17. Brando
17
brANDO
T he side door of the warehouse splinters under the force of my boot—a violent announcement of my arrival. Nothing can mask the anger coursing through me as I surge into the Maltese fortress, each step a silent promise of retribution.
“Where is she?” My question is more a feral growl than actual words, carrying the weight of a raging storm.
The guards rush towards me, but sheer determination knocks them over, one by one. They never saw it coming, giving me the advantage as I sway on my feet, fists flying in all directions. The sound of knuckles cracking against jawbones fills the air as bodies crumble under the weight of my relentless onslaught.
The last man falls heavily to the ground, a dull thud marking his defeat. I stand over him, chest heaving, the taste of adrenaline sharp in my mouth. My hands, bloodied and bruised, barely feel the pain—there's too much rage boiling inside me.
Meanwhile, Mason is tearing through anyone who gets in his way with his bare hands. I catch a glimpse of his bared teeth as he prepares to rip into a man's ear. He may be a teddy bear when it comes to his nieces, but right now he is a ferocious beast determined to protect them.
“Tell me!” I roar at no one in particular as more bodies fall to the ground, unable to withstand my wrath. My anger has always been my strongest weapon. Six men lay moaning on the ground, too injured and shocked to give me what I want.
Chaos follows in my wake as I continue to unleash my unchecked fury. Furniture is overturned and papers scatter through the air like confetti. Glass shatters and reflects pieces of my broken soul scattered throughout the room. Tension hangs thick in the air, fueled by my relentless drive to find Mia.
“Where is the girl?” My question echoes through the cavernous space, met only with the sound of my own heavy breathing. Mason stands nearby, blood coating his mouth. A severed ear lies on the ground next to him, its owner shrieking in agony and clutching their mutilated flesh. A painting crashes to the ground, adding to the chaos as Mason unleashes more of his anger. His chest rises and falls rapidly, caught between grief and the fire that fuels him.
“Speak, or I swear—” I lift one of the more conscious men and slam him against the wall before finishing my threat. I pause for a moment, hand pressed against the cold wall, trying to steady myself against the memories threatening to consume me. My emotions are like a tempest, raging within me and threatening to destroy everything in their path.
My knuckles are white from gripping the man's collar so tightly. The air is heavy with dust and defiance, the smell of fear clinging to every surface like a desperate plea. I can feel my chest heaving with each breath, a silent battle cry pushing me forward in search of the elusive truth. I pull my arm back and get ready to plant my fist in his face.
“Enough!”
My mind is consumed with rage and desperation, but Scar's voice cuts through the haze, bringing me back to reality. He shouldn't be here; he should be with his newborn daughter and wife, but instead, he stands in front of me, surveying the chaos I've caused. His eyes have seen too much violence to easily forgive my actions. Why did he come here? I ask myself, feeling guilty for pulling him away from his family.
“Brando,” Scar says again, tugging at my anger and pulling me back from the edge.
I release my grip on the man in front of me, watching as he crumples to the ground gasping for breath. Turning to face Scar, I feel the storm within me starting to quiet down, but it simmers dangerously just below the surface. Scar's unwavering gaze meets mine and I can see the anger etched into his features. Years of seeking vengeance have taken their toll on his once youthful face. But he's also the voice of reason amongst us when one of us goes too far.
“What are you doing here?” I finally acknowledge his presence in the midst of all this chaos.
“You let him do this?” Scar's furious eyes shift towards Mason who stands ready to continue unleashing destruction.
More men start to pour into the room behind Scar, but I don't take notice of them. My focus is solely on my brother. When Scar walks into a room, even the dust parts for him.
He gracefully steps over a fallen chair as he approaches me. After squeezing my shoulder and calming my anger with just that small gesture, he leans in close to whisper something in my ear, creating a barrier between us and the rest of the room.
“Brother, you need to step back,” he says before lifting his head slightly and silently instructing everyone else to leave. Just as quickly as they came in armed and ready for a fight, everyone exits the room, leaving me alone with Scar.
“Why are you here?” I ask hoarsely, the desperation evident in my tone. “You should be at home with your family.”
“You are my family,” he responds firmly. “I would never let anything keep me away when you need me.”
A shroud of silence settles between us as we stand amidst the wreckage and chaos that I have caused. Scar studies me carefully, knowing that I am usually the calm and level-headed one among us. But Mia's disappearance has sent me over the edge, making me lose control and act out in violence.
“How did you find me?”
“Does it matter?” Scar counters. “You're wasting your time leveling this place to the ground. They don't have Mia.”
“Falcone has her, and possibly her sisters. They know where he is.”
“If they know where he is, we’ll get it out of them,” Scar points out. “The proper way. But they won't give us anything if you continue this madness.”
He's right, and I know it. I've always been the rational one in our group, but Mia's abduction has pushed me to my limit. It has consumed me with fear and fury, causing me to lash out recklessly, perhaps ruining our best chance at getting the answers we need.
I know I have my brother Scar in my corner. I could never ask for a more lethal weapon. Scar is a master strategist, undoubtedly the best planner in the city. That’s why he’s the Don. He’s proved himself to such a degree that our family has the backing of all the major families, thanks to the big Don in Seattle, Dante Accardi. With the connections he’s made, we have no shortage of friends. And enemies. Yet enemies tend to think twice now before they mess with us.
I’m not sure what Frank Falcone is thinking or planning when he decides to knock on our door and start a war. To any outsider looking in, it would seem he’s on a suicide mission. His actions even have the Maltese shaking in their boots as they come to understand the severity of what he’s done. They had a problem with Tommy Corsica – a problem which was inherited by his three daughters. That problem was only complicated by Frank Falcone, who approached them under the premise of helping them find the girls to recoup their lost funds. But somewhere along the line, Frank’s plans changed, and he had taken to using the Maltese to further his own agenda. And now to intensify the problems in an effort to start a war, he had used the warehouse belonging to the Maltese to lure Mia and let us believe it was the Maltese who had her. We’d tracked her cell phone activity to the warehouse, which is how we found her location. Then the phone had seemingly dropped off the face of the earth. She was already gone before we got to the warehouse, and now her phone was off grid.
“He’s using a jammer,” Lucky says, matter-of-factly, as he pockets his phone. “He can switch it on and off whenever he wants. He’s playing games.”
Scar's voice is a low thrum in my ear as he speaks. “Frank's not waiting for you to come knocking on his door.”
“He’s going to stay one step ahead of you,” Rafi adds.
My hand clenches around my phone, knuckles white. My breath comes out in ragged pulls, and with each word my brothers speak, my heart hammers a furious rhythm, my mind closed off to thought. I’ve always been the one who never lets emotion get in the way of reason. But right now, I can’t find it in myself to think and I can’t be rational. I’ve called Mia more than a dozen times, and each time, I’m told the number is unavailable. I keep expecting her to call, but the more time that passes without any further communication with her, the more my heart constricts as I think of all the things that could go wrong while she’s away from me.
“We need to find him.” My voice is steel wrapped in velvet, deceptively calm.
“He won’t let you find him until he wants to be found,” Scar says.
“Then he won't be disappointed.” My eyes flare like an inferno that matches the burning in my veins—a fire kindled by vengeance and the need for retribution.
“Brando,” Scar warns, “think this through. It's exactly what he wants.”
“Then I'll give it to him.” There is no hesitation in my response, only the certainty of a man walking the edge of a blade, ready to draw blood. I’m ready to kill to get Mia back.
I storm out of the room, and the night swallows me whole as I step outside, the sky a black canvas that mirrors the abyss inside me. Mason Ironside emerges from the shadows, eyes narrowed as he stands motionless, watching me like a hawk.
“Mason.” The voice cuts through my thoughts, low and commanding. Scar materialises before me as he addresses Mason - calm, collected, commanding. Scar is so high up the hierarchy that he has the privilege of admonishing Mason without losing any of the respect that is afforded him.
“Scar,” Mason greets, with a half-smile that doesn't quite reach his tortured eyes. Mia’s loss has hit him hard.
“I would’ve thought you’d do a better job of keeping my brother out of trouble. Not joining him.” Scar's gaze never wavers, locking onto Mason with an intensity that should cut the man down at the knees. But not Mason. He’s running on empty since he lost the girls; he’s got nothing left to lose. It’s all or nothing for him now.
“Always straight to the bloody point, aren’t you?” Mason rubs the back of his neck, smoothing out the tension that’s made its home there.
“Time isn't a luxury we have.” Scar steps closer, an unspoken warning in the space he invades. “If you’re going to be a part of this, it’s my way or no way.”
“I want the girls back. I’ll get them back, with or without your help.”
Scar angles his head, regarding Mason curiously, as though trying to put together a puzzle that’s confounded him for a while.
“The Maltese seem to think Falcone has plans to sell the girls,” Scar tells him, watching Mason carefully, waiting for his reaction.
“That’s why I sent them into hiding and was trying to get them out of the country.”
“Why didn’t you come to me?” Scar asks.
“I went to him.” He chucks his finger my way in a way that tells him he’s second guessing his choices.
He needs to know that I’m just as committed to finding the girls as he is. And Mia – I will burn this city down to find her if I have to. I’m somewhat resentful that she found her way back to me after all these years, only for her stay to be short-lived.
“The Maltese don’t want a war,” Scar says, turning back to look at me. “Falcone led us to the warehouse knowing we’d storm the Maltese. It would’ve been a win-win for him if we destroyed each other; that’s precisely what he wants.”
“To what end?” Mason asks.
Scar shakes his head, unsure. “They’re willing to overlook what happened at the warehouse; they don’t want a war any more than we do. And they’re willing to play ball if they find out where Falcone’s holed up.”
I finally speak up, letting them know I have Rafi working the dark web.
“How’s that going to help?” Mason asks.
“That’s where all the chatter happens.”
If the girls are going to be sold, that’s where all the buyers are. That’s where all the monsters lurk, waiting for their pound of flesh. A cold fury overwhelms me as I think of Falcone now having not two, but all three sisters in his custody, and the possibilities of what that means.
“Keep your eyes and ears open, Mason. We're going to need every advantage.” Scar turns away, his silhouette merging with the darkness as he moves toward his car where his driver waits. “You coming?” he asks me, and I give Mason a last look before I walk toward the car. I can’t shake the cold grip of dread that weaves around me, knowing that this battle is far from over.