23. Scar
23
SCAR
J avier Merchado’s gaze locks onto mine as he settles into the chair at the head of the table. I hold his stare, allowing him to claim his position of power—after all, we’re on his turf today. I’ve given him this courtesy out of respect, but make no mistake, I could crush him without a second thought. Easily.
Brando told me Javier was the only one who made sense in the meeting the other day—the only one with a level head in a room full of chaos. He might be the rational one, but he’s still part of the Maltese family, which makes him the enemy. And as far as I’m concerned, I’m not in the mood to make deals with the enemy—unless it’s for my brother’s sake.
I’m not one to let emotions cloud my judgment. Quite the opposite. I’m all about precision, strategy, and control. Every action, every decision is the result of hours of planning and preemptive thinking. Emotion doesn’t belong in my world. Or, at least, it didn’t. Not until Allegra. Not until Scarlett. Before them, I had only one true tie to any emotion, and that was for my immediate family. By ‘immediate’, I mean my brothers. Certainly not my mother—she was a vile, loathsome woman, someone I couldn’t even imagine feeling anything for.
I’ve spent my life focused on protecting my brothers, and I’d die for them if it came to that. But when Allegra came into the picture—when I took her against her will—it shifted everything. That was when I first felt the weight of emotion creeping in. I started to care. I started to feel. It wasn’t just about the cold, calculated moves anymore. The world, for the first time, was in color instead of black and white. And then Scarlett came along, and I was lost. I fell so hard, so fast, that now, love feels like both my greatest strength and my greatest weakness.
So when I watched Brando and Mia together on that terrace, before a single word passed between them, I already knew. Brando was gone. He was so far gone in love with her that there was no pulling him back. And Mia—Mia—she made the sacrifice. She chose to walk away from him to protect her sisters, even though that decision could very well destroy my brother.
We don’t have to like it. We don’t have to agree with it. But we do have to respect it. And while we’re at it, we have to do everything in our power to help Mia get her sisters back. That’s why I’m here today, sitting across from Javier, negotiating a deal that will ensure we get all three girls back with minimal damage to Brando’s heart. Because there is no world in which Brando could exist without Mia.
It’s not going to be easy, but nothing worth fighting for ever is.
Javier Merchado is trying to flex his muscles and flash his weight, even though he has none in these parts. Someone forgot to pass him the memo that he’s no-one. He’s nothing. And I will easily take my gun, put it to his head, and blow his brains out if he doesn’t give me what I need. Any man willing to deal in the skin trade, willing to take innocent girls and sell them for financial gain, no matter the reason, debt or no debt, needs to be put down like the dog he is.
We’re not prepared for another war, but we’ll gladly enter one if it means we can save my brother Brando. He’s my main focus right now. I’ve seen Brando at his best. And I’ve seen him at his worst. I can’t say I like him very much when he’s at his worst, because that Brando is a killing beast. He’s destructive and he’s lethal, and he’s hard to control. I can see that’s exactly where he’s headed right now, and that’s not such a good thing; if I let the reigns go just a little, he’s going to shit all over my plans for the Maltese.
For this meeting, I’ve refused to entertain the other two representatives Brando dealt with previously. I don’t need to be dealing with little boys right now. I just want to get in, say my piece, then leave before the stench of the Maltese lingers long enough on my coat that even laundering the damn thing won’t rid me of their filth.
“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” My voice is edged with frustration. “You know why we’re here. Tommy Corsica’s dead, and now you have plans for the daughters he left behind.”
Mason Ironside, sitting beside Brando to my right, emits a low growl. I see Brando out of my periphery as he flexes an arm across the table, holding the man back.
Javier leans back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. I’m somewhat insulted that he’s so calm in my presence; most men quake in their boots when I’m in the room. “First, let’s clear the air about Tommy’s death,” he starts. “We didn’t kill Tommy Corsica. Why would we waste a debt we need to collect on?”
“Word on the street says otherwise. You’re the only one who had a beef with him,” Mason pipes up, before I shoot him a warning glare.
“Word on the street is a dangerous thing,” Javier replies smoothly, his tone calm. “Notice how it spreads faster than truth. But I’ll tell you this: we didn’t put a bullet in Tommy’s head. We had no reason to. His death was bad for business, and we’re not in the habit of killing our debts.”
Mason scoffs, disbelief etched on his face.
“If you didn’t kill him, who did?” I ask, knowing full well the Maltese have no reason to lie about it. Tommy Corsica was a gun for hire; a kill like that could make a man’s reputation.
“What if I told you that even before Tommy’s death, we were approached with a proposition by someone who had a plan to take the girls and sell them?”
I try to mask my surprise, but my eyebrows shoot up involuntarily. Brando shifts uncomfortably in his seat as Mason moves forward in his, all ears. “Who?”
“Frank Falcone.”
“Falcone? How did he get involved in this?” I ask him. Certain things are starting to make sense. On their own, every little thing that has happened means nothing, but put the pieces together, and we start to get a picture of what actually happened with Tommy Corsica and what brought us here today.
“He offered to bring us the girls to send to auction. We turned him down; you don’t mess with the likes of Tommy Corsica, especially not when it comes to his daughters.”
“And yet, he owed you a debt.”
Javier Merchado shakes his head and looks away thoughtfully, before he leans forward, folding his hands against each other. He sighs before he speaks again, and for the first time, I catch a glimpse of humanity in him. There’s guilt, pure unadulterated guilt.
“The whole thing was a misunderstanding. Tommy was one of our best hires.”
“Too late to tell him that, now,” Mason snipes back, bitterly. I shoot him another warning glare. Merchado ignores the barb and turns back to the table.
“He took a hefty contract and didn’t go through with it. Gave the money to the hit and made them disappear. That’s why he owed us that money. The client wanted their money back.”
I look around every man at the table, my mind running at a mile a minute. This visit to the Maltese was supposed to get us the answers we wanted to Falcone’s whereabouts, yet it was raising more questions than it was answering.
“Who was the hit?” I ask. I suddenly need to know what sort of a hit Tommy Corsica would have passed up.
Merchado sighs heavily, exhaling the breath that he’d been holding. “I have to tell you; I had no idea it was a kid. Or we never would have taken the damn contract.”
“Or – your greed got the better of you,” I snap. “Who was the hit?” I ask again.
“Cameron Sawyer. 12-year-old girl. Stepmother wanted her out of the way the minute she realized the husband was terminal and would leave everything to his daughter.”
There’s a collective silence in the room as we all sit back in our seats and come to the same conclusion. Tommy Corsica, by no means a man of morals, drew the line at killing children. He wasn’t a thief, like he’d been painted. He was a cold-blooded killer, but even he had rules.
“So he didn’t even have the money he purportedly took,” Mason breathes, as though in relief.
Merchado shakes his head. “We were negotiating with Tommy about how best to return the money. Then Falcone comes out of nowhere and presents a solution to our problem. A solution we knocked back, by the way.” He looks pointedly at Mason, driving his point home. To the Maltese, Tommy Corsica was more an asset than a liability. “Tommy agreed to do a couple more jobs to pay off the debt, so that was sorted. Next minute, he turns up dead and Falcone is knocking at our door again, offering us the girls.”
“So you agreed to take the girls?” I ask him.
“No.” He shakes his head again, emphatic. “Tommy may have been dead, but we knew the rules. We don’t deal in the skin trade.” In a strange way, I believe him. It’s all starting to make sense now. Every little step that Falcone took was part of one whole picture meant to drive discord between the families. “He orchestrated the whole thing,” Javier says, his face a hard mask as he says the man’s name. “Falcone is the one who came up with the plan to take the girls and sell them. Before and after Tommy’s death.”
Mason’ expression hardens. “You’re saying Falcone had Tommy killed?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Javier replies, his tone serious.
Brando leans forward, intrigued despite himself. “So, he’s effectively playing all sides, hoping to start a war.”
“Precisely,” Javier continues, his voice steady. “Frank is a man unhinged. Tried to do business with us, but he proved he couldn’t be trusted, so we booted him out. That’s where his enmity for us comes from. But you…,” he gives Brando a hard look “I don’t know why he has such a hard on for you, Gatti.”
Brando exchanges a glance with Mason, the pieces of the puzzle beginning to fit together.
“And you’re telling us this now because…?” My voice is hoarse as I shoot him down with my eyes. There will come a day when the Maltese have reached their use by date and they will pay for entertaining even the thought of going up against us. For that’s what they’ve essentially done by not coming to us with what they knew of Falcone’s plans.
“Because we’re not interested in going to war with you,” Javier says, his tone earnest. “Frank has put us in a precarious position; if he can kill Tommy without a second thought, what’s stopping him from turning on either of us next?”
I nod slowly, the realization sinking in. “You want a deal.” It’s a statement more than it is a question. It’s in the Maltese’s best interests to align with us. Falcone is one man, but he’s ruthless and he cannot be trusted. They know we’ll come for them after we annihilate Falcone. They’ll want to avoid that at all costs.
“We have access to Falcone. If we find him, which I have no doubt we will, I’ll hand him to you on a silver platter myself, if I have to.”
The room falls silent for a moment as the weight of the situation settles over us. I glance at Brando, who nods slightly, a silent agreement forming between us. The Maltese want to work with us. Falcone has obviously spooked them, and they’re willing to take their chances on us instead of him. He’s a loose cannon, after all, one they can’t afford to have in their arsenal.
“What do you have in mind?” I ask the man. He settles back in his chair with a sigh of relief, glad for the reprieve I’ve offered him.
The tension in the room eases slightly as Javier smiles. “Falcone’s recruiting some of my best men. The defections were the first sign that something wasn’t right.”
I roll my wrist, telling him to hurry it along. I agreed to a meeting, but I really don’t have all day.
“My cousin Jayson. He’s one of the recruits. And he’s been reporting back to me on a daily basis.”
My eyes meet Brando’s across the table. Mason Ironside sits so still, he looks like he’s been cast in marble. A collective silence breezes through the room while we all hold our breaths as we reach the same conclusion. We’re now one step closer to finding Falcone’s location.
“He’s holding the girls at another location.”
Jayson Caluna is the sort of man I’d want on my team. He’s a young gun, no more than twenty-eight years, his tall frame towering over me, with a moral compass that makes him too good to be part of our world. He’s Javier Merchado’s maternal cousin, a little-known fact amongst the Maltese, which worked well in Javier’s favor because he ended up planting him in just the right place at just the right time, and we now have a source close to Falcone who’s willing to work with us. Things could not have turned out better if I’d planned them myself.
Jayson has no problem giving us what we want. If his willingness to share such crucial information with us is anything to go by, I’d say he’s harboring a serious dislike for the man who now calls himself his boss.
Brando's lips tighten, a silent curse forming on them. “Do we know where?” The room feels colder, the dim light casting long shadows that seem to echo his growing frustration.
Jayson shakes his head, his expression resolute. “Not yet. But I'm working on it. Falcone is cautious, moves them frequently.”
“What about Mia?” he asks.
I cross my arms, leaning against the dark wood paneling of the restaurant's private back room as I watch my brother carefully. I can sense him fraying at the edges. The hitch in his voice when he says her name tells me everything I need to know – Brando is in love with Mia, even if he doesn’t know it yet.
“She clawed his eyes out,” Jayson says, his voice holding a considerable amount of pride. “They got into a fight and all I know is she attacked him. Got a few good shots in; scratches tracking down his face will definitely scar.”
I beam with pride. Only a woman like Mia Andrade would be worthy of my brother. But Brando still stands stoic, refusing to let any emotion cross his face.
“What were they fighting about?” I ask him.
He shrugs and shakes his head in defeat. “Your guess is as good as mine. But she hasn’t left her room since.”
“Is he holding her against her will?” Brando asks.
“I have no idea. But I can see she doesn’t like him much.”
“You did good, Jayson,” I tell him, my hand stretching out to meet his in a handshake. “You’ll keep me posted if there’s anything else?”
Jayson gives a curt nod, his gaze sharp. “You'll be the first to know, Don Gatti.”
“Call me Scar.”
I approach Brando as Jayson leaves, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You need to be careful, brother.” My voice is a soft balm that wraps around him, a promise of my unwavering support. “This isn't just about business. For some reason, it's personal for Falcone.”
Brando meets my gaze, the weight of his concern for Mia heavy on his shoulders. “It's always been personal,” he mutters.