21. Brando
21
brANDO
M y brothers and I, we don’t do so well in public settings. Especially those where we have to wear a bow tie and there’s not much bloodshed going on. My silhouette cuts through clusters of opulence, my steps measured amidst the gala's pulsing heart. Shadows cling to me like old friends as I navigate the sea of false and familiar faces. My jaw tightens, a silent war raging behind my calm exterior as each stride brings me closer to Mia.
I know she’s here somewhere. The Maltese have done us a solid and let us know that Frank will be here tonight. So, we’ve come prepared. Although there’s not much we can do at a charity gala event where so many high-profile public faces gather. It’s not the thirties, and we can’t just storm the event and demand what we came here for.
When a Gatti walks into a room, the air shifts and his presence is felt, but when the four of us enter, it’s like the world stops spinning and all eyes turn to us. We follow Scar’s lead, as casual as possible, as we enter the ballroom and circulate amongst the guests, blending in seamlessly.
Someone calls my name, but I’m immune to anything and everything as I focus on my end goal. I don’t stop for anything; Lucky trails my path, my constant companion as he reads the storm brewing in the subtle clench of my fists.
I’ve spent the whole night looking for Mia, knowing that she’s here. And then, there she is—her hand resting on Frank's arm, a gesture as deceptive as the peace between mob families. The space between us closes, anticipation crackling in the air like static before a storm.
As though she senses my presence, she turns and meets my eyes. Time fractures, seconds stretching into infinity. In that look, words are unnecessary, redundant. Her ice blue eyes speak; they speak of a bond that not even blood feuds could erase.
My breath hitches, the world narrowing to the expanse of silence we share. A thousand emotions flicker in Mia's gaze—longing, apology, defiance. It is all there, written in the depths of her irises.
“Brando?” Lucky's voice is a distant anchor to reality.
I nod, barely acknowledging my brother, my attention tethered to Mia. We stand, frozen in time, knowing that some connections run deeper than duty, darker than any vendetta.
Her lips part, a slight tremor betraying her composure. No words come, yet everything is said in the small part of her lips. I draw nearer, the magnetic pull of our shared past binding us in a way that most people never get to live.
Frank's voice slices through the electric silence, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he steps into the space between me and Mia.
“Brando Gatti, the Silent Storm himself. How good to finally run into you, old friend.”
Frank stands too close, his body language a deliberate provocation daring me to make a move. Menace clings to his words; it spills from every one of his pores, poisoning the room.
My jaw tightens, but I don’t let his goading compel me to do something I’ll regret. “Frank, the city thrived in your absence.”
He should have stayed away. Should have stayed away from the city and away from me. Because now that he’s in my crosshairs, I will not stop until I annihilate and flatten him the same way I did the Scarfones.
A ripple of hushed murmurs moves through the crowd, nearby guests drawn to the tension that crackles like a live wire between us. Eyes dart back and forth, sensing the gravity of the moment.
“Your presence here is unexpected,” Frank continues, although his relaxed demeanor tells me he was counting on me being here tonight. “Or perhaps desperate?”
“Desperation is a trait I leave to those who need it,” I reply.
“Still clinging to the shadows, I see,” Frank taunts, leaning in closer. “Still skulking after what you can’t have.” He narrows his eyes in Mia’s direction then smiles, before he pulls her to him, a hand weaving around her waist. She almost stumbles as she’s dragged into him, fixing doe eyes on Frank as her anger simmers beneath the surface and she squirms in his hold.
My fists curl at my sides, the white of my knuckles a stark contrast against the dark fabric of my suit. My restraint is quickly fraying as a storm rages within me.
“Gentlemen…”
Scar’s voice breaks the tension as he steps up beside me, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. There’s a long moment of tense silence, before conversations start again, and Scar steps forward, darting his steely eyes between me and Frank, daring us to misbehave.
“This is neither the time nor the place,” he warns us, his eyes scaling the room to remind us that we’re in the presence of greatness. One wrong move, and our house of cards comes tumbling down around us.
“We should go,” Mia says, looking expectantly at Frank.
He turns towards her, a sharp edge of possession evident in his gaze. “We stay, mia cara. Brando Gatti will learn to stay in his lane.”
Mia’s blue eyes flicker toward me, her plea silent but screaming. She is torn, caught between the devil and me. Her loyalty to her sisters wars with the ache in her chest, a pull towards me that refuses to be ignored.
She turns, her escape as silent as a shadow melting into the night. She slips through the throngs of guests and seeks refuge through a door that leads out to a terrace.
I turn back to the confrontation, just as Scar asks Falcone why he’s back in the city.
Scar doesn’t even make an attempt to mask his contempt for the man. My brothers don’t know Falcone, not really. He was in my grade when we were in school, and our interactions were relegated to the school ground, so they don’t know anything about him except that he’s a small-time hood and he’s taken Mia’s sisters. Oh, and that he set us up with the Maltese in the hope that we’d destroy each other. That would have been a win-win for him and would have paved the way for this shit kicking small time hood to join the big leagues. Not on our watch.
“Name your terms, Falcone,” Scar spits out.
“I came back for what's mine,” he says, and his eyes sway my way, deliberately trying to goad me into a fight.
Scar raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “What’s yours? The streets? There’s nothing for you in this city. Except a target on your back.”
Falcone’s eyes narrow. Scar has hit a nerve, one of many, I hope. His hands clench into fists, but he does a good job of controlling his anger, keeping it contained. He ignores my brother and leans forward, his eyes burning into me with the cold fire of old resentment.
“She’s mine,” he spits at me. “Always has been. Will always fucking be. I’m taking back what’s mine .”
My eyes lock with his, unblinking. I’ve changed. I’m more ruthless than I was ten years ago. I’ve lost too much already to just roll over and let him have what’s mine. I know what I want, and I’m committed to getting what I want, and I will stomp all over anyone and anything that stands in my way.
He thinks he’s in control, but the truth is, he’s got more enemies than he knows. And the Gattis are his biggest problem…a migraine brewing that will result in his demise. I’m just the one who’s going to make sure they remember who he really is.
The air between us crackles with raw tension, the years of history and enmity hanging heavy in the room. For a moment, neither of us moves. Neither of us breathes.
Finally, I speak again, my voice low, dangerous. “You came back for her, huh? It’s been ten years, Falcone. Ten years. A lot can happen in ten years. She could have given her heart to someone more worthy, for instance.”
I know no such thing, but it’s satisfying all the same watching as his face blanches of its arrogance and his gaze hardens. I’ve hit a nerve, and I can’t say I’m not happy about that as he turns without a word and heads in the opposite direction.
I see my opening and nod at Lucky, telling him wordlessly to keep Falcone occupied while I follow Mia out to the terrace.
Her cheeks are flushed as the night air kisses against her skin. She’s so beautiful as she leans against the ornate railing, staring into the dark abyss below. I can feel her heartbeat as it pulses through the air while she stands looking out at the expansive gardens. The stars blink down at her, indifferent to the turmoil they observe in her quiet solitude.
She exhales, the mist of her breath mingling with the night. For a fleeting moment, she is just Mia—Mia at 15, young and carefree and innocent. The girl I knew in high school. The girl I spent so many weekends with, whiling away the time as we shared our hopes and dreams and demons. And now she’s just a woman standing alone under the watchful eye of the moon.
“Mia.” Her name is a silent vow on my lips.
Her voice trembles like a leaf in the wind as she says my name. I lean on the railing beside her, our shoulders inches apart but worlds away.
“Seems like all I do is escape one problem only to land in the middle of another,” she says, the moonlight casting her features in a haunting glow.
“Come home with me, Mia.” My eyes never leave hers.
Her gaze finally meets mine, searching for a truth she may never truly find in the depths of my eyes. “He has the twins. I won’t come back without them, Brando.”
“Let me deal with Falcone.”
We stand together, silence stretching between us like a bridge over raging waters. I study her profile—a sculpture of shadows and light—memorising every line, every crease, every secret held beneath her layers of pain.
“My sisters...” Mia shakes her head, the weight of unspoken words hanging between us. There is no greater conflict than knowing you are the key to your sibling’s salvation. I myself know this well.
I lift a finger to her lips, stopping her. I know what’s coming. I don’t have to make this any harder on her than it already is. My main concern is for her safety with Falcone; the thought of her being anywhere near him snaps at something chemical deep inside me until all I want to do is snap his neck and be rid of him.
Scar told me I had to be mindful of her wishes and couldn’t crowd her. He told me that if I couldn’t give her what she needed (essentially, her sisters), I had no right to condemn her for her choices. Siblings, he reminded me, would do anything to protect or save their own.
He suggested we concentrate on trying to turn the tables on Falcone by finding the sisters then extracting Mia from him. His plan was sound, even though it seemed to me like it required a lot of time. Time which I wasn’t willing to spare. But it was when Seattle called to check in on us and they seconded Scar’s plan that I knew I was outnumbered and had to play this out their way, for the sake of diplomacy, if nothing else.
“You don’t have to do this, Mia. We’ll find another way.” If I have to run on fumes 24/7 to find them, then that’s what I’ll do if that’s what it takes.
“I can’t risk it, Brando. I can’t risk never seeing them again.”
Her eyes plead with me, haunted by the terror of loss. Light spills from the mansion where the gala goes on, as though this interruption is just a silent yawn in time, casting shadows over her face and making her fear palpable. My heart clenches at the sight. I respect her courage, admire her resolve, but the very thought of her walking away with him into the night twists my insides with dread.
“I won't let anything happen to you,” I reassure her, my voice low and insistent, trying to bridge the gap of her doubts with my conviction. “But I can’t protect you from him if you’re not with me.” She’s placed herself squarely in the jaws of the whale.
Mia shakes her head, blonde waves cascading over her shoulders. “It's not your battle, Brando. Frank…he’s assembling an army. He wants to destroy you. You need to concentrate on that; let me handle my sisters.”
My jaw tightens. I’ve always known there was more to Frank Falcone’s hatred towards me, I just never knew why. I still don’t know why. “It became my battle when he threatened you.” Mia’s resilience stirs something deep within me—a fierce need to protect, a desire so intense it borders on possession.
I reach out, fingers brushing against hers briefly before she pulls away. “I won’t let him have you,” I insist.
Scar appears in the doorway, his presence commanding. He looks from me to Mia, his jaw set, before he speaks. “Time to go,” he says grimly.
Mia swings her eyes towards my brother, indecision warring with necessity. I almost hear her heart pause on the decision to leave with me, before she straightens and looks back at me with a small, tight smile that does nothing to reassure me. I move forward, stepping into her, even as Scar turns away to give us this final private moment. My hand goes to her hair, brushing against it, memorizing the color and the texture and the way the light filters across the strands.
“I had you first,” I tell her. “Before him. Before now. You were mine even before you were born. We were written in the stars, Mia.”