22. Mia
22
MIA
I watch as Frank's fingers dance across the keyboard of his laptop, a glaring interruption against the silence. He stops, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips—and the blood in my veins runs cold. He’s promised to give me my sisters; I’ve been standing here, as he requested, for more than half an hour watching him as he punches key after key and stroke after stroke.
At one point in time, a long time ago, I had considered Frank handsome. That, I can honestly say now in hindsight, was his only redeeming feature. With his dark hair and dark eyes, he was the epitome of every young girl’s dream guy, and I just so happened to be with him by some whacky stroke of luck. He chose me, I liked to remind myself.
Now, many years later, I know better. I knew better then, after everything was said and done and he destroyed my world. But I believe it now with every fibre of my being, the same way that I believe he targeted me. He sought me out. Specifically, to make Brando’s life a living hell. There was always something so callous about him. Something cunning, dark and disturbing. And I never really understood his need to go up against Brando, to challenge him in every single way he could possibly find, but it had seemed like he made it his life’s mission to destroy everything precious in Brando’s life.
“Still clinging to him, aren't you, mia cara?” he whispers, his voice filling the room. He lifts his eyes momentarily from his laptop to look at me, but he doesn’t stop typing. There is so much anger and so much rage swimming through the room, most of it mine. But I won’t lie and say he’s not fuming; with a few choice words at the Gala tonight, Scar Gatti cut Frank down at the knees and fed him to the sharks. Everyone who’s anyone knows that when Don Gatti doesn’t give you an audience, it means you’re not worthy of one. Frank’s humiliation at being shunned, disregarded, has put him on the knife’s edge. He cursed and fumed all the way back to the compound, his anger swirling through the car like a poisonous gas until he let out a deep, belly clenching scream that pierced through the night, almost killing us when the driver lost his focus and ran off the road.
I had never really given Brando’s surname much thought – it was a name in passing when we were growing up, and it was beyond my limited knowledge of this world we live in that he is a major player in one of the most powerful families in the country. He’s literally one rung under the Don, so the power he has is immeasurable. Frank Falcone is small fish in comparison to the Gattis; they are Mafia royalty, and that was never more evident than tonight when they walked into the Gala and the crowds parted for them. You could sense the respect for them in the room, smell it even. It was in the awe on people’s faces, in the way attendees scrambled for five seconds in their presence, trying to make an impression on them.
When Frank finally stops typing and leans back with a satisfied grin on his face, the leather chair creaks in protest. His dead eyes fall on me with predatory focus.
“You wanted to see your sisters,” he mutters, turning the laptop around so it faces me.
The monitor is split into dual screens, each playing an alternate feed. He presses a few more keys and the image zooms in until I’m standing watching my sisters before me. Maxine is pacing around a small, dark room which contains a bed in one corner and not much else. Sophia appears to be in a similar room, although she’s tied to a chair, tape muffling her protests, her wide eyes frozen in fear. My heart rumbles as my blood freezes. I can’t take my eyes off my sisters, for fear they’ll disappear. But I lift them, horrified at what I see, until I’m focused only on the man sitting in front of me.
“You bastard! You said you wouldn’t hurt them!”
“I did,” he admits. “And you agreed to a deal where you wouldn’t have any contact with Brando Gatti.”
“And I haven’t!” I stammer.
“You put me on show tonight,” he murmurs, his voice sharp. “You and he both.”
“I told you we should leave!” I argue with him.
I don’t know what he’s expecting when he insists on taking me out in public. He must know there’s always the possibility that we would run into Brando. He must have expected that somehow, Brando would find me.
He leans back in the chair, ever the cocky bastard. I just want to rip his throat out and shove it down his mouth again. Then do it again. I want to inflict the most excruciating pain against him for what he’s doing to my sisters.
“I didn’t make contact with him,” I challenge him. “ He found me . At a place you decided to take me! There’s a difference.”
“Not from where I’m sitting. The deal was no contact.”
“So, you want to torture me by showing me how badly you’re mistreating my sisters? Do you even feed them?”
I can see that he relishes my desperation; that he finally has control over me and knowing that he can bend me any which way to make sure I do as he says. He can almost taste the fear I’m feeling, and he’s feeding off my anger.
“I guess perhaps we could find them a better home,” he murmurs, almost as a side note, before he taps on his laptop again.
“What are you doing?” I shriek.
A series of numbers appears on the monitor, digits and letters scrolling up the page on either side of each screen.
“Let’s play a little game, shall we? I’m not sure I know how much your sisters are worth to you, since you keep breaking the rules. But let’s see how much your sisters are worth to others. ”
I move forward, looking closer at the screen, until I see the credits rolling up the page for what they are. I look at him, mortified, as I understand what he’s done and what’s about to happen. He’s sent my sisters to auction.
“Your sisters are the stars of the night, Mia. And the bids are soaring high so quickly.”
I can feel the blood rushing in my ears, a tide rising too fast to stem. Panic claws at my throat, but beneath it all, a fierce heat kindles—the fire of protection, unyielding and fierce.
“Bastard!” I breathe out, defiance etching my features into stone. “I won't let you have them.”
With every bid that rolls in, and as the numbers grow exponentially to ridiculous heights, Frank's satisfaction swells like a symphony reaching its crescendo. Frank’s cruelty reaches through the air between us to throttle me, robbing me of the air I need. My heart slams against my ribs, my bones rattling as they fight against the skin encasing them. They scream bloody murder as I lunge at Frank’s throat.
I slam hard against his body, sending us both hurtling to the ground as the chair goes flying from under him. I may not be able to stop the auction, but I can kill him and prevent any handover. Even if I end up dead in the process, I won’t let him have my sisters.
The room shrinks around us, walls inching closer, suffocating me. I struggle against him, even as he quickly overcomes me and has me on my back. My hands tremble as I lash out, reaching for his throat. He straddles me, grabs my hands and lifts them above my head, and for a split second, I’m transported back in time to a place that’s gone but not forgotten. I won’t let him destroy me again. I won’t let him destroy my sisters.
“Even if I have to kill you, I will end this! Do you hear me, Frank? I will end you.”
The realization that Frank brought me here under false pretenses guts me. He never had any intention of giving me back my sisters, and he played me like a violin as he set his plan in motion. It becomes painfully obvious to me that he planned, he executed, and then he just sat back waiting for the outcome. There are no two ways about it. The man is a monster, and although I still don’t know what his motivations are, I can see so clearly now that he set a trap, and I fell right into it.
I had railed and punched, determined to end him, but I’m no match for a man twice my height and size. Not physically, anyway. I can feel a sting at the edge of my lip, and I taste blood when I dart my tongue out at the liquid pooling there.
“You make quite the couple, I must admit,” Frank chuckles.
He wipes at his own face where I clawed at his cheek, drawing blood. I know that must sting like a bitch, and that pain for him warms my heart. Not nearly enough of what I want to do to him, but it’s a start.
“Fuck you to hell and back, Frank.”
“Ah, Mia,” Frank answers, his voice like honeyed poison. “I’ve already told you that can be arranged, if only you ask nicely.”
“You’re certifiably crazy,” I whisper, as the realization dawns on me. I have to forget everything I know about the boy that was Frank Falcone. He was dangerous then, but this new, refined adult version looks like it’s had a faulty upgrade. “I will make sure you rot in hell for this,” I spit out, my voice a blade cutting through the room.
“Such spice,” he taunts back. “I think I’m going to enjoy every minute of our sparring. You’ve become quite the spitfire, Mia.”
“Fuck you! You’re despicable!” I spit at him and the glob of saliva lands on his left cheek. He lets go of my hands to reach up to his face. I watch in fearful fascination as everything unfolds in slow motion. He’s so casual as he does it, his mask frozen in place, that you would think it’s just another day in Frank Falcone’s life, but it’s enough to give me a front row seat to the depths of Frank’s depravity. He lifts his hand to his cheek, and ever so slowly, he slides the pads of his forefinger and middle finger through the spittle down his cheek, past his chin, then up to his lips. He sucks his fingers into his mouth, and I could swear that he is turned on by the way he’s dilated eyes become hooded. I’m just as much shocked as I am disgusted as I watch him in horror.
When he finally takes his fingers out of his mouth, it’s with a pop, before he shoots me a wicked smile that has ice curling up my spine. He fixes me with crazy eyes that seem to darken, the way the clouds would suddenly before a raging storm.
“This time, I’m going to be patient and make you beg me to take you,” he purrs. “That will be the ultimate fuck you to Gatti.”