Page 18 of Brando

I’ve come alone, over the objections of my closest soldiers. But I’m afforded that luxury when the meeting is set up by Mr. Seattle himself, Dante Accardi. No one would dare mess with The Saint.

“Brando Gatti,” one of the representatives acknowledges me with a nod that carries the weight of unspoken respect. This is the closest he’ll ever get to an audience with one of the highest-ranking members in our empire.

“Let's not waste time,” I start, sitting across from them, my fingers tapping against the table’s burnished wood. “I've come about the Andrade sisters.”

“That doesn’t concern you,” a second representative smirks, resting his elbows on the table. “There’s a debt to be paid and we aim to collect on that debt.” He’s a rotund man with an abundance of sweat lining his upper lip.

I’m silent as I stare at the man’s hands as he clasps them in front of him in a show of authority. But little does he know that even in a room owned by them, I am still the one and only authority. My silence must stir their fear because the first representative makes a show of clearing his throat and redirecting my attention back to him, away from the clown who thinks he owns the room.

“Mr. Gatti, how can we help you?”

“I’m here to pay Tommy Corsica’s debt,” I tell them, raising my voice above that of the third man who starts to speak. It would seem there’s only one main player amongst them, whilst the other two hope to achieve a certain level of greatness but somehow manage to fall flat by their mere presence in the room.

“Three million…with interest,” Mr. Rotund says, his smirk flexing on his face. The words stretch thin, incredulous, and I don’t even want to negotiate the ridiculous amount they’ve charged in interest. But I’m here to clear the debt and be rid of this problem once and for all, so I won’t haggle. “It’s rather a large sum of money,” he points out, sure I’m silently gawking at the amount.

“I’ll have the money transferred as soon as the girls are released – unharmed. “That’s for their safety and release. Another million if you do it quickly.”

The three men exchange glances, their eyes flickering with consideration. It’s more money than they’ll see in their collective lifetimes. And they know they’d be stupid to pass it up. But there’s an underlying current in the way they shift in their seats.

“Do we have an agreement?”

“We’ll discuss your... generous proposal,” the third representative finally says, rising from his chair.

“Discuss quickly,” I advise them, my voice unwavering. “My patience isn't as generous as my offer.”

I’m waiting by the window when they re-enter the room, looking a little more flustered before they left the conference.

“Took you long enough,” I scoff.

“There’s a slight problem,” the first representative, who I’m now assuming is the leader, says.

I eye him with some interest as the room falls quiet. They took so long to discuss because there’s a problem. And by the looks of things, it’s by no means a small problem.

“And that would be…?”

“We don’t have the Andrade sisters.”

There’s something bigger at play here. I believe them when the Maltese say they don’t have the sisters. They admit to their plan – capture the sisters and sell them to repay the debt owing, but they denounce taking the twins. They have no idea what I’m talking about. If they had the sisters, they’d release them and cash in their paycheck.

My stare hardens, my mind racing with the possibilities. “Then who does?” My voice carries a dangerous edge, each word cutting through the tense air of the room.

The representatives shift uncomfortably, exchanging wary glances. “We don't know,” the third man admits, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes dart to his companions, seeking silent reassurance.

I lean back against the cold, hard glass of the window, crossing my arms over my chest. “You expect me to believe that? After all your careful planning, someone else just swoops in and takes them right under your noses. I would think you’d be smart enough to have eyes on what you consider your assets.”

The first representative clears his throat, attempting to reclaim some semblance of control. “It seems we were not the only ones interested in leveraging the Andrade sisters' value.”

A humorless laugh escapes my lips. “Do I look like I care about your internal squabbles or lack of competence?” I step towards them, my presence dominating the small space.

“We have our suspicions...” he continues hurriedly, sensing my growing impatience. “We can’t prove it, but someone did offer to bring us the girls.”

My breath catches slightly in my throat, but I mask any sign of disturbance swiftly. “And who might that be?”

I ponder this new information, my brain working furiously to piece together all potential threats and past encounters. Something clicks into place even before they say it. Frank Falcone’s miraculous re-appearance on the scene is opportune at best.

“Frank Falcone.”

“And where might I find Frank Falcone?”

---