Page 69 of Brando

“Wouldn’t I?”

He presses the gun tighter against Sophia’s head, who whimpers softly, the sound a dagger to my heart. I can see the bruise that already blooms where the gun digs into her skin.

I don’t trust him to let Sophia go. I know he won’t. He already said as much; the fact that he’s offering to spare her, even while he has a gun to her head tells me she’s already as good as dead. This is a madman we’re dealing with. And he knows that he has the upper hand; if we so much as hurt him, we’re never going to find Maxine, and we can’t take that chance. I can’t risk either of my sisters’ safety.

“You don’t have to do this,” I plead with him, taking another step closer, my eyes locked on Sophia’s desperate gaze. “Let her go, Frank. She has nothing to do with this.”

Frank’s expression darkens as he leans closer to Sophia, his finger brushing against the trigger. “Oh, she has everything to do with this. Death would be easier for her. Isn’t that right, Sophia?” He taunts my sister, eliciting a painful whimper from her. I watch in horror as he sticks out his tongue and licks up the side of Sophia’s face, taunting me with his eyes.

My breath catches in my throat. “You’re sick!” I shout, my voice breaking as I feel the weight of despair wash over me.

Frank's laughter echoes in the morning air, but it’s cut short by a sudden movement from behind. Lucky, hidden in the shadows, creeps silently toward them, his gun raised and his eyes locked on Frank’s head.

In a heartbeat, the tension snaps. Lucky lowers the gun to Frank’s leg and pulls the trigger, a deafening gunshot shattering the night. Frank’s head jerks back, a look of shock frozen on his face as he crumples to the ground, howling in pain. His gun falls from his hand, clattering against the concrete.

Sophia slumps to the ground, her body limp as I rush forward, falling to my knees beside my sister. “Sophia! No! No no no no no!” I cradle my sister’s head in my lap, feeling her warm blood seeping through my fingers. It’s Frank’s blood. His brain matter is splattered all over Sophia. It’s in her hair, on her skin, soaking her clothes, and I think she must have fainted from the shock of it all.

But as I look into Sophia’s eyes, I see the light fading, a chilling realization creeping over me. There’s something odd about her eyes. They’re already dead and cold, staring through me. “No, no, no…” I whimper, shaking Sophia gently, desperate for a response that doesn’t come.

Brando drops to his knees beside us, his expression a mixture of horror and regret as he assesses the situation. “Mia…”

He doesn’t understand what’s happened any more than I do as Sophia’s body goes limp in my arms, her eyes glazed and unseeing. My heart shatters as I look at Sophia, pulling her head to my chest as a primal howl leaves me.

35

MIA

The weight of my loss presses down on me, heavy and suffocating, a constant ache that settles deep into my chest. We saved fifty-four lives that night. Fifty-four souls who would see another sunrise, who would have another chance. We saved fifty-four souls, but the damage was already done. It was too late for the ones who couldn’t make it out. Maxine is still missing, and Sophia… Sophia is still dead.

I never imagined this. Never thought the day would come when I’d be standing here, watching my sister’s body disappear into the earth. One last goodbye, one final moment with her before the earth claims her as it’s own.

Pain settleslike a stone in my stomach. The hollow feeling in my chest grows deeper as I stare down at the fresh mound of dirt that now holds her. She’s gone. And I can’t help but feel like part of me went with her, a part of me I’ll never get back. Her absence twists me up inside, a constant reminder that no matter how hard I try, there are some things I just can’t fix.

And Maxine… where the hell is she? She should be here. She should’ve been here with us, standing beside me, mourningher sister. Instead, she’s gone, lost to whatever hell she’s been thrown into. The silence between us feels like a betrayal, like I should’ve done more to bring her back before it was too late. But I couldn’t. And now… now I don’t even know if she’s still alive.

I wonder if Maxine can feel it too—the emptiness of not being able to say goodbye. If she’s out there somewhere, waiting for Sophia on the other side. I hope she is. I hope wherever she is, she’s not alone. But without the information I need, I can’t even know if she’s alive, let alone where she might be.

The uncertainty gnaws at me, like a constant ache under my ribs.

I wipe a tear from my cheek—one I didn’t even realize had fallen—and step back, watching as they lower Sophia’s casket into the ground. It’s almost unbearable to watch. The finality of it. The loss. And yet, all I can do is stand here, trapped in this moment, knowing I can’t change it.

I want to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all. But what good would it do? What good would my anger do now? All I can do is stand here, holding onto the last thread of a sister I’ll never get back. Holding on to the hope that somehow, somewhere, Maxine is still out there. Still alive.

I turn away from the gravesite, my heart heavy, my mind spinning with unanswered questions. How do you move on when the people who matter most are lost to you? How do you find peace when every step forward feels like a reminder of everything you’ve lost? Everything you’ve left behind?

One thing is certain: I’m not leaving here without answers. Not without finding Maxine. And not without making damn sure that the person who did this to us pays for it. This isn’t over. It can’t be. Not while there’s still a chance to find her, to get justice for Sophia.

And that’s a fight I’m not backing down from.

Brando’s arm engulfs me as he draws me into him, my head resting under his chin as he strokes my head.

“You don’t have to do this,” he tells me.

“I do. I have to satisfy myself that he’s dead to the world.”

We planned out this day to the nth degree. It was the only measure of closure I could gift myself. One funeral in the morning. One funeral at night. One born from love. One born out of a hatred that ignites within me, burning like hot coals.

It will be the funeral to end all funerals. A funeral in honor of Frank Falcone. There’ll be no-one to claim his pathetic body. Because there’ll be no body left to claim once I’m through with him. I feel like desecrating him. I want to tear him apart, limb from limb, skin from bones, and drain him of what blood remains of him.

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