9. Brando
9
brANDO
“ G ood evening, gentlemen.”
My voice slices through the thickness of the air as I unbutton my coat and take a seat at one end of the conference table. Dangerous shadows cling to every corner of every wall, even as my eyes pierce through the room, scrutinizing every figure seated at the long table. I don’t bother with their names. The chances of us crossing paths again after this deal is done is negligible.
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?”
There’s a show of shrugs as they look at each other in confusion, eager to leave my threatening presence.
“I want a location,” I tell them. “And make no mistake, if you fuck this up, there’ll be hell to pay. You saw what happened to those who came before you.”
A slow smile starts to play on my lips as they scramble out of the room even before I’ve left it. I’ve managed to turn the tables to stir a tempest they can’t easily quell. For the sort of money I’m offering them – the kind of money that would release them from their own financial woes, they’ll get to work and they’ll work to find Falcone, I have no doubt. As for me, it’s time to revisit some old acquaintances; time to reignite some old fires to remind people why the Gatti name is synonymous with fear.
I drive back to the penthouse, where I find Mason sitting at the kitchen counter, nursing a scotch. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair in disarray like he’s been ruffling it for too many hours.
“How drunk are you?” I ask him, as I pour myself a drink. He smirks, lifts his glass in a salute, and lets the liquid shoot down his throat.
“Not very…yet.”
“Where’s Mia?” I ask him.
“In the gym.”
She was defiant when it came to staying in the penthouse I vacated when I moved back home to be closer to my brothers. With the four new builds completed, it only made sense for us all to move in and become a family unit once again. Eventually, she relented, and she’d kept out of my way for the most part, opting to stay in her own room or spend her time in the gym. She spent hours in there if I wasn’t working out.
“How long has she been in there?” I ask him.
“Two hours.”
“That’s a healthy obsession.”
Mason snorts, then lets out a laugh and tells me that Mia is the unhealthiest person he knows. She must be bored out of her mind, he tells me, because in a normal world, there’s no way that Mia would go anywhere near a gym. This information surprises me; to look at her, despite her small stature, she seems quite fit.
I remind Mason not to drink himself to death and excuse myself to go and check on her. She’s running on the treadmill, her ponytail swaying left and right with her movements. She’s wearing a pair of my sweats and a t-shirt tied at her navel from the laundered pile my housekeeper keeps in the gym at all times. A thick line of sweat seeps through the back of the t-shirt, the fabric drenched in exhaustion.
She spies me in the wall-to-wall mirror and slows the machine down, her chest rising with every intake and every exhalation of breath. I hand her a bottle of water and lift my own to my lips. Even in her current state, messy with the effort of her workout, her hair matted to her face, I can’t take my eyes off her. I can’t stop comparing the girl I used to know with the woman she’s become.
“Anything new?” she asks.
“I’m working the Maltese,” I tell her. “They don’t have your sisters.”
She frowns, looking at me curiously. “Are we even sure that someone has them, Brando? They left that safehouse of their own accord.”
“That doesn’t mean they didn’t come back to the city. They could have run into trouble.”
“But you don’t think it’s the Maltese?”
“Definitely not them. I think you need to be prepared, Mia. They could be with Frank.”
She shakes her head, looks at me in irritation, before she tells me how ridiculous that sounds.
“Why would he offer his help if he has them?” she asks. “He’s many things, but he wouldn’t do that.”
“Wouldn’t he?” It angers me that she defends him. That she still sees some good in him. “He plays games, Mia. It's what he does best.” My words slice through the tense air between us, harsh and cold.
Mia's expression shifts slightly, a hint of doubt clouding her deep blue eyes. “And you think I can't see through him?” Her voice rises, defensive yet laced with uncertainty. She’s always been a little vulnerable when it came to dealing with Frank.
I step closer, my presence enveloping her. “I think you want to see the best in people—even when there is none. That will be your downfall, Mia.”
Her gaze falters, dropping to her hands before darting back up to meet mine. “Do you think they’re…?” There's a tremor in her voice, a rare crack in her composed facade.
“Don’t think that” I state flatly. The thought of Mia losing her sisters twists like a knife in my gut. They’re the only family she has left; losing them would destroy her. The thought dredges up reminders of the loss of my own brother. I wouldn’t wish that kind of pain upon anyone.
“I can’t feel them,” she counters, frustration seeping into her tone. She lifts a hand to her heart and clenches the fabric there. “I used to be able to feel them, to sense them. I don’t get that feeling anymore.”
Her hand reaches out involuntarily, seeking something steady as her world tilts on its axis. I grasp it firmly, grounding her. “We won’t stop looking,” I promise, my voice low and resolute.
She looks at me, searching my face for any sign of doubt or deceit. Finding none, she lets out a long breath and nods slowly, sealing our pact with a sense of determination.
It angers me that it's come to this; me trying to convince Mia that her sisters are still alive. When I don’t know anything for sure past the fact that the twins are not in the custody of the Maltese. That’s the only thing I’m almost certain of. My jaw ticks as my mind strays to thoughts of Falcone. Aside from the Maltese doing some leg work to win the reward I promised them to release the Andrade sisters from their debt, I have nothing to go on. Nothing but the gut feeling I have that Falcone’s manipulations are weaving a treacherous web of danger around us.
Mia's unwavering gaze pierces through me, igniting a fire of fierce protectiveness in my chest. The thought of her needing me fuels a determination so strong that I would move mountains to find her sisters and keep them safe from harm. Our once unbreakable bond, shaken by years of distance and circumstance, comes full circle as I understand the gravity of the responsibility placed on my shoulders, and vow to share her load with an unwavering determination.