Page 19 of Brando

There’s a show of shrugs as they look at each other in confusion, eager to leave my threatening presence.

“I want a location,” I tell them. “And make no mistake, if you fuck this up, there’ll be hell to pay. You saw what happened to those who came before you.”

A slow smile starts to play on my lips as they scramble out of the room even before I’ve left it. I’ve managed to turn the tables to stir a tempest they can’t easily quell. For the sort of money I’m offering them – the kind of money that would release them from their own financial woes, they’ll get to work and they’ll work to find Falcone, I have no doubt. As for me, it’s time to revisit some old acquaintances; time to reignite some old fires to remind people why the Gatti name is synonymous with fear.

I drive backto the penthouse, where I find Mason sitting at the kitchen counter, nursing a scotch. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair in disarray like he’s been ruffling it for too many hours.

“How drunk are you?” I ask him, as I pour myself a drink. He smirks, lifts his glass in a salute, and lets the liquid shoot down his throat.

“Not very…yet.”

“Where’s Mia?” I ask him.

“In the gym.”

She was defiant when it came to staying in the penthouse I vacated when I moved back home to be closer to my brothers. With the four new builds completed, it only made sense for us all to move in and become a family unit once again. Eventually, she relented, and she’d kept out of my way for the most part, opting to stay in her own room or spend her time in the gym. She spent hours in there if I wasn’t working out.

“How long has she been in there?” I ask him.

“Two hours.”

“That’s a healthy obsession.”

Mason snorts, then lets out a laugh and tells me that Mia is the unhealthiest person he knows. She must be bored out of her mind, he tells me, because in a normal world, there’s no way that Mia would go anywhere near a gym. This information surprises me; to look at her, despite her small stature, she seems quite fit.

I remind Mason not to drink himself to death and excuse myself to go and check on her. She’s running on the treadmill, her ponytail swaying left and right with her movements. She’s wearing a pair of my sweats and a t-shirt tied at her navel from the laundered pile my housekeeper keeps in the gym at all times.A thick line of sweat seeps through the back of the t-shirt, the fabric drenched in exhaustion.

She spies me in the wall-to-wall mirror and slows the machine down, her chest rising with every intake and every exhalation of breath. I hand her a bottle of water and lift my own to my lips. Even in her current state, messy with the effort of her workout, her hair matted to her face, I can’t take my eyes off her. I can’t stop comparing the girl I used to know with the woman she’s become.

“Anything new?” she asks.

“I’m working the Maltese,” I tell her. “They don’t have your sisters.”

She frowns, looking at me curiously. “Are we even sure that someone has them, Brando? They left that safehouse of their own accord.”

“That doesn’t mean they didn’t come back to the city. They could have run into trouble.”

“But you don’t think it’s the Maltese?”

“Definitely not them. I think you need to be prepared, Mia. They could be with Frank.”

She shakes her head, looks at me in irritation, before she tells me how ridiculous that sounds.

“Why would he offer his help if he has them?” she asks. “He’s many things, but he wouldn’t do that.”

“Wouldn’t he?” It angers me that she defends him. That she still sees some good in him. “He plays games, Mia. It's what he does best.” My words slice through the tense air between us, harsh and cold.

Mia's expression shifts slightly, a hint of doubt clouding her deep blue eyes. “And you think I can't see through him?” Her voice rises, defensive yet laced with uncertainty. She’s always been a little vulnerable when it came to dealing with Frank.

I step closer, my presence enveloping her. “I think you want to see the best in people—even when there is none. That will be your downfall, Mia.”

Her gaze falters, dropping to her hands before darting back up to meet mine. “Do you think they’re…?” There's a tremor in her voice, a rare crack in her composed facade.

“Don’t think that” I state flatly. The thought of Mia losing her sisters twists like a knife in my gut. They’re the only family she has left; losing them would destroy her. The thought dredges up reminders of the loss of my own brother. I wouldn’t wish that kind of pain upon anyone.

“I can’t feel them,” she counters, frustration seeping into her tone. She lifts a hand to her heart and clenches the fabric there. “I used to be able to feel them, to sense them. I don’t get that feeling anymore.”

Her hand reaches out involuntarily, seeking something steady as her world tilts on its axis. I grasp it firmly, grounding her. “We won’t stop looking,” I promise, my voice low and resolute.

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