Cosa Nostra: A Steamy Mafia Romance (Kids of The District Book 3)

by Nicci Harris

  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."

  Max

  * * *

  Jimmy gave me two fucking weeks to help Cassidy adjust to her new world with me. Two weeks without chasing little shits down for money. Without sorting through tender after tender with Clay and Xander. Without working on Clay's campaign. Without meetings. Now though, my time of playing house with her is up and it's back to business as fucking usual. Except now that I have finished my dissertation, Jimmy has me working throughout the day as well as at night.

  The glowing display in the Rover fucks with me as the time clicks past midnight. I had every intention of getting home earlier, but things took a turn at the last minute and I was forced to make an example of a Croatian arsehole who'd forgotten his bargain with The District Boss. We part-fund their tuna fisheries in South Australia, and they supply our markets. Pretty straight forward arrangement really. In fact, it's been the easiest fucking deal up until today when one of our associates saw crates and crates of imported tuna heading for our docks. So, of course, I called a meeting at their favourite strip club to find out where the fucking Aussie catch was going and why we know nothing about it. Needless to say, I broke a few noses.

  I pull into the garage and make my way inside, but as I peer towards the entertainment room, I'm suddenly eager for another whiskey. Heading down the hallway, I growl at the stench of perfume and sweat on my clothes. It's from the skanks that were crawling all over me tonight. I have never indulged in the affections of women. Their place in my life was one of simplicity. An exchange of pleasure. Nothing more.

  Until my little ballerina.

  I won't hurt her. Won't be cheating. But I should still shower before lying in bed with her.

  Moving into the room, I pour a Jameson's, throw it back, and then pour another.

  Turning to make my way upstairs with it, I'm stilled by the sight of pink-blonde hair and smooth white skin. Too much skin. Skin that needs a good slap for being out of our room, wearing only silky hot-pink pyjama-shorts that arch up at the sides and a silk camisole that showcases a perfect, trim stomach and . . . perky tits.

  I bite my fist.

  A blush hits her cheeks and that's the exact colour I should paint her arse for not listening to me about what's appropriate to wear around the house. Around my brothers. Guards. Fuck.

  "I fucking hate repeating myself, little one," I state, looking at that smooth, freckle-laced skin.

  Her sleepy eyes lengthen as she smiles. "It's hot." She yawns. "Why are you so late?"

  The countless number of whiskeys I've had at the club, plus the one I just threw back, suddenly creates havoc in my mind. When I narrow my eyes on her, she shuffles nervously.

  "Menace?"


  I set the whiskey down on the edge of the bar.

  As I step slowly towards her, she holds her breath. I don't stop until my shoes graze her bare little toes, forcing her to arch her neck to keep my gaze.

  I want to fucking eat her.

  She swallows hard. My eyes drop to watch her mouth open and suck in air. Her chest beats harder in response. I lick my lips when I see her little nipples tighten. My hands tic with need. Need to touch those nipples. Twist them until she can feel the sensation rushing deep inside her pussy.

  I raise my hand and place it over her chest. Her frenzied little heart beats away against it. I slide my hand up the column of her throat and band it, feeling the roll of her swallow against my palm. I squeeze to let her know she's mine. Fuck. I think I'm losing my restraint to that fucking whiskey.

  Hazel eyes, speckled with gold and amber, peer up at me. "Max." My name is spoken like she's praying to me. Her voice is husky and desperate, deliciously so.

  My cock swells at the sight before me and the scent seeping from her flesh. I grin when she places her little hand over mine, gently coaxing it away from her throat.

  I let her.

  She slowly turns to face the door and lifts her shaky little fingers, locking it tight. Staring at it, at her escape, she takes a big breath in. I still intimidate the little thing. My perfect little piece of purity. Barefoot. Near naked.

  I walk up behind her. Pressing my body to her back, the feel of her uneven breaths the ultimate turn on, I cage her against the door. Her hands slide up, fingers flexing around the wood by her head. Lowering my nose, I inhale her. That sweet, aroused scent resonates in my cock, and I want to fuck her right here against the door.

  As I drag the tips of my fingers down her sides, she tremors and squirms. My cock throbs. When I reach the seam of her tiny little shorts, I grip flesh, provoking little whimpers from her. I knead my hands up her sides, caressing the outline of her hips and the definition of her delicate ribs. Reaching her hands, I entwine our fingers and rub my cock against her arse, up and down the seam. The stimulation, although through fabric, drives me out of my fucking mind.

  Her head drops back to my chest.

  Little whimper-mixed pants spill from her.

  One of my hands breaks away from hers, slides down her stomach, and into her shorts. I caress her smooth hairless pussy before I cup her, stroking my index finger along her perfect lips. Spreading them, I push inside and slide all the way in. She is slick with desire. I lick my lips, wanting that silky juice on my tongue, in my mouth, every-fucking-where.

  My finger slides in and out, twisting and rubbing against the muscles enveloping them. Her broken pants get louder. Rocking her hips into my inward thrusts, she finds a rhythm with me.

  "Max," she moans, her chin to the ceiling, her lips open wide.

  "Do you like it when I touch you inside, little one?" I whisper in her ear.

  She moans and it's sweet and husky and just, fuck me. "Yes."

  I pick up pace, and she begins to pant so hard her breath leaves little steam marks on the door I have her pressed against. "You're beautiful. I'm sorry I'm late." When her thighs clench around my hand, I know she's moments away. But I want her orgasms rubbed out around my cock tonight, so I pull my finger from inside her. She curls in as if chasing the sensation I've just abruptly taken away from her. I grin even though she can’t see it. My little piece of purity, desperate to be finger fucked by me. Lifting my velvety slick finger to my mouth, I run it over my lips before sucking her off me. Fuck. As I lick my finger and then my lips, I rub my swollen cock against the silk of her pyjama shorts, wishing there was no fabric between us.

  When arousal hits my forehead like a fucking bat, I spin her to face me, pick her up, wrap her legs around my back, and walk her to the billiard table. She's pliable and weightless. I can deadlift four times my ballerina. Placing her down on the green felt, she spreads her legs wide to welcome my hips.

  She runs her hands up my chest, fingers spread wide, touching as much of me as she can. She caresses each muscle, indulging in the feel of me as I contract under her gentle worshipful strokes.

  But then she stops abruptly, her eyes trained on my chest.

  I glance down, scowling at the red stains on my shirt.

  Croatian noses spill like a bitch.

  My teeth lock together, enclosing all the words, excuses, and lies inside them. I don't want to bullshit her. Waiting for her to say something, I silently curse Jimmy and Butch and everyone else who taints these moments with her. In that vein, I curse myself too.

  Pressing my forehead to hers, I breathe roughly, wishing away this life for her. And yet, I will never fucking let her go. I swallow down the evening, a shitty evening with dirtbags and sluts.

  Rolling my head against hers, I groan the tension away. She slides her hands up and, with shaky fingers, starts to open my shirt. Button by button. I lift my head to find her face filled with emotion as she slides my shirt off my shoulders. Tugs it free from my arms. Drops it gently to the floorboards.

  "Now it's all gone, Max," she whispers, and my guts fucking twist like someone just drove a corkscrew into them. Too much. She affects me too much.

  I take her mouth, stealing her air as she exhales. My lips move hungrily around her face, her jawline, nipping and tasting her sweet, soft skin. Perfection. I lick her. I've never licked a girl like this before. Like I want to fucking consume her.

  While my hands work on removing my pants, hers stroke the length of my now bare abdominals. Nails lightly graze my taut skin. I drop my pants and boxers, kicking them away. Her shorts come off next.

  I stare at her pussy, which is glistening from my touch and parted just enough to showcase her pretty pink centre. I lick my lips in hunger to taste her insides. And now I can't stop the throbbing in my cock. It's excruciating. Can’t wait.

  Feeding my hands under her arse, I lift her pelvis up and slide her towards me. Clenching my teeth, I bury myself deep inside her. Her sweet tightness is nearly too much to bear. I can’t imagine what it's like for her to take me. She gasps for air when I'm balls deep. Lowering her down again, I start to fuck her on the table. I shield her whole little body with one arm, my bicep twitching with the need to have her close - engulfed. Unreachable. Mine. The other, I feed down the seam of her backside, clamping onto her arse, forcing her to meet my thrusts.

  I start to fuck her hard.

  As hard as I can. Quick thrusts. I keep myself buried deep. And she's so tight, holding me like a satin vice, like a fucking velvet fist.

  "You feel so good. So good," I praise because she should know. Should know how good she takes me. When I'm like this - relentless.

  She starts to tremble around me, legs seizing up behind my back.

  I don’t let up.

  Not for a second.

  Needing my release and hers. Craving it.

  "Max. Max. Max." My name is chanted through choppy, pleasured breaths. Her hands go into my hair. She has a death grip around the strands as she bucks, fucks me back, then fucking comes with a scream.

  And that sound.

  Fuck me.

  It's beautiful. I groan loudly in return - long and excruciating - as I chase my release. It's there, scorching a trail up the underside of my cock. I lean back and mash my mouth to hers, bruise her lips with mine, and then, fuck, I shoot hard inside her. My hips move fast to rub the sensation out within her clenching little cunt. The release is so good, so needed. I continue to roll into her, wringing the final pulses out until they subside. I slowly stop moving but stay deep.

  We come down together. Her lips move on mine softly, wanting to show me her affections.

  Ineffable.

  That's what this is.

  This thing of ours.

  It’s fucking ineffable.

  Cassidy

  * * *

  "This will be cold, honey," the sonographer says as she squeezes the jelly-like substance onto my lower belly. I'm on my back, my white tee-shirt roll
ed up to below my breasts and my jeans unbuttoned at the top.

  Pressing the handheld ultrasound to my skin, she begins to spread the gel around. She slides the camera with ease through the viscous fluid.

  Max towers over us, his stare unreadable as it's completely fixed on the camera. Not the monitor. The camera. The lady's hand as she presses into my belly, searching for a sign of life. We wait, and with every second, with every tick of the clock in front of me, my pulse increases. Max clenches his jaw. The silence is uncomfortable and filled with fear that the test was wrong, that I already lost him, that-

  "Oh, there it is," she says, stopping just above my left hip. I drag a big breath in. Max's eyes snap up to the monitor. I follow his locked stare and then we hear. . .a clock ticking underwater - the beating of a little heart. And I could dance a million performances, visit hundreds of cities, gorge in endless fine foods, and none would compare to this moment. I wasn't prepared for it - the second I realise it's possible to love someone I've never met. So completely. With all my pieces.

  Studying the display, I see a little circle, where inside is a blob, and inside that blob is a pulsing cell - a heart. I swallow a lump so big it squeezes my throat all the way down to the pit of my stomach. I can't look away. A sob breaks from me before my tears even release. And then the tears come on like a sprinkler shooting from my eyes.

  "Oh my God," I whisper. "Hi."

  Max's hand moves up to my face, wiping away the tears. He would usually kiss them, but he's struggling to look away from the screen as well. His hand freezes on my cheek. I rip my gaze away from that little heart and watch the man I love, the emotionally guarded Max Butcher, stare, eyes misting over, at the blob we made.

  "Max, you okay?" I ask, reaching up and entwining our fingers.

  "Hm." Is all I get from him, which only makes me smile and cry a little harder.