Page 25 of Brando

The drive back to the penthouse is filled with unspoken words and lingering regrets, the city lights blurring past us like fleeting memories. Mia shifts slightly, her gaze fixed on the darkness beyond the windows, a somber reflection painting her features.

I park the car in the basement of the towering penthouse, turning off the engine but not moving to get out. The silence stretches between us like a taut string, ready to snap at any moment.

Mia reaches out then, her hand hesitating in the air before settling gently over mine. Her touch is warm—a stark contrast to the chill seeping through the windows—and inexplicably comforting.

“We're more alike than we think,” she says softly.

Perhaps she’s right. We are both ensnared by our pasts, yet here we are together in the present—a pair of intertwined destinies trying to forge new paths amid old ruins.

I squeeze her hand lightly and give her a smile. “Let’s go up,” I suggest, stepping out into the cool night air. I hold the car door open for her as she emerges. Together, we walk through the basement, each step echoing slightly louder than our thoughts. We’re silent in the elevator as we climb towards the penthouse, rising slowly from level to level, as if shedding the weight of our troubled legacies with each floor we pass. I feel her presence lingering like a promise in my heart—a promise of what might be if we leave the past behind and dare to defy our fates.

13

MIA

“Mia,” Brando's voice cuts through my thoughts, rich and smooth, pulling me back from the edge of my contemplation. He stands in the doorway, his dark hair tousled, eyes heavy with sleep. I take in the state of his disheveled suit, look him up and down from my place on the terrace. “What are you doing out here?”

It’s dark and it’s late and it’s cold. But I stand in the faded light of the interior, seemingly immune to the elements, my mind numb as I look out over the city.

“Just thinking.” I force a smile.

“About?” He steps closer, concern etched on his handsome face. “Talk to me.”

I turn to face him, the weight of my thoughts pressing down on me. “It’s complicated, Brando.”

The weight of my sisters’ absence. The lack of information leading us towards them. The responsibility I feel towards him, and what his involvement in my problems could mean for him. I know that Brando has established himself as a force to be reckoned with, but he’s a busy man. And this thing with my sisters is time consuming. It’s heavy. It’s debilitating.

He shrugs. “So, break it down for me.” He reaches for me, his fingers brushing against my arm, sending a shiver through me. “What’s on your mind, Mia?”

The intensity of his gaze threatens to unravel my resolve. I know that to distract him, to keep him from prying too deeply, I have to go beyond mere words. I need to create a moment, a memory that will linger long after this night. I need to. I want to. This could very well be the only time I will ever be with Brando Gatti the way I’ve always wanted to be with him. My childhood friend. My childhood crush. The one that got away. If it’s the only time I get to feel his touch, I want something to remember him by, something that will linger long after all our words have been spoken and all our memories are a distant relic of the past.

“Maybe I just need to feel something real,” I whisper, my voice barely above a breath. The vulnerability in my tone seems to reach him, because his expression softens as he closes the distance between us.

Before I can second-guess myself, I step into him, capturing his lips with my own. The kiss is tentative at first, a gentle exploration that quickly deepens as desire surges between us. Brando responds by winding his hands around my waist, pulling me against him.

In his arms, I feel like I’ve come home. I feel like this is where I was always meant to be, right here by his side.

We stumble back into the room, the door closing behind us with a soft click. The world outside fades away as we lose ourselves in each other, the urgency of our actions fueled by the culmination of years of desire-what could’ve been but never was.

My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as our bodies meet with a heated intensity. I feel alive in a way I haven’t in months; knowing that we may never have this moment again fuels me. This could be a mistake in the making. This could be what finally drives us apart. But this has to happen.

Brando’s hands roam over my body, igniting every nerve ending as he explores my curves, his touch both possessive and tender.

He murmurs against my skin, saying my name, his breath warm and inviting as he makes sure this is what I want. “Is this happening?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill over. It’s Brando. It was always meant to be Brando. Ever since we were kids, and that first day we met as he was coming out of the pizzeria and he saw me walking my dog. It was always him. And if this is the only chance I’m ever going to feel this close to him, skin to skin and heart against soul, then I’m going to take this chance, and I’m going to run with it.

“It’s happening,” I reply, my voice trembling. “But I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything,” he says, his lips trailing down my neck, sending electric shocks through my body. Finally, we’re in the same room and we’re on the same page; this has been a long time coming.

“Just don’t let me go,” I whisper, even as I know with all certainty that this will probably ruin any possible chance of us ever being on solid ground again. I don’t trust my own judgment right now, knowing that this could destroy us. “Not tonight.”

Each touch, each kiss is a silent fury between us as he carries me across his chest to his bedroom. It breaks my heart slowly, but it’s telling that he took me to his own bed, not the guest bedroom where I’m staying. His decision to do so reeks of some sense of permanency, of him wanting the smell of me in his space, on his linen.

A silent promise passes between us, even if it’s only in the confines of my own wounded heart. It’s a promise that we will hold onto this moment, even as the world around us crumbles and threatens to tear us apart.

“Beautiful Mia.” Brando buries his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling like my scent is the air he needs to breathe.

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