Page 5 of Brando
“About fucking time,” Enzo mutters, his voice gravelly with amusement. He’s always like this—brash, blunt, but with the kind of loyalty I know I can count on when shit hits the fan.
“Well, not everyone has the luxury of sitting on their ass all day, Enzo,” I reply, leaning back in my chair and rubbing a hand over my jaw. I know the work doesn’t stop, but lately it feels like it’s all spinning out of control. The business with my mother—who, despite being out of the picture for almost fifteen years, managed to screw with our lives one last time before we ended it all—still lingers like a bad taste in my mouth. She used the Scarfones and Lucianis against us, and we had to wage an all-out war just to keep what was ours.
I can’t say it’s over. Not yet. We haven’t seen the last of the fallout.
“I trust you guys to take care of things while I’m away,” I say, giving them both a pointed look. “I know my business is in capable hands.”
Enzo meets my eyes with a lazy, almost too casual smile. It’s his way of telling me he’s ready, no questions asked. Lupe,though, leans forward, his gaze flicking around the room like he’s double-checking for any threats. It’s a reflex of his—he’s never been the type to take risks, especially not in situations like this. I respect that, even if it does make him a little twitchy at times.
“It’s good you came, boss,” Lupe says, his voice edged with urgency. I can see the nervous tension radiating off him now, like a live wire. He leans forward, glancing over his shoulder as if checking the door, before continuing. “The Viccis are making noise.”
That catches my attention. The Viccis. They’ve always been under the radar, small fry compared to us, the kind of family that operates in the shadows. But with the Luciani and Scarfone families in turmoil, it could be the Viccis would love nothing more than to take advantage of the situation.
“Break it down for me,” I order, keeping my voice steady.
Lupe’s eyes flick from me to Enzo, who gives him a subtle nod. “Cousins to the Lucianis,” Lupe continues, his tone low and conspiratorial. “One of them is married to the sister of one of the men we took out with the trash. They’ve been screaming bloody murder ever since.”
I lift my eyes, pinning them with a silent question. Both men know understand what I’m asking.
“It’s clean,” Enzo confirms, his voice steady as always. “I’ve been doing daily sweeps of the office. No bugs, no wires.” His smirk is cocky but reassuring. He’s good at what he does. And right now, that means making sure no one is listening in on our conversation.
“Alright, so the Viccis are out for blood,” I say, leaning forward and folding my arms on the desk. “What will it take to get them off our backs?”
Lupe’s eyes narrow, his hands tightening into fists. “Nothing a bullet through the head wouldn’t fix, boss.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head. I should’ve known. “We can’t just go around killing people at random, Lupe. It’ll start a turf war.”
“We did it with the Scarfones,” he reminds me, his voice steady, almost defiant.
“That was different,” I shoot back, my voice hardening. “We were defending what was ours, and we had the backing of Seattle.” I pause, letting the weight of that sink in. “This time, we’re not dealing with small-time players like the Scarfones. The Viccis are cousins to the Lucianis. We don’t want to open a new another pandora’s box we’re not ready for.”
Enzo speaks up, his calm voice cutting through the tension. “I’m sure we still have Seattle’s backing,” he says. “People don’t like to mess with that kind of clout. The Viccis are just a bunch of muscle heads making noise. That’s all.”
His words ring true. The Viccis are a problem, but they’re not an insurmountable one. Still, I can’t afford to let my guard down.
“Regardless, this is not the time to relax,” I say, my voice taking on an edge. “I want eyes on them at all times. Get me Seattle on the phone.”
Lupe’s eyes flash with the same wild intensity I’ve come to expect. “If you need me to go down there and put a bullet in someone’s head, just say the word, boss.”
I hold up a hand, silencing him. “No. We play this smart. We keep it clean, keep it quiet. But make sure we know every move they make.”
Our friendsin Seattle are a force to be reckoned with. It’s only been a few short months since they fought alongside us against the Scarfones and the Lucianis, the war in which wealso eliminated our mother. Our own flesh and blood. But she stepped on that landmine first. When I end the call after speaking with Dante Accardi and pocket the phone, I’m more than satisfied that the situation with the Viccis will be resolved with the power of a call from Seattle. I give the issue no further thought as I turn my chair to face the window. My own mind conspires against me as my thoughts flicker to Christiano, the twin I lost, the ghost who never leaves my side.
Silence blossoms. I don’t move, my hands frozen on the table's surface, fingers spread wide as if to grasp at the remnants of the past. The room feels larger, emptier, as if it has exhaled the absence of voices and footsteps.
My gaze shifts once again. Beyond the window, the city is ablaze with artificial stars, twinkling distantly against the velvet night. They flicker, each pulse a heartbeat, a reminder of what once was—a time where laughter mingled with the ambient sounds of the bustling streets below, where Christiano's voice was part of the city's symphony.
Nothing has been the same since I lost him. It’s been more than fifteen years, and still, the memory of losing him is as fresh as a newly incised flesh wound.
“Remember when we'd race across the rooftops?” I murmur to no one. “You always said the lights were our crowd, cheering us on.”
Rain lashes against my face. Younger, wetter, colder—I stand alone, the droplets like icy fingers trailing down my spine. My father’s voice, words crackling like static, tearing through the storm's howl.
“... it was an accident… an accident. Christiano…”
The words had struck like lightning, searing into me, leaving a charred hollow where warmth used to be. I doubled over, gasping for air, for sanity. The rain couldn't wash away the truth. It couldn’t undo what had been done. It couldn’t giveme back my brother. And it sure as hell couldn’t wash away the pain of losing my other half.
It’s in moments like these that the same hollow echoes within me. The pain just as intense, just as raw as it had been on that rain-soaked night. My twin, my other half, gone—leaving behind a silence that roars louder than any tempest.