Page 60 of Brando

“That’s what you’re paying me for,” he says, his voice flat, like he’s reciting the same thing for the hundredth time.

I nod, though the guilt tugs at me. The fine line between protection and control is razor-thin, but I don’t have the luxury of second-guessing myself anymore. Brando’s reckless streak could tear everything apart.

“Keep an eye on him. But don’t let him catch on. If Brando even senses that we’re watching, he’ll go rogue, and I can’t afford that. When he’s angry, he’s blind. He won’t see reason.”

The Enforcer’s icy gaze doesn’t waver. He knows the stakes. He understands how dangerous Brando can be, especially when he’s pushed.

He gives a sharp nod, acknowledging my command without any need for words.

“What about the girl?”

I raise an eyebrow, caught off guard. “Mia?”

He watches me, his expression a study of quiet calculation. “She’s been in Falcone’s custody. Is it possible she’s been compromised?”

The question hits harder than I expected. He wants to know if there’s a possibility that Mia would betray us. I know the answer but saying it out loud makes it feel... uncertain.

“She’s with Brando. And if he trusts her, then she stays protected. No questions.”

I can see the skepticism flicker in his eyes, but he doesn’t voice it. He clears his throat, a tension building in his posture.

“Falcone has her sisters.” The words are low, dangerous. “That’s a weakness right there. People do unexpected things when they’re trying to save their own.”

The thought claws at me, gnawing at the back of my mind. I run a hand through my hair, the frustration building, but I force myself to remain calm. The last thing I need is for this to spiral further out of control. But I hear exactly what he’s saying. If push came to shove, who would Mia save – Brando or her sisters?

“He doesn’t have access to her anymore,” I say, the words heavy with a warning. “If Falcone wants to target someone, it’ll be her sisters. Not Mia. Not now.”

A faint flicker of doubt crosses his face, but he doesn’t question me. For now, the matter is closed.

I can feel the weight of the conversation settling between us, an uncomfortable silence wrapping its fingers around the room. But the Enforcer isn’t done. He shifts slightly, and I notice the subtle tension in his posture. It’s as if he’s been holding something back—something that he’s finally ready to release.

“What is it?” I ask, my voice darker now, like I know he’s about to cross a line.

His eyes flicker to mine, then he takes a small step forward, chin lifted slightly. His hands dig into his pockets, but there’s a slight tightness to his posture. He’s nervous.

Good.

The thought of a man like him, a killer without mercy, showing any sign of unease, gives me an edge.

“When this is over...” His voice falters, but only for a moment. Then he presses forward, words rushing out. “I want a seat at the table.”

I study him, taking a long moment to let the words sink in. My gaze sharpens, watching him carefully. He’s a mountain of muscle and muscle memory, but this? This is a gamble on his part. And it’s so not what I was expecting.

“Meaning?” I ask, my voice low, dangerous.

His jaw tightens, and for the briefest of seconds, I see a flicker of something else—something deeper. Desire. Hunger. But it’s all wrapped in that cold, unrelenting exterior. He’s not asking for power out of weakness, that much is clear.

“The Gatti table,” he says, his voice steady now, but his eyes betray a glint of something darker. “I’ve proven my loyalty, Scar. I’ve spilled blood for this family. Now I need to prove I’m more than a gun in someone’s back pocket.”

I step forward, my presence looming over him, the room suddenly thick with tension.

“Loyalty,” I mutter, my voice low. “Loyalty isn’t earned by asking for power. It’s shown through silence, through service. It’s something you live with, not something you demand.”

His gaze locks with mine, unflinching, unfazed. “I’ve been silent. I’ve served. Blood stains my hands, just as it stains yours. And if you’re asking me to prove my loyalty again, Scar, then this is the way to do it.”

The air between us crackles with unspoken tension. He’s right, in a way. The man’s been with us for years, loyal through blood and sweat. He’s never flinched when the job called for it. But this? This is different.

From the corner of the room, Brando steps into view, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. His gaze flicks between us with calculating precision.

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