningful exchange. My brother taps the document with his finger and says, ‘How do I sell this new policy to the city?’
‘It’s a fucking elegant scheme,’ I state adamantly. Although it’s all true, I hate having to convince others. I would much rather be running across a field than working in an office, but this is what it is. Business. A means to give Cassidy the fairy-tale. ‘On the surface, it focuses on space and environment. User experience and energy efficiency. It’ll modernise the District. Innovate it. They’ll lap it up. You won’t need to sell it, brother.’
Clay picks up his whiskey and, unlike our last meeting, he actually drinks it. ‘You can’t work for the city with your current reputation. The papers will eat me alive.’
Jimmy chuckles. ‘You’ll need to actually smile at people on the street, my boy.’
I open my arms wide. ‘I’ll smile. Cassidy will smile.’ I smirk and lean back in my seat. ‘Our son will fucking giggle.’
Jimmy laughs that throaty laugh and this time it’s directed at me. ‘You remind me of Clay toda-‘
‘I want something from you,’ I cut in because his warmth feels like a blade peeling my stomach.
He deadpans, his brown eyes narrowing on me. ‘Se?’
I fix my jaw but try to keep my voice steady and impassive. ‘Last time I spoke to you about this, I disrespected you and our Family. Which is why I understand how you missed what I had said. So this time, and the last time, I’m going to make myself clear.’ I lean closer to him. ‘We do not have Cassidy. I have Cassidy. She is out of this. I don’t want her hands touching anything dirty. And whatever plans you have that deal with Ben Slater is to be discussed with me – I have the final say. I represent that family in our business. And I won’t be collecting, so besides full Family affairs, I don’t want to be disturbed at night. ‘ I pause and let him absorb what I have just said. Let the trace of aggression that is simmering at the surface of my tongue dwindle. I exhale, eyes still trained on him. ‘Finally, when the moment is right, I want Dustin. I want to deal with him. My way. If you agree to that, under this scheme, we will have so much control over industry in the District that not even a little fucking cafe renovation will be able to get through approvals without our stamp and cut.’
A slow smile spreads across Jimmy’s lips, which means he’s either going to fucking shoot me or kiss me – sometimes he’ll do both. Relaxing into his chair, he swivels it to the side and rests his ankle on his opposite knee. He pulls the document to his lap and begins to read the first few pages. I doubt he has a clue what he’s reading, but it doesn’t matter. All the fucking fluff and flowers are right there in the introduction. He chuckles to himself and shakes his head as he mouths a few words. Then he slaps the document down on the boardroom table. ‘When can you have this policy finished?’
‘Six months.’
He nods slowly and then, without taking his eyes off me, reaches into his pocket and retrieves his cigar tin. He folds back the paper sheet and pulls one out. Wedging the cigar between his teeth, he draws the smoke in, the ember glowing with more vibrancy as he puffs and puffs.
When he slides the tin over to me, I stop it with my hand.
He blows out a cloud of white. ‘Have a cigar with me, Max.’
I close the tin. ‘So we have a deal then?’
A rough sigh leaves him as he stares straight at me. Lies are easy for dishonourable men to tell. But Jimmy is a man of his word, so although I can see the agreement on his face, his tongue is having trouble sealing the deal. I just need to be confident that this proposition is worth more to him than his pride, more than Dustin, and more than whatever he has planned for Ben Slater, because I will surely say no when the time comes to use him.
‘I couldn’t run a scheme like this without Max. And we can’t trust anyone else with this either,’ Clay states plainly.
I stifle a grin, burying my cocky fucking nature deep for a moment.
Jimmy removes the cigar from his lips, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger. ‘You, my boy’ –he points, waving the cigar– ‘Facìsti n’affare.’
Deal.
