Page 56 of Brando

Mia.

“Left side,” Rafi’s voice crackles in my ear. “Contact! We’ve got more incoming!”

I don’t stop. I don’t slow. I turn, instinctively raising my gun, my eyes trained on the emerging threat. A handful of Falcone’s men rush from behind the side of the house, their guns raised. They don’t have time to backtrack before we open fire with a barrage of bullets.

The fight is brutal, raw, and unforgiving. I see one man drop as Scar’s bullets tear through him, the body crumpling to the ground in a heap. The Enforcer’s shot is quick and merciless, another body falling under his precision. But there’s no time to celebrate. The compound is still crawling with men, more closing in with every second.

I press forward without stopping to catch my breath. The sound of my heartbeat pounds in my ears, drowning out the rest of the world. I can feel the weight of the moment—the last push. The storm outside is nothing compared to the one inside me.

We reach the main building. The door is locked, but that’s no problem. Scar’s already working the mechanism, a quick burst from his pistol blowing the lock off with a satisfying crack.

We rush forward, where the air is thick with the smell of sweat, and fear.

We’re close. I can feel it.

There’s nothing – and no one – that will stop me from getting Mia back. Nothing.

29

MIA

Walls shake as gunfire echoes through the room. It starts without warning, and I’ve never been more grateful for fate’s timing as I am now.

Frank and I are locked in a battle of wills as we tousle on the ground and he tries to get the upper hand. He tries, but he fails, and I have four bite marks to prove it, because each cut into his flesh bought me precious seconds of respite from him. They delayed the inevitable, even as he tried to take me by force.

When the first shots ring out, Frank tenses and turns his ear, listening to the chaos outside the door. I think he understands what’s happening, because he lets go of me and it looks like his mind is racing at three hundred miles a minute.

Amidst the chaos, I seize my moment. I twist away from my distracted captor, a sharp jab to his throat silencing his protestations. My breaths come fast, but my movements are deliberate—each step a silent vow of escape.

My heart pounds in my ears as I stagger to my feet, every muscle in my body aching from being thrown against the ground. I’m not two steps away from him before his hand reaches out and wraps around my ankle. I stumble forward,somewhere between him and the door that beckons me. I scramble away, but his hand is like a shackle against my foot. I kick out at him, trying to push him away, but he regains his balance as he throws himself over me and tightens a hand around my neck mercilessly. His grasp is bruising, leaving marks that will surely darken by morning, not that it will matter because I’ll probably be dead by then. The only thought that fills my head is that I may never see my sisters again. I may never see Brando again.

There must be someone watching out for me, though, because the sound of gunshots nears, like madness descending upon us, and Frank lifts his head and listens, even as he squeezes the life out of me. But it’s only when he hears shouts, someone calling his name, that he lets go of my neck and stands, staggering out of the room. I splutter as I catch my breath, gasping for air, before I turn on my side and push myself up until I’m standing.

A wave of nausea washes over me as I limp down the hallway, leaning on the wall for support. My left leg throbs painfully where Frank grabbed me, but fear propels me forward. The elegant carpet muffles my footsteps, and I pray that it conceals my escape long enough for me to find safety.

Suddenly, another volley of shots pierces the air, closer this time. Panic surges through me, and I break into a clumsy run, dragging my foot as I go. I have no idea how many people Frank has pissed off, no idea who’s come to take their vengeance out on him, so I decide my safest bet is to find a quiet little out of the way corner where I can hide until the shooting dies down and I can slip through one of the exits. The end of the corridor looms ahead—a door left slightly ajar, leading to the dimly lit back rooms of the property where I don’t often venture.

As I push through the door, I stumble and fall heavily to the ground. The air is knocked out of me, and I gasp, struggling tobreathe. Before I can attempt to rise, a shadow falls over me. My heart skips a beat, fearing Frank has caught up to me. But then a familiar voice cuts through the haze of my fear.

“Mia?” It's Scar Gatti, his face etched with concern as he kneels beside me.

Through labored breaths, I try to speak, “Frank...he tried—I had to?—”

A loud crash interrupts me, followed by more gunfire. Scar's body tenses, and he glances down at me with a fierce protectiveness. “We need to get you out of here,” he states firmly. His eyes flicker with an icy rage as he glances back towards the way I came. “You're safe now,” he assures me firmly, though his gaze remains wary, scanning for any sign of danger.

Nodding weakly, I allow him to guide me down the corridor. Each step is agony, but Scar's steady presence gives me strength. As we near an exit, I can hear the chaos outside escalating—a terrifying orchestra of violence that seems never-ending.

Suddenly, Scar has a gun in his hand as he pulls us into a shadowed alcove, pressing us against the cool brick as several men rush past our hiding spot. His grip on me tightens protectively, and for a moment, despite everything, I feel safe.

As soon as the danger passes, Scar whispers urgently, “Stay close to me.” He helps me navigate through a back door leading out of the house, where the night is shrouded in darkness and damp with recent rain.

The night air hits me like a wave, fresh yet filled with the acrid scent of gunpowder and fear. Scar doesn't pause; his determination clear as he half-carries me across the uneven ground towards safety under a flickering floodlight.

“You’ll be safe here,” Scar says, before he turns to look at the house. My eyes follow him as an orange ball of fire lights up the darkened sky. Part of the house is now on fire; the part in which I used to sleep. Without knowing exactly what happened, I caneasily guess that Frank set fire to the house hoping I’d perish in it. I watch Scar anxiously as he speaks into what looks like an earpiece, telling the receiving side that I’m with him.

“You need to get out,” he hisses, and barely moments later, a dozen or so men emerge from various corners of the house.

“Where’s Brando?” I ask, my eyes scanning across the faces alight with the glow of the fire.

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