Page 2 of Brando

I lean in, interest piqued despite myself. “What’s the deal with the daughters?”

Mason exhales another cloud of smoke, his eyes narrowing as he considers his words. His black hair is slicked back, peppered at the sides with some greys. He can’t be a day over fifty, yet he’s built like a twenty-year-old; all lean muscle and strength that takes many men years to cultivate. He obviously takes very goodcare of himself, down to the lack of lines on his wide face. A face that resembles a young Ray Liotta to such an extent, it’s hard to believe they weren’t separated at birth.

“The girls have nothing to do with this. Innocent college kids, the youngest are barely nineteen. They don’t know the first thing about their father’s... enterprises.”

I roll my wrist, my patience wearing thin as I urge him to hurry it along. “My sister in law’s about to give birth any minute now, and I really don’t want to be on this side of town when I should be with my family.”

Mason sighs. “The Maltese are looking for the girls so they can sell them and recoup their losses.”

“The Maltese want to auction them off?” I ask, disgust lacing my tone. The Gatti name has never associated itself with human trafficking, and if anything, we abhor the practice. And we don’t want it anywhere near our territory, either. This is our city, and we run it our way.

“Exactly,” Mason confirms grimly. “Revenge while profiteering. They reclaim what was taken and earn extra on the side by selling those poor girls to the highest bidders. And they know some pretty crazy monsters, B.”

It is a sickening notion; one that makes my stomach churn with anger and revulsion. In our line of work, lines are often blurred, morals bent and occasionally broken, but involving innocents crosses a definitive line.

“I need your help, Brando.” He leans forward, his expression earnest. “I’ve always known you to be a decent man when it comes to women. I need help protecting these girls.”

“What’s your angle here?” I ask him. “I know you said Corsica was your best friend, but getting involved with the likes of the Maltese is a stretch, even for you.”

There’s a nostalgic look in his eyes when he turns to me, and I can see that he’s holding something back. His mind checks outmomentarily, before he settles on the obvious, telling me that he promised the parents he’d always look out for the girls. I don’t entirely believe that’s the only reason he’s invested in the safety of these girls, but neither do I believe that he’s coming from a place of malice.

I sit back in my chair, my mind reeling. Another war is the last thing any of us needs, especially after we just came out of one. I hate to say it, and I do empathize with him, but I don’t know that I can do much to solve his problem without getting my hands really, really dirty.

“Taking on the Maltese would be professional suicide,” I remind him. “It will lead to all-out war. It’s too soon after the last one – we could end up facing all out anarchy.”

“I can’t do this on my own,” he says. “I just don’t have the manpower or a name like Gatti backing me. But I watched these girls grow up; I won’t just forsake them like that, no matter what their father did.”

“You know this is not our domain, Mason. We don’t get involved in things that don’t concern us.”

“No, you don’t,” he agrees. “But you’re a man with a conscience. And I know how you feel about the skin trade.”

I nod slowly, my reluctance thawing. What sort of a man would I be if I left these girls to rot at the hands of the Maltese? I’d be no better than the human traffickers themselves; the monsters we fight day and night. My mind wanders back to the battle we waged recently against the Scarfones and Lucianis, who were trying to muscle in on our territory. That particular clean up netted us a container full of broken women and children who’d been kidnapped off the streets, on their way to being shipped off and sold to the highest bidder. The complete satisfaction it had given us releasing those innocents from their prison was incomparable to any other win we’d everhad. But we’d have to utilize a whole lot of power and immense persuasion to close this deal.

“Where are the girls now?” I ask, focusing back on Mason.

“They’re holed up in one of my safe houses. I don’t know how long I can keep them there before I need to move them again.”

“Who knows the location?” I ask him.

“No-one. Just me. It’s a shanty little out of the way place you couldn’t find even if you were looking for it.”

I stand up, ready to leave but pause at the door. “I don’t want my brothers involved in this,” I tell him. “Get me photos; I’ll organize passports and new identities. I’ll help you relocate them, but they can never come back here, Mason. That has to be made very clear to the girls.”

2

MIA

My heels click rapidly against the damp cobblestones, each step a sharp punctuation in the hush of the night. I move with purpose, my breath forming small clouds that melt into the chilly air. Shadows cling to the buildings around me, but I don’t flinch; the darkness is one of my oldest acquaintances.

My mind churns with silent urgency, thoughts heavy like the leaden sky above. The streetlamps cast a sallow glow, throwing elongated silhouettes before me, as though beckoning me onward. Familiarity does little to ease the burden that presses on my shoulders—an unseen weight that’s deeply felt.

As the outline of the apartment building looms ahead, my pace slows for a heartbeat. Instinct pricks at the base of my neck, and I glance over my shoulder. A cat darts from one alleyway to another, its eyes glinting briefly before disappearing into nothingness.

The brief pause does nothing to calm my racing heart. It isn’t fear that fuels its steady drum; it is the need, pure and unyielding, to be with my sisters. To shield them from what lurks beyond the walls of our temporary home.

I tell myself I’m almost home, almost safe, more to quell my own worries than to convince myself of the truth of those words. My hand reaches for the door, fingers brushing the cold metal, as I steel myself and step through the front door.

The chill of the night still clings to my skin as I step inside. A soft, quivering breath reaches my ears—the sound of sorrow I know all too well. Sophia's sobs pierce the silence, each one a tiny echo of despair.

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