He knows I have to approve every incoming number to her phone; it’s completely locked to unknown callers.
“I will,” is all I say.
Max climbs the steps to our level, joining our congregation. Clasping me on the shoulder—sweat, whiskey, inevitability clinging to him— he taps me once. That’s a damn embrace from Max. He must feel good after that fight. He doesn’t enforce like he used to, doesn’t box professionally or even often anymore, because his wife Cassidy hates the violence. Hates every little cut or smear of blood on him. But boxing, corruption, and power are in our Butcher blood. Now and then, he needs a taste of our legacy. He was always going to win.
Around us, the crowd thins until only Family remains. The real work begins, settling scores, forging alliances, handing out fat envelopes.
I drain my glass.
I used to think a leader is always alone, but my little deer taught me you cannot lead without people willing to follow—and accept.
I am not alone.
Not anymore.
Perhaps I never was.
That’s the problem with being the man at the top. Gravity works differently up here. The air is thinner, the consequences dire, the view too vast— I assumed the empire was mine to bear. One slip, and the entire structure comes down.
I look at my insane brother, who has always been there—blind as I was to see it before. Then at Max, reluctant as he is, never denies the Family.
And I have my sons andher.My little deer, who knows exactly what my evil looks like, who I am and endures me, anyway. She gives me what men like me should never touch: solace, acceptance, love, peace, and a smile that still strips the air out of my lungs.
CHAPTER THREE
clay
Que,my houseman, with a draw almost as fast and precise as mine, opens the front door to the mansion, nodding respectfully. “Welcome home, Boss. Anything to report?”
“The Tuscan took his beating with grace. Give him a small inside job on the streets—let’s see how he plays.” I enter, and he closes the door behind me. I would happily have Que at a meeting, but he is far too busy. He manages the house, organises the soldiers, and ensures everyone is in the right place at the right time with the right attitude.
“Of course, Boss.”
I continue through the lower level towards the staircase when hushed female voices sail from the right wing. Only a single wall lamp breaks the darkness, casting just enough light to navigate by.
I'm about to investigate the whispered conversation when something brushes my ankle. A soft meow stops me mid-stride. My little deer’s white cat circles my feet, oblivious that I nearly crushed her, demanding attention with each figure-eight around my legs. I bend down and run my tattooedhand along her spine, feeling her arch into my touch, greedy for pressure.
Spoilt little thing, entitled, silly— still, I am somewhat of a fool for sweet, silly little things. I indulge her with three more strokes before stepping over her and continuing towards the laundry room at the far side of the corridor.
I push the door open but remain in the doorway.
The maids freeze. Their arms plunged into the basin, their bickering silenced by my presence.
"Mr Butcher..." Deloris's eyes widen like a cornered animal. "We—we're trying to salvage it."
"We'll fix it," Julianna promises. "We definitely will."
Christ, do I terrify them that much?
I frown at the tie dangling from Deloris's fingers—my grey Bvlgari tie. "Salvage what exactly?"
"Your sons..." She attempts a laugh that comes out strained. "The little princes, well, they decorated it."
"With a permanent marker,” Julianna adds.
"But we'll get it out,” Deloris implores. “We assure you."
A small smile hits my lips as I walk towards the two stunned women until I am standing over them and the sink.
