Page 3 of Brando
“Hey,” I whisper, crossing the dimly lit space with measured steps.
Sophia sits, shoulders curled inward, the light from the table lamp casting hollows beneath her eyes. In her hands, her credit card statement is a testament to our unravelling lives—wrinkled and damp with her tears.
I reach out, my fingers brushing against Sophia's arm, the gesture as tender as it is full of unspoken promises.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she sobs, as a fresh wave of tears greets me. “Look at it, Mia.” Sophia's voice trembles, words laced with defeat. She thrusts the statement towards me, its value mocking us both. “Why didn’t you tell me we’re broke!”
“Shh, we'll figure this out.” My hand shifts to Sophia's shoulder, pressing gently, a silent vow to bear the weight together.
Sophia's hazel eyes, brimming with uncertainty, meet my steady gaze. “How?” Her single word holds a multitude of fears.
I inhale slowly, my mind a racing engine searching for solutions amidst chaos. “We tighten up. Cut corners where we can.” I force a confident smile, though my heart thrums with anxiety. “Maybe I can pick up extra shifts at the bar. You and Maxine will need to get jobs to help support us.”
“But we’ve never worked a day in our lives!” Sophia protests, her lower lip quivering.
“We do what we need to.” My tone is light, but her resolve is steel.
The moment shatters with a sharp rap at the door. A knock that doesn't belong to friendliness or familiar faces. I stiffen, every protective instinct flaring to life. I keep my back to Sophia, shielding her from the potential threat lurking behind the wood.
“Stay here,” I instruct, my words clipped as I move toward the door with silent steps. I reach out, fingers grazing the cool metal of the doorknob, my other hand poised near the hidden blade I always keep within reach.
“Who is it?” I call out, my voice betraying none of the adrenaline spiking through my veins. I look through the peephole, waiting for an answer.
“Mason,” I exhale, my hand dropping away from the blade as I open the door to reveal Uncle Mason. His presence is an immediate balm to my frayed nerves, even as it ushers in a sense of deep unease. The lines etched in his face tell stories of trouble, and the tightness in his jaw speaks of urgency.
“Let me in, Mia.” His voice is low, commanding yet layered with concern as he pushes past me.
I step aside, allowing him to cross the threshold into the dimly lit sanctuary that is now stained with fear. The door clicks shut behind him, sealing us in with the weight of unspoken tension.
“What's happened?” My voice is steady, but my fingers betray me, curling into fists at my sides.
He glances over his shoulder, ensuring privacy before facing me. “The Maltese. They're calling in your father's debts.”
“More debts?” My heart skips, then pounds. “But he's?—”
“Dead, I know.” Mason's eyes are relentless, holding mine. “And they don't care. They want their money, or they'll take it in blood.”
I scrub a hand down my face. A cold rod of ice sweeps down my spine. More debts. More to deal with. I curse under my breath, not loud enough for Sophia to hear me, but loud enough for Mason to throw me a sympathetic look. My father left behind a veritable mess that can never be undone. The sheer magnitude of what he owes boggles my mind. We’ve already lost the house we grew up in, the assets. There is nothing for anyone to take. Except our flesh and bones.
“Blood...” I taste the word on my tongue, feel its sharp edges. The ache of responsibility hangs heavily over my head. I’m wise to the ways of the world, but my father has sheltered the twins to such a degree, I know this world is going to chew them up and spit them back out again. They’re going to have to lay down their spoons of gold and work for everything they want moving forward. “How much time do we have?”
“Days. Maybe less.” He leans in like a conspirator, his voice a razor's edge. “They've made their intentions clear. They will come for you and your sisters.”
My mind reels, but my expression remains a mask of control. “We can't pay what we don't have.”
“Then we need to get you somewhere safe.” Mason's hand reaches out, halting inches from my arm. An offer of comfort I hadn't realized I crave.
He doesn’t say the words, but the look in Uncle Mason’s eyes tells me what I already know. We’ve spoken about this, he and I. In the privacy of a corner away from my sister’s ears. We’ve discussed all the scenarios in which we could find ourselves in, and one of them, he had advised me, would be if the Maltese went through with their threats. Threats to strip our bones dry and sell us for parts. That was their words exactly. They could sell us into the sex trade. Or harvest our organs. Men like these could get very creative with ways to get their money back.
The reality of our situation tastes bitter on my tongue. I feel the nausea as it claws up my chest, roiling within me. I’m a survivor, and I can deal with whatever gets thrown my way, but the twins have never had to concern themselves with anything past what to wear for the day. The mere thought of what could befall them if I fail to keep them safe sits heavy like lead in my stomach.
“I have a plan,” Mason rushes to tell me when he sees the stricken look on my face. I can only imagine what he sees, but he steels his tone, leaving no room for doubt that he will rescue us once again. “But you need to leave this place. Best you leave the city altogether.”
“But our whole lives are here!” Sophia argues, coming to join us.
“Where’s Maxine?” I ask her. She shrugs and goes back to her place at the table to try to contact her twin sister Maxine.
“What are we going to do?” I ask, feeling the gravity of our plight anchor in my chest.