Cosa Nostra: A Steamy Mafia Romance (Kids of The District Book 3), Nicci Harris [read a book txt] 📗

"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.

The sonographer starts to talk about the different parts: the sack, the heart. She draws lines across the screen, measuring the different black and white and grey shapes. Because that is what they are. . . shapes. Circle. Shading. Blob. Beating dot.

It is all done within fifteen minutes. The lady gives me a picture: black and white and nothing much to look at at all. The name at the top: Cassidy Slater.

Me.

That is my blob. The picture itself is fine, a cute token. That sloshing beat though. . . The heart that represents the love Max and I share is my new favourite sound.

As we leave, I'm overwhelmed with emotion. Leaving the room where I got to see and hear him, evokes a little sadness. Now, as we move out into the shopping centre, we enter a world he's not a part of yet, not really.

Max pulls me to his side in a possessive firm hold that I adore. While we walk past the shop fronts, not going anywhere in particular, Max stays silent. He's usually broody, but this is more aloof than broody. A strange kind of emotional fatigue has settled around him. Like he's done for the day. He has nothing left to give. Maybe for him that was like climbing a mountain. He needs to rest at the peak for a while before he descends or he might hurt himself - break something. More like, break someone.

He looks out of place, as usual. Even in his casual attire - jeans and a black shirt- he still seems larger than life. Too large to mix with commoners as they browse the discount clothing racks for a new outfit or pick the best oranges from the fruit stands.

We wander through the sliding doors and out into the piazza district. The warm wind hits me, bringing with it the smell from some of the nicest restaurants in Connolly. Garlic hits me first and I immediately crave Italian food.

It's lunch time and there are people everywhere, but my line of sight is snatched by the children playing with the water and light show. A blue and cream floor mosaic shoots illuminated water high into the air while the children rush through it.

I smile.

I really want to do that.

The arm around me pulls me in tighter as the amount of people around us increases.

I place my hand against his chest, peering up at him. He glances down, catching my gaze. His eyes, like the first time I ever truly stared into them, tunnel beneath my layers. Searching. Owning me. Chaotic emotions are strangled and buried deep inside their grey-blue depths. Beautiful. They are beautiful.

His eyes narrow and he stops walking. "What is it?"

"You're beautiful."

Raising his gaze, he continues walking. "Are you hungry?"

I giggle. "Subtle transition."

"Did you expect anything else?"

Shaking my head at him, I talk through a smile. "No, Master of the Subtle Transition. And yes, I'm hungry."

He steers me into a little Italian restaurant, the kind with mismatched chairs and tables, the Italian flag over a beautiful wooden bar, and a ceramic Mother Mary by the cash register. It's full of patrons.

As we enter, all eyes flick in our direction, bouncing away almost immediately as if the sight of us has scorched their irises. A man behind the bar smiles widely, but his lips are also pursed. The greeting both friendly and somehow not.

"Let me guess," I whisper as Max guides me into a red cushioned booth. "Jimmy owns this place."

He slides in beside me and opens a menu. He always sits next to me, not opposite me. "Bite your tongue. Jimmy is Sicilian and they hate being called Italian."

Turning towards him, I cross my legs and hook my foot around his calf. A young brunette girl is suddenly beside us, pulling a pad from her apron and preparing herself to take our order. She looks younger than me. Maybe sixteen. The pen shakes in her hand, its tip bouncing on the sheet of paper. She beams at Max, making me realise that her nervous energy isn't a result of fear or intimidation - she's flustered.

Her cheeks glow the way mine still do when I see him. The way they did a few nights ago when he came home past midnight and I could smell the whiskey on his breath. See the hunger in his eyes. There was a