Page 66 of Brando

His eyes are cold, calculating. He's not bluffing. And it takes everything I have not to move, not to go for my gun, but I can’t risk it. If I do, he’ll pull that trigger before I even clear the holster.

Sophia’s glazed eyes are locked on mine, but they’re blank, like she’s checked out, her body frail against his. I have no idea the horrors Mia’s sister has seen at the hands of this madman. And Maxine. Where the fuck is Maxine?

33

SCAR

My boots hit the dock with a soft thud, the only sound cutting through the stillness of the early morning. The salty air clings to my skin, the faint tang of diesel and fish washing over me as I take in the empty expanse of the yard. I’m at the far end of the pier with the Enforcer, checking on the crates, ensuring nothing is out of place before I head back to the meet zone.

Everything is quiet. Too quiet.

The dockyard lights flicker as I walk, casting long shadows across the weathered wood, their dim glow cutting through the morning mist that’s started to rise off the water.

Something’s wrong.

My instincts are honed to a razor’s edge. I’ve been in the game too long, seen too much. And the feeling creeping up the back of my neck isn’t a mistake. My brothers aren’t here. They’re supposed to be, keeping watch, making sure the yard stays clear until we have visitors. But as I walk closer to the middle of the docks, there’s an absence in the air. The normal clatter of metal and the distant murmur of men talking is gone.

I turn to look at the Enforcer, trailing me just a few metres behind. He’s standing still, head angled as though in thought, a finger to his lips commanding my silence. There is a hardness to the set of his face, a harsh anger that I’ve never seen before. In a split second, he has his gun raised, a hand gripping it as he aims it in my direction.

I don’t have time to think.

I never saw this coming.

And that saying, about seeing your life flashing before your eyes as you know you’re on your way out? All I see is my wife’s beautiful face as she holds baby Scarlett and they’re smiling at me. If I die today, it’s the very image I want to leave this world with.

He pulls the trigger.

Something drops behind me, and I turn to find a body slumped less than four yards away from me, a gun clattering to the ground.

The Enforcer pulls the collar of his jacket up around his neck, adjusting his gloves as he moves towards me, his footsteps deliberately quiet. I can feel the adrenaline flowing off him as he tightens the silencer on his gun, the familiar heat of battle starting to simmer beneath the surface.

“Thank me later,” he growls, as he steps over the dead body at my feet. “Let’s move.”

Then we hear it. A faint, muted sound—just a whisper of movement.

I slow, instinctively slipping into the shadows, my back pressed against the edge of an old shipping container. I listen. The sounds of struggle, muffled voices, the scrape of boots on wood—our men have been infiltrated and they’re in trouble.

My hand instinctively brushes the grip of my gun, but I know this isn’t a full-scale assault. Frank’s men don’t operate like that.They’re methodical. Silent. They wouldn’t start a fight if they weren’t in control.

We edge closer to where we left our men assembled earlier, my heart rate steady as he checks all angles. A sliver of light catches my eye from around the corner of a stack of crates. I lean forward, just enough to get a glimpse of the scene unfolding.

Rafi’s on his knees, his head down, looking like he’s been hit. Mason stands beside him, hands raised, but I can see the tension in his shoulders—the slight tremble of his hand. A man stands in front of them, his face half-hidden in the shadows, pointing two guns at the men.

The Enforcer taps me on the shoulder before I can move and gives me a warning shake of his head. He steps out in front of me, and I see the knife in his hand. It’s more like a machete. It’s in his hand one minute and gone the next as he throws it at the intruder. The blade lands squarely in the middle of the man’s neck, where it lodges, crippling him instantly.

Too many things happen at once.

Mason Ironside tackles Rafi to the ground and lands on top of him. The gun in the man’s hand goes off, letting out a stray bullet before the metal weapon clangs to the ground. I see red, in more ways than one. A spray of red liquid blossoms on Mason Ironside’s back. Anger assails every one of my senses. And pure, cold rage surges from within me.

Rafi and Mason are completely still on the ground. My feet are rooted at the spot, too frozen to approach the carnage. Something hits me in the back, and I whirl around, but not quick enough to avoid the boot that flies into my face. I hear yells from a distance, even as I fall to my knees with the force of the hit. I shake away the pain, and I can feel my eye already swelling as I look up to face my assailant. The Enforcer comes into view, a low grizzly growl escaping him as he lifts the man with two hands and throws him across the concrete until he lands with a heavythud. I see three more men appear, even with my limited sight, to converge on the Enforcer until he’s howling with anger, his voice echoing through the dimly lit alleys between containers. He’s loud enough to wake even the dead.

If there’s one thing I know about the Enforcer, it’s that he’s not afraid of death. He’s seen it too many times to back away from it now, and I wonder what happened to him in another life to make him this desensitized. He won’t go down quietly without a fight, even though he has nothing to live for. No family. No belongings. No direction but the one on which he tiptoes currently. Yet still, he’ll fight to his very last breath, if only to ensure my safety and the safety of others. Loyal to a fault, loyal to the end.

His jaw tightens, even as fury engulfs him. There’s no time to call for backup. It’s just him. Just like it always is. But he’s done this a thousand times. He may be standing right in front of them, but they won’t know what hit them until it’s too late. The Enforcer shifts, moving like smoke, his hand gripping the cold steel of the crowbar he had tucked in the back of his pants. In one fluid motion, he brings the crowbar down on the back of one of the men’s head. The sickening crack of bone echoes briefly in the silence, but the man crumples without a sound, his body folding like a broken doll.

He doesn’t pause. There’s no time. He drops the crowbar and moves on.

He glides towards the second man that takes aim at him, even as another jumps him from the back. The Enforcer flicks him off easily, then attacks the man in front of him. This guy’s taller, but slower. The Enforcer pulls out a thin blade from the sheath at his side. In one smooth motion, he slashes the blade across the man’s throat. Blood spills, hot and fast, but he doesn’t let him fall. He keeps the man upright, his body twitching in his grip for a moment longer, the life draining from him, a warningto all who wish the same fate, before he lets the body slump to the ground, his eyes flicking to the others. Two down.

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