18. Mia
18
MIA
I knew my lips were swollen, almost bruised, from Frank’s punishing kiss when I emerged from behind the bleachers. I almost stumbled as I stepped into the light, and Frank followed, a possessive hand on my waist. I stopped short when I saw the field was full of students, with most turned our way. A hot, crimson flush overtook me; they were like paparazzi waiting for their scoop, and suddenly, I was overcome by a feeling of deep shame as all eyes committed my face to memory. And there, slouched against a wall, eyes burning holes into me, was Brando, watching our every move. I turned around to look at Frank, preparing myself for trouble, but all I saw was the smirk on his face. The one that told Brando Gatti that he had me first.
All the girls would go crazy for Brando. With his finely chiseled cheeks and denim-colored eyes, brown hair parted to the side, he was the stuff of dreams. His footballer’s frame made him one of the biggest boys on campus, bigger even than the quarterbacks we were all usually so in awe of. But his eyes never strayed my way. Unless it was to shoot me a scowl. Which was precisely what he did any time he saw me with Frank Falcone. It was like he took personal pleasure in tormenting the girlfriend of his worst enemy. It was like he buried us in the ruins of our youth and decided he no longer wanted to be my friend.
Because that’s what we were. We were friends before we started at the same high school. He moved into the neighborhood when he was ten and I had just turned nine. He and his three brothers and their father. They didn’t have a mother and although I often wondered why, my mother always told me it was impolite to ask. He never mentioned her. And there were only ever males going into that home.
But there was a sort of sullen sadness about Brando; it was hard to break through his tough exterior and see beyond the broken child. He was a year older than me, but he might as well have been twice my age for how grown up he seemed. Grown up but broken.
He finally let me in when he saw me walking my dog, a great German Shepherd that was bigger in body mass than I was, which made it look more like the dog was walking me, not the other way around. He was a different person around Cult, and we became fast friends, bonding over our joint walks. He was also the one to hold me and bring me back to the land of the living when I lost Cult to a speeding car and thought my life would fall apart. It did, for a while. But Brando was the one to pull me back. He was the one to save me all those years ago until we parted ways.
We started out as neighbors, then we became friends. And I had never felt more complete, more free, more whole, than when I was in the same room with Brando. We carried our friendship through the years, all the way up to high school, where he made his own friends, and I made mine. Yet still, we belonged to each other. On the weekends. After school. During term break. Without the congestion of the world around us, we remembered each other, and we were inseparable.
Until the year that I was fifteen. And I found myself on Frank Falcone’s radar. Frank Falcone with his slicked back black hair and bad boy swagger. Frank Falcone with a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas. And that chip’s name was Brando Gatti. No-one knew why he had a beef with Brando; I don’t think Brando even knew, but boy did that animosity manifest over time.
I didn’t really want to be Frank’s girlfriend. I didn’t even really know how it happened. One minute we were walking side by side, the next minute, he had slipped his hand around mine and I had somehow become his girlfriend. It didn’t escape my attention that he grabbed my hand just as we walked past Brando Gatti, and my friend’s eyes fell to our clasped hands before he shot me a vacant, somewhat bored look.
I was all of fifteen years, while both Brando and Frank were almost a year older than me. Two of the most popular boys in school, with Brando taking the lead with his brooding quietude and handsome features. He was loved for so many reasons, but especially the fact that he was not a player like Frank. All the girls wanted him, but he wasn’t one for bedding them then dropping them faster than he could pull his pants back up. That only made them want him more. The same way that I had always wanted him.
The door clicks open even before my hand has a chance to graze the handle, revealing the dimly lit grandeur that awaits me. My heart drums a relentless beat, my fingers curled into tight fists at my sides, nails digging painful crescents into my palms. I step over the threshold, the click of the ridiculous heels Frank insisted I wear announcing my arrival.
“Ah, Mia Bella, you’ve finally emerged from your cavern,” Frank’s voice slithers through the space, wrapping around my senses with its fake charm. There is nothing charming about Frank Falcone.
My eyes find him lounging in the shadows, a glass of amber liquid in one hand. Light flickers across his features as he rises, the charming smile he offers a stark contrast to the cold calculation in his eyes.
“Frank.”
He looks me up and down, an appreciative look on his face. “As stunning as ever,” he says, his words dripping with insincerity as he steps closer, the scent of his cologne mingling with the danger that clings to the very air around him.
“When can I see my sisters? Where are they?”
I don’t tell him that I’ve spent every minute of the day he’s not around exploring the house – Sophia and Maxine don’t appear to be here, and my anxiety spikes at the thought that I’ll never see them again. What if he doesn’t even have them? What if I’ve sold my soul to the devil and he doesn’t even have them? That picture he showed me could have been taken at any time. It could have been taken anywhere. It could have been doctored, for all I know.
His smile never leaves his lips as his gaze hardens, a silent acknowledgment of the dark dance we’re about to engage in. My posture stiffens as Frank circles me like a predator eyeing its prey. The chill in the room seeps into my bones, but I hold my ground, my steely resolve steady.
“I’ve agreed to work for you. Where are my sisters?”
“Time and patience are two things you sorely lack, Mia,” he admonishes. I clench my teeth, biting back my response.
“What do you want from me?”
“It’s time for your first test.”
I can feel the weight of his gaze, oppressive and calculating. My body shudders with the weight of the power he wields over me. I cannot believe this is happening; if he touches me, I’ll kill him. And if he hurts my sisters, I’ll kill him again.
He’d laid out a dress on my bed and left a note for me. If I were a lesser person, I would have appreciated the green silk with intricate silver beading. But I’m better than that, and that’s the reason why I can’t so much as admire anything he puts before me. There were matching silver heels and a clutch, which I’m now wearing.
We’re going to dinner. A business dinner, he tells me. And he wants me to play my part. Act as his partner. Which means smiling at him, engaging with him. I have to convince people that we’re a couple. Asking the point of the exercise is pointless – he’s as forthcoming with information as he is useless as a human being.
“The minute we step out of the apartment, you forget who you are, and you become a woman in love with me. They’ll be watching.”
“Who will?” I ask.
“Never mind. Just act as my lover and I’ll spare you my touch tonight once the night is over. Fail, and I won’t hesitate to take what was always mine.”
The minute the words were out of his mouth, I felt like doubling over and throwing everything up.
The thought of him touching me ever again makes me physically sick. Especially now that Brando is back in my life. I don’t want Frank touching me. Hell, I don’t even want him looking at me. Anything I subject myself to tonight is for the benefit of my sisters. It’s to save them and them alone. But there are limits to what I will put up with. Even I have my limits.
I think of the gun tucked neatly in my clutch. Uncle Mason had come through for me and given me the gun before I left Brando’s penthouse. I know how to handle it, and I won’t hesitate to use it if I need to, but first I need to know where my sisters are. I don’t trust Frank as far as I can throw him, and I wouldn’t be surprised that he’s sent them out of the country just to spite me. If I kill him before I find their location, they could die waiting for me to find them.
Frank’s hand on the small of my back serves as both an escort and a shackle as we step out of the building and move into a waiting car.
“Remember,” Frank warns, his voice low as he turns into me and whispers into my ear “a deal is a deal.”
I don’t flinch. I don’t falter. I am the shield for my sisters, and I will sacrifice my life if I must in order to save them.
“Wouldn't dream of breaking it,” I tell him, although I want to do nothing more than that. I want to do nothing less than tear him to shreds and make sure he can never hurt another soul again.
As the car pulls away from the curb, the city lights blur into streaks of color against the night. Frank's presence besides me causes my blood to run cold. We travel the short distance to the restaurant; when we arrive, he smiles, a practiced, predatory curve of the lips that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
We're ushered into a corner of the upscale restaurant, one secluded from the main dining area. The table is already set for four. I scan the other faces as we sit: two men, both heavy-set and dressed in suits that scream of the sort of trouble I don’t want or need.
Frank introduces them without missing a beat. “This is Matteo Luciani and Emilio Serrano,” he says smoothly. “Valuable partners in our upcoming ventures.”
I nod, keeping my face serene, playing the part of the devoted partner. Matteo eyes me critically for a moment before promptly ignoring me and turning his attention back to Frank.
“So,” Emilio starts, swirling his wine with a practiced hand, “we were discussing expansion plans into the eastern territories.”
“We were.”
“The reach of the Gatti family extends far and wide, but they hold a good chunk of the East close to them.”
My ears perk up at the mention of the Gatti name. I grab my drink and swallow before I look around the room, feigning disinterest in the conversation, when in reality, I’m committing every word to memory. Frank's eyes flicker briefly to mine before returning to Emilio. “Yes, but they’re willing to share. And with the right alliances, our reach could be unparalleled.”
I can’t imagine that the Gattis would be willing to share anything with Frank Falcone, unless he’s privy to some information I’m not. Highly doubtful. If I know anything, it’s that there is no place in the city for the likes of Frank Falcone, and there most certainly isn’t a seat for him at the table with the Gatti family.