Page 62 of Brando

“What the hell are you doing here?” His voice is a low growl, full of barely contained rage. His gaze flicks over me with barely veiled anger. The men standing beside him scatter away, huddling in small groups as they wait for him to destroy what little hope I have left for a future with him in it. I don’t understand why he can’t see what it means to me that I’m here for my sisters. I know he’d do the same if it were his own family at risk.

“I wasn’t going to stay behind,” I say, my voice quieter than I want it to be. “I had to know. They’re in the shipment, Brando. My sisters... they have to be. I couldn’t stay in the dark, not when they might be?—”

“Stop, Mia.” Brando steps forward, his presence a wall of fury. “We spoke about this! Why would you put yourself at risk again?” I think he already knows the answer to his own question. He steps closer, his anger suffocating me.

My throat tightens, but I hold my ground, staring up at him, not giving an inch. “They’re my family, Brando. I need to know where they are.” My voice wavers slightly, but I don’t look away. “And I have just as much right to be here as anyone else.”

The silence that follows is suffocating, the only sound the distant murmur of the docks, the clinking of metal, and the rapid beating of my heart. Brando’s gaze softens, just for a fraction of a second, but the anger doesn’t leave his features.

“Goddammit, Mia,” he mutters under his breath, before pinning me with a glare that could freeze water. “I can’t have you taking unnecessary risks; we spoke about this.”

I flinch at his words, the sting cutting deeper than I want to admit, but I hold myself steady. He’s right about one thing—I’m not built for this life, not the way they are. But I don’t have a choice. Not anymore.

I stare at the bulging fabric underneath his shirt where the bandage covers his gunshot wound. He took a risk for me; I don’t understand why I can’t do the same for him and for my sisters.

Scar approaches us, his eyes fixed on me in a hard glare. “We have to move. Mia, stay close,” he growls, his voice low but laced with authority as he takes the decision out of Brando’s hand. “If you get in the way, I won’t hesitate to drag you back to the car and lock you in it myself. Understand?”

Brando’s fingers flex at his sides, his fists clenched in frustration. Then, with a grunt, he turns away, his back to me, walking toward the others.

I stand there for a moment, caught between anger and relief, the weight of Scar’s words sinking in. He doesn’t trust me notto get in the way. Not really. But it’s something. It’s more than I expected.

Uncle Mason sidles up beside me, his hand a bruising punishment around my upper arm.

“You shouldn’t have come!” he hisses, as we fall behind the men. “How can we keep you safe while trying to have each other’s backs?”

“I won’t get in the way,” I say softly, though the fire still burns in my chest. “I just need to be here.”

“Mia,” he shakes his head. “Always so fucking stubborn!” He’s just as angry at me. They’re all angry at me. But Mason is angriest of all. “Just stay the fuck out of the way,” he says, his eyes swinging to my leg. It’ll be days, perhaps weeks, before it will feel normal again, and I can read his thoughts so clearly as he wonders if it’s going to hold me back.

“I swear I’ll stay close,” I promise him.

Mason gives me a stern look, before he reaches into the back of his waistband and takes out a gun, handing it to me.

“You use this only if you have to,” he says.

“What about you?”

He gives me a shit eating grin that lightens the mood and reminds me that things will be okay. “I’m loaded to the gills, honeypot.”

“Will you two be joining us anytime today?” Brando’s irritated voice breaks into our conversation, urging us to hurry up as they fade into the night.

The docks arequiet as we approach on foot, staying in the shadows. I stick close to Brando, my presence an unspoken challenge to his commands. The heat of his anger lingers in mychest. It’s a constant burn, like a live wire, every time he looks at me with that mix of frustration and unreadable judgment.

The truth is, I’m used to being underestimated. The world sees me as fragile, naïve—someone who needs to be protected. But I know better than anyone what happens when you allow yourself to be seen as weak. It’s a curse, and I won’t allow myself to be another victim of it.

When I slid into the boot of that SUV, my heart pounded with more than fear. It was defiance. I wasn’t going to sit in the shadows any longer. Not when my sisters needed me. Not when I was finally beginning to understand what it meant to fight for something that mattered.

I watch now as the men start to go from container to container, inspecting shipments, each one of them moving with the precision of a well-oiled machine.

But my focus is elsewhere. I’m watching the containers, my heart in my throat.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, one of the containers is opened, and the men begin pulling out the contents. It’s crates. Boxes. But my eyes don’t leave the interior after it’s empty. Something about this container is different. I step forward, my pulse quickening.

“Wait.” My voice trembles. They’ve already started moving on to the next container. “Can I take a closer look?”

Brando’s eyes flick to me, narrowed in warning. “Mia?—”

“Please,” I whisper. “I just need to take a look.”

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