8. Mia
8
MIA
F rank Falcone looks every bit as handsome as he once did, but there’s something truly ugly about him. His hair is darker than I remember, darker than the blackest night, folded back in luxurious waves that should be criminal on a man. He’s still lean, cut right in all the right places, his t-shirt under his sports coat defining every inch of a body that has taken some serious work to master.
Uncle Mason stands off at a short distance, legs spread military style, arms crossed against his chest as he watches him like a hawk, waiting for the slightest step out of line. He
doesn’t know about our history, not really, only what I’ve told him. Yet he’s protective enough to make sure that I’m safe as he welds his eyeballs on the man I have wished for so many years that I would never see again. And I know, without a doubt, that the only reason he’s allowing this meeting is at the behest of Brando Gatti; he knows no good will come out of a meeting with the devil, but right now, he’s our only possible link to my sisters.
We’re surrounded by so many soldiers, some my uncle’s, but the majority courtesy of Brando. Frank’s eyes skirt over the men surrounding the perimeter in plain view before he shoots me a confused look.
“There was no need for all this security,” he says, before he adds quickly, as though the window to mention such a thing is quickly closing “your uncle must be doing pretty well to have come out in force, with an army, no less.”
I shrug nonchalantly. “He does okay.”
“You look good, princess.”
My skin crawls at the way he looks at me. To some, he may be devilishly handsome. To me, he’s just the devil.
“I’ve come like you asked me to. What do you want, Frank?”
He looks away, almost wistfully, before he glances back at me and reaches out his hands to place them on my upper arms. Almost a comfort, but not quite. I know him for what he is, and comforting he is not. Goosebumps dot my skin, and they’re not the good sort. I look down at his hand on my left arm, then lift a glacial stare to meet his eyes. I shrug away from his hands and see my uncle shift in my periphery.
“I came back as soon as I heard your sisters were missing.”
“Came back,” I mutter. Do I even want to know where he was? “And how did you find out they were missing?” I ask. News travels fast in these parts, but very few people know what’s going on with my family right now, and they’re people I trust implicitly.
“I know how much the twins mean to you, Mia.”
“And?”
He’s not telling me anything I don’t already know.
“And…I missed you.”
I can’t help but be suspicious of his motives. Why now? I voice the words aloud and he tries for surprised, but he falls slightly flat. I don’t know why he’d be surprised that I’m asking.
“It’s been too long,” he tells me. “I wanted to see you.”
I feel brave enough to step up to him, angling my chin defiantly, even though he is taller than me.
“There is no place and no scenario in which I want to see you or even want you to breathe the same air I breathe,” I hiss. “You need to know that and you need to remember it.”
“Angel, you’re just upset because I’ve been away for so long.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth, Frank. I can’t stop you coming back to this city, but I damn well can stop you from coming anywhere near me.”
Frank’s dark eyes are almost black as they burn into me with their intensity. “You don’t mean that.” His voice is so quiet, I’d almost think I’ve hurt his feelings. But I know better; the man doesn’t have any feelings.
“Oh, but I do,” I tell him. “I mean every last word of what I’m saying.”
“All I’m asking for is another chance,” he tells me. “I’ll prove myself to you; I’ll start by helping you find your sisters.”
He’s grasping at straws. My sisters have been missing less than twenty-four hours; they’re bound to turn up once they’ve finished partying and living it up. They were prone to disappearing even when father was alive, and I’m sure that’s what they’ve done now. They’ll come home eventually, and there’ll be hell to pay.
“I don’t need your help, Frank. Please, just go away.”
I turn to leave without waiting for a response, but his words stop me in my tracks.
“I know the Maltese are looking for you and your sisters,” he tells me. “I can help you with that.”
I stop walking. My fists clench at my sides, without any prompting from me. I lift my eyes, see Uncle Mason’s stance change as he realizes the change in my demeanor. I give him a slow shake of my head, telling him wordlessly not to interfere. He frowns in irritation but makes no further move towards me.
I turn around slowly to face Frank. There’s more of a distance between us since I started to walk away from him, but he might as well be in my face, in my space, breathing in the air that rushes from me, because I feel like I’m suffocating and my heart is about to stop.
“What did you just say?”
“You’re on the Cartel’s most wanted list.”
“How do you know about that?”
“Ain’t a damn gangster worth his weight doesn’t know what’s going on with you girls, Princess.”
And there he is. The smug bastard. The real Frank Falcone. I’m fifteen again and he’s suffocating me, taking everything from me. I’ve always known he was evil to some extent, but I couldn’t see just how toxic he was to my own health until I took a step away from him. Hindsight. Such a beautiful, wonderful, fucked up thing, if you ask me.
“And this concerns you how?” I ask.
“I care about you, Mia. I always have. I’m going to make sure you get your sisters back.”
I throw a look towards Uncle Mason, his hawkish eyes still plastered on us, then turn back to Frank.
“As you can see, I have all the help I need.”
He takes a step forward, regards me with a hard glint in his eyes. A look I know well. I trusted this man at one point in my life. But I know better than to trust him now.
“Your uncle doesn’t have the connections I have, Mia. Only I can help you with this, and I will. All I ask in return is that you give me another chance.”
“Another chance at what?” I stammer. He has the gall to suggest that I would even give him the time of day.
“Us. Another chance at us.”
“He knows something; I can feel it in the marrow of my bones.”
We’re on our way to the safe house where Brando is waiting for us.
“What did he want?”
Uncle Mason turns to face me, anxiety blooming on his face.
“Nothing he’s going to get.”
“What did he say?”
“Will you stop with the 20 questions, already?”
I sigh and lean back in my seat. Mason is quiet for a moment, before he too relaxes into his seat.
“You need to trust Brando, Mia.”
“Do you trust him?”
I turn to look at him, take in the worry lines etched into his face. His concern for me is palpable. He forgets that I know how to use a gun. Which reminds me…
“I do.”
“Do you trust me?” I ask him.
“My faith in you has never come into question, Mia. You’ve done a damn good job of taking care of your family after your mother died. And your sisters – you tried your hardest to protect them…” he trails off.
“I need a gun,” I tell him.
“What in the ever-loving world for?” he screeches. He forgets that he’s the one that taught me how to hold a gun, and how to use it.
“It’s a security measure, Mason. Nothing more.”
“Look around you – is there not enough security surrounding you? You’ll never have to soil your hands with another’s blood.”
“Get me the gun, Mason.”
I feel badass all of a sudden, as I give the order.
“You’re not going to use it on Gatti, are you?”
I scoff at the suggestion as he shoots me a withering look.
We drive around for an additional forty minutes to make sure we’re not being followed, before each car branches off in a different direction to lose any potential threats we may have missed.
“Gatti’s insisting on you staying here,” Mason tells me, as we reach the elevator and the driver punches in a series of numbers into the panel.
“The apartment is fine,” I tell him. I don’t want to tell him about my exact thoughts on the matter. I’ve gone from everything to nothing and now I’m standing in everything again. Brando looks like he’s set for life, and I’m happy for him. But me, I just want to stay as far away from that lifestyle as I possibly can; I could maybe deal with losing everything once. Twice is a stretch at best.
“Mia, it’s safer for you here. Now that Falcone knows you’re in my camp, he knows where to find you. He doesn’t know about Brando.”
“The apartment, or with you. That’s non-negotiable.”
“What’s non-negotiable?”
The elevator doors slide open to reveal Brando standing in nothing but a pair of sweats, liquid pooling across his naked chest as he lifts a towel to his face. I know he doesn’t see it, but he must feel the way my heart stutters at the sight of him, because he shoots me a smirk. It’s the closest thing to the lopsided grin he used to give me once upon a time, the one he’s kept well-hidden since we found each other again.
Mason rushes to explain before I can shoot him a warning look and tell him not to, knowing full well what he’s doing.
“Mia refuses to stay here,” he blabs, as we exit the elevator. Brando regards me from beneath his hooded eyes, eyeing me carefully. There are so many questions swimming in his fathomless eyes, but it seems like he doesn’t know where to start.
“Why not?” he asks, as he throws his towel around his neck and tugs at either end of it.
“I’d rather stay at the apartment.”
“Well, you can’t. Because that property is now compromised. Anything to do with Mason is now compromised, because Falcone knows exactly whose protection you have. He’ll hit his strongholds,” he lifts a finger and points it stiffly at Mason “to get to you.”
“You don’t know that,” I stammer.
“Don’t I? It’s why he brought you out into the open, isn’t it? Because he couldn’t find you otherwise.”
My heart stops ticking. He’s right. Everything Frank told me at that meeting could’ve been done over the phone. Instead, he wanted a meeting. And he got one. He got exactly what he wanted. And Brando knew precisely what the man was up to. And yet, he still let me go…
“Why would you let me meet him if you knew he just wanted to know where I am?” I can’t keep the hurt out of my voice. It feels like a betrayal. Like entrapment.
“Because Falcone knew you wouldn’t go alone. He knew you’d bring someone. And now he thinks he’s got the information he needs.”
“When really, he doesn’t,” Mason surmises. “He has information – it’s just not the right information.”
It’s genius. Even I can admit that. I’m equal parts impressed and overwhelmed by the way that Brando managed to orchestrate the meeting to our advantage.
“Now, tell me exactly what he told you about your sisters.”