"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.