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And I did nothing.
Said nothing.
I am just a fucking pawn with no need other than to decapitate and slice and fuck my way to a prized asset.Fuck that.My fists tighten until both of my arms shake violently.
Thirteen years! I have been knee-deep in Jimmy's fucking dirt for thirteen fucking years. I've never asked for a goddamn thing and yet, he still thinks he can claim what's mine. The only thing I want. Like hell he can! I stifle a growl.
I won't be sharing her to suit his or anyone else's agenda.
Next time, when I say she is out, she. Is. Out.
And I expect those words to ring between his ears every time he thinks about Cassidy.
Thinks about using her.
She is mine.
Max
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, orNànnu?"
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."
