Page 34 of Brando

“Why didn’t you come to me?” Scar asks.

“I went to him.” He chucks his finger my way in a way that tells him he’s second guessing his choices.

He needs to know that I’m just as committed to finding the girls as he is. And Mia – I will burn this city down to find her if I have to. I’m somewhat resentful that she found her way back to me after all these years, only for her stay to be short-lived.

“The Maltese don’t want a war,” Scar says, turning back to look at me. “Falcone led us to the warehouse knowing we’d storm the Maltese. It would’ve been a win-win for him if we destroyed each other; that’s precisely what he wants.”

“To what end?” Mason asks.

Scar shakes his head, unsure. “They’re willing to overlook what happened at the warehouse; they don’t want a war any more than we do. And they’re willing to play ball if they find out where Falcone’s holed up.”

I finally speak up, letting them know I have Rafi working the dark web.

“How’s that going to help?” Mason asks.

“That’s where all the chatter happens.”

If the girls are going to be sold, that’s where all the buyers are. That’s where all the monsters lurk, waiting for their pound of flesh. A cold fury overwhelms me as I think of Falcone now having not two, but all three sisters in his custody, and the possibilities of what that means.

“Keep your eyes and ears open, Mason. We're going to need every advantage.” Scar turns away, his silhouette merging with the darkness as he moves toward his car where his driver waits. “You coming?” he asks me, and I give Mason a last look before I walk toward the car. I can’t shake the cold grip of dread that weaves around me, knowing that this battle is far from over.

18

MIA

Iknew my lips were swollen, almost bruised, from Frank’s punishing kiss when I emerged from behind the bleachers. I almost stumbled as I stepped into the light, and Frank followed, a possessive hand on my waist. I stopped short when I saw the field was full of students, with most turned our way. A hot, crimson flush overtook me; they were like paparazzi waiting for their scoop, and suddenly, I was overcome by a feeling of deep shame as all eyes committed my face to memory. And there, slouched against a wall, eyes burning holes into me, was Brando, watching our every move. I turned around to look at Frank, preparing myself for trouble, but all I saw was the smirk on his face. The one that told Brando Gatti that he had me first.

All the girls would go crazy for Brando. With his finely chiseled cheeks and denim-colored eyes, brown hair parted to the side, he was the stuff of dreams. His footballer’s frame made him one of the biggest boys on campus, bigger even than the quarterbacks we were all usually so in awe of. But his eyes never strayed my way. Unless it was to shoot me a scowl. Which was precisely what he did any time he saw mewith Frank Falcone. It was like he took personal pleasure in tormenting the girlfriend of his worst enemy. It was like he buried us in the ruins of our youth and decided he no longer wanted to be my friend.

Because that’s what we were. We were friends before we started at the same high school. He moved into the neighborhood when he was ten and I had just turned nine. He and his three brothers and their father. They didn’t have a mother and although I often wondered why, my mother always told me it was impolite to ask. He never mentioned her. And there were only ever males going into that home.

But there was a sort of sullen sadness about Brando; it was hard to break through his tough exterior and see beyond the broken child. He was a year older than me, but he might as well have been twice my age for how grown up he seemed. Grown up but broken.

He finally let me in when he saw me walking my dog, a great German Shepherd that was bigger in body mass than I was, which made it look more like the dog was walking me, not the other way around. He was a different person around Cult, and we became fast friends, bonding over our joint walks. He was also the one to hold me and bring me back to the land of the living when I lost Cult to a speeding car and thought my life would fall apart. It did, for a while. But Brando was the one to pull me back. He was the one to save me all those years ago until we parted ways.

We started out as neighbors, then we became friends. And I had never felt more complete, more free, more whole, than when I was in the same room with Brando. We carried our friendship through the years, all the way up to high school, where he made his own friends, and I made mine. Yet still, we belonged to each other. On the weekends. After school. Duringterm break. Without the congestion of the world around us, we remembered each other, and we were inseparable.

Until the year that I was fifteen. And I found myself on Frank Falcone’s radar. Frank Falcone with his slicked back black hair and bad boy swagger. Frank Falcone with a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas. And that chip’s name was Brando Gatti. No-one knew why he had a beef with Brando; I don’t think Brando even knew, but boy did that animosity manifest over time.

I didn’t really want to be Frank’s girlfriend. I didn’t even really know how it happened. One minute we were walking side by side, the next minute, he had slipped his hand around mine and I had somehow become his girlfriend. It didn’t escape my attention that he grabbed my hand just as we walked past Brando Gatti, and my friend’s eyes fell to our clasped hands before he shot me a vacant, somewhat bored look.

I was all of fifteen years, while both Brando and Frank were almost a year older than me. Two of the most popular boys in school, with Brando taking the lead with his brooding quietude and handsome features. He was loved for so many reasons, but especially the fact that he was not a player like Frank. All the girls wanted him, but he wasn’t one for bedding them then dropping them faster than he could pull his pants back up. That only made them want him more. The same way that I had always wanted him.

The door clicks open evenbefore my hand has a chance to graze the handle, revealing the dimly lit grandeur that awaits me. My heart drums a relentless beat, my fingers curled into tight fists at my sides, nails digging painful crescents into my palms. I step over the threshold, the click of the ridiculous heels Frank insisted I wear announcing my arrival.

“Ah, Mia Bella, you’ve finally emerged from your cavern,” Frank’s voice slithers through the space, wrapping around my senses with its fake charm. There is nothing charming about Frank Falcone.

My eyes find him lounging in the shadows, a glass of amber liquid in one hand. Light flickers across his features as he rises, the charming smile he offers a stark contrast to the cold calculation in his eyes.

“Frank.”

He looks me up and down, an appreciative look on his face. “As stunning as ever,” he says, his words dripping with insincerity as he steps closer, the scent of his cologne mingling with the danger that clings to the very air around him.

“When can I see my sisters? Where are they?”

I don’t tell him that I’ve spent every minute of the day he’s not around exploring the house – Sophia and Maxine don’t appear to be here, and my anxiety spikes at the thought that I’ll never see them again. What if he doesn’t even have them? What if I’ve sold my soul to the devil and he doesn’t even have them? That picture he showed me could have been taken at any time. It could have been taken anywhere. It could have been doctored, for all I know.

His smile never leaves his lips as his gaze hardens, a silent acknowledgment of the dark dance we’re about to engage in. My posture stiffens as Frank circles me like a predator eyeing its prey. The chill in the room seeps into my bones, but I hold my ground, my steely resolve steady.

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