32. Brando
32
brANDO
I glance over at Mia, standing next to Mason Ironside. Her arms are folded across her chest, a stance that’s both defiant and grounded as she listens to Scar outline the plan for the night. Now that we’re stuck with her, we’ve had to include her in what’s going on; I would never allow a blind man in to battle, so why would I keep her in the dark when I need her to be aware of every step we’re taking, for her own safety?
The air around us is heavy with tension. The docks are quiet, but the hum of activity in the shadows tells a different story. The containers, loaded with God-knows-what, are slated to ship out in the early hours of the morning, but we’ve gotten here hours ahead of schedule—our operation already in motion.
Scar finishes his call, slipping the phone into the pocket of his jacket. He scans the group of men gathered around him—nearly two dozen of us, including the Gatti brothers, Mason, and the Enforcer. The Maltese crew stands off to one side, the usual tension swirling in the air. I’ve heard the whispers, the murmurs about them being involved. But to be honest, they’ve been loyal. Loyalty is a rare commodity in this world, and I’ll give credit where it’s due.
“Dante Accardi’s got a contact in Missing Persons,” Scar announces, his voice cutting through the murmur of the crowd. “He’s sending someone to help identify the people we’ve found. They’ll be placed in safe houses and get the medical attention they need.”
I don’t listen to the rest. My mind is elsewhere—focused on the woman standing beside Mason, her every move somehow both infuriating and magnetic. Fifty-four men, women, and children have been rescued so far from the containers, their faces haunted and blank from the horrors they’ve endured. I don’t even know how many more are still hidden away in the dark corners of this hellhole.
But none of that matters right now.
What matters is her.
Mia.
I’m still furious at her for defying me, for putting herself in harm’s way. The last thing I want is to see her in danger again. But, if I’m honest, I can’t shake the feeling that if it weren’t for her, we wouldn’t have uncovered the horrors hidden in those containers. Her instincts have always been sharp—maybe sharper than mine—and in that moment, when everything was going to shit, I realized just how much her presence here has meant to the outcome of the night. She saved lives tonight. More than she knows.
Her eyes find mine, cutting through the noise floating through the air. Time seems to slow, the world around us blurring until it’s just the two of us, locked in an unspoken understanding, the weight of everything we've been through—and everything we still have to face—between us.
I’m still angry at her, but it’s not the kind of anger I’d like to admit. It’s a primal, guttural kind of anger—the kind that comes from a place deep inside me, one I can’t control. It’s a need to protect her. To keep her close. Because the thought of her out there—on her own, with no one to shield her from the monsters lurking in the shadows—sends something dark twisting through my chest.
And that’s when it hits me. The truth I’ve been running from. The feelings I’ve been lying to myself about.
I’m in love with Mia.
I’ve always been in love with her. Maybe since I was ten, and she was nine. Even after the mess with Falcone, when she walked away from me and put her hand in his, I never stopped loving her. The girls who came after her—they never meant anything. Not really. They were pretty, charming, but they were nothing more than distractions. None of them ever came close to her. To Mia.
I’m not sure when it happened, when she crossed the line from childhood friend to something else, but here I am. Staring at her across the concrete playground of the docks, realizing that I’ve never been able to let go of the one person who truly owns my heart.
“She’s beautiful,” Lucky’s voice breaks through the silence in my head, dragging my focus back to the present.
I blink and turn toward him. Lucky’s standing next to me now, watching Mia with the same calculating gaze that I’ve grown used to seeing on him. It’s impossible to hide anything from him—he’s known me too long. His smirk, though, tells me he already knows what I’m thinking.
I don’t respond right away, my eyes flicking back to Mia. She’s still talking to Mason, but her posture, her presence, is unmistakable. There’s a fire in her that matches my own—a fire that burns hot and dangerous, and I know it’s only a matter of time before we both get burned.
“Yeah,” I mutter, my voice low, fighting to keep my emotions in check. “She is.”
Lucky glances at me, then back at Mia, his smirk widening. “I don’t know why you’re still pretending, Brando. You think you’re fooling anyone?” He nudges me with his elbow, a silent command for me to pay attention. “You’ve been in love with her since forever. You can’t keep dodging it. It’s written all over your face.”
My jaw tightens, and I take a deep breath, my eyes narrowing as I force myself to look away from Mia. “She doesn’t belong in our world,” I remind him.
But Lucky only laughs, unbothered by the edge in my voice. “Brother, she was born into our world.”
I freeze at the reminder, my heart thudding heavily in my chest. Our world is a dangerous place to be. The very thought that something could happen to her because of her proximity to our chaos slices at something deep inside me.
Lucky doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he takes a long look around at all the men assembled together, considering his words carefully before he turns to look at me with a knowing glint in his eye.
“I know what you’re thinking. It’s the same fear we all have. Scar had it with Allegra. You have it with Mia, and Rafi and I will probably feel the exact same way when it comes time for us to deal with the same shit.” His lip curls up as though the very thought of him falling for someone disgusts him. “But you can’t live your life based on what-ifs, Brando. You can’t keep holding on to what’s happened in the past.”
I know he’s referring to our Aunt Thalia and my twin brother Christiano. Both lives lost tragically way before we were ready to see them go. Our father lost Aunt Thalia in a hail of bullets we later learned was orchestrated by our own mother. He never got over his only sister’s death. And then Christiano; his death was also the product of our mother’s negligence. I can’t deny that both deaths have weighed heavily upon me. He pauses for a moment, his eyes hardening.
“You’ve got to stop acting like she’s some... liability. You can’t protect her by keeping her at arm’s length. You can’t control her, Brando. She’s the one who controls you.”
I swallow hard, Lucky’s words echoing in my mind as my pulse begins to race. He’s right. I’ve spent too long pretending I’m not drowning in this damn mess of feelings. But I don’t know how to fix it. I can’t just give her everything I have—not when this world we live in might swallow us whole at any moment.
“I’m not going to screw this up,” I mutter, more to myself than to Lucky.
“You already have,” he says bluntly, his tone dropping to something darker. “But it’s not too late. You need to make a choice, Brando. Or you’re going to lose her forever.”
I don’t have a response to that—not a good one, anyway. His words hit harder than I want to admit. The weight of them presses down on me, heavier than anything else tonight. He’s right. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m stuck. Because deep down, I’m terrified. Not of losing her—that part feels like it’s already slipping away. No, I’m terrified of losing control. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at, the only thing that’s kept me from falling apart. And the idea of not being able to control this, not knowing how things will play out, that’s what makes my gut twist with fear.
I’ve always been the one in control, the one calling the shots. But with her? With this? I’m stepping into unknown territory. And if I’m honest with myself, that uncertainty is the most terrifying part I have to contend with.
The first light of dawn is creeping across the sky, casting long, jagged shadows over the dockyards. We’ve dwindled to a handful of men—just enough to keep an eye on things, just enough to feel like we’ve got the situation under control. The rest of the crew has been sent to the diner up the road. Scar figured they could use some rest, a hot meal before the chaos of the day sets in.
With another few hours to go before the dock officially opens for business and starts to load its cargo, we’re not expecting much to happen as we sit around and wait for the owner of the human cargo to attend and realize what’s happened. We’re on the home stretch now – we’ve infiltrated what we believe to be Falcone’s human trafficking ring, which will no doubt cost him dearly and put him on several most wanted lists, and everything that comes afterward is merely icing on the cake. Everyone knows the rules about human trafficking in our city; if others are involved in this, we can’t risk missing our chance to find them, so we sit and wait amidst the quiet hum of the water and the distant sound of seagulls.
I’m standing by the old shipping crate, leaning against it with my hands shoved in my pockets, staring out at the horizon, barely aware of the others around me. I can hear the faint murmur of their voices as they talk quietly, their faces shadowed in the pale morning light. There’s a sense of calm in the air, an uneasy truce of sorts. The kind of silence before a storm.
The others are scattered, keeping their distance, all of us half-watching the empty street behind us, half-watching the open water stretching out before us. The silence feels thick, unnatural, like the world is holding its breath, waiting for something.
That’s when I hear it.
A faint scrape, like boots dragging over wet wood. It’s barely noticeable at first, the sound blending with the creak of the dock and the gentle slap of the waves against the pylons. But then it’s louder—closer. A shift in the air. I straighten, instinctively, but I don’t move yet. My instincts are telling me something’s wrong, but I can’t put my finger on it.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I catch the faintest movement—a shadow slipping between the towering stacks of crates, barely a ripple in the stillness. At first, I tell myself it’s nothing. But it’s the kind of nothing that makes my skin prickle. It’s too quiet, too subtle to be dismissed.
The others haven’t noticed. They’re too busy fiddling with their gear or chewing on the remains of cigarettes.
But I know. I can feel it.
“Did you see that?” I mutter, low, to no one in particular.
Mason glances up, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”
Before I can respond, there's a sharp noise—a creak of wood, a footfall that’s just a bit too heavy on the planks.
And then I see him.
Frank.
He steps into the light, slowly, his figure emerging from the shadows with a calm that makes the air feel suddenly too thin. There’s something off about the way he moves—too deliberate, like he’s been practicing this exact moment. He’s holding Sophia in front of him, her arm twisted painfully behind her back, her face pale, eyes wide with terror.
Frank’s got a gun pressed to her temple. It gleams in the dim light, and every muscle in my body goes tight. I can hear the faint click of his boots against the wood, the sound sending a ripple of panic through me.
I should’ve seen this coming. I should’ve been more careful. But we all got complacent. Too few of us, too much quiet.
For a moment, I’m frozen—just staring at the scene before me. I want to move, to shout, to do anything but stand here with my heart pounding in my chest.
But I can’t. Not yet. My mind wanders to Mia, sleeping peacefully in the boot of the SUV. I pray that she sleeps soundly through whatever happens next, because I can’t guarantee there won’t be bloodshed.
“Don’t make a sound,” Frank’s voice cuts through the stillness, low but firm. His gaze flickers over the men behind me. “None of you. Or I’ll paint this dock with her brains.”
My stomach twists, but I force myself to stay still. I force myself to think. There’s no room for mistakes here. If I make one wrong move, Sophia’s dead.
I take a slow step forward, trying to keep my voice steady. “Let her go, Frank. This doesn’t have to go any further.”
Frank’s lips curl into a smile that has no warmth in it, only malice. “You think I came here to negotiate, Brando?”
He shifts, pushing Sophia closer, his grip on her tightening. I see her flinch, hear her breath catch, and my chest tightens like a vise. I want to break his fucking neck, but I know I can’t—at least, not without making things a hundred times worse.
The others are still behind me, but I can feel their eyes on me. I’m the one who has to figure this out. I’m the one who has to keep it together.
Frank isn’t alone. I know that now. There are two more men behind him, just outside the range of sight—lurking in the shadows between the crates. I can hear the faint shuffle of feet, the crackle of something brushing against metal. They’ve got us cornered, trapped. I count the seconds in my head, the cold, knotting dread tightening around my ribs.
“Don't try anything,” Frank says, his voice cutting through the silence like a razor. “I’ll leave your girl here in pieces if you do. You understand me, Gatti?”
His eyes are cold, calculating. He's not bluffing. And it takes everything I have not to move, not to go for my gun, but I can’t risk it. If I do, he’ll pull that trigger before I even clear the holster.
Sophia’s glazed eyes are locked on mine, but they’re blank, like she’s checked out, her body frail against his. I have no idea the horrors Mia’s sister has seen at the hands of this madman. And Maxine. Where the fuck is Maxine?