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“You’re lying,” Brando snarls, his voice low and lethal. The knife presses under Zack’s chin now, just enough to dimple the skin.“You’re lying because you’re scared. Of them—but the one you really should be afraid of is me.”
And he’s not wrong.
Zack’s eyes are wide now. Glassy. This is Brando at his feral worst.
I shift beside Mason, hand drifting toward my gun, not to stop Brando—but to be ready in case he needs to be stopped.This is the part where rage starts to drown logic. And right now, Brando Gatti is neck-deep in it.
But Scar beats me to it as he steps forward, cutting into the heat like a storm rolling in.
“Brando,” he says, voice cool but pointed. “Don’t.”
Brando doesn’t look at him. He doesn’t blink.
“I said don’t,” Scar repeats, firmer this time. “We kill him, we kill our only lead.”
Brando’s nostrils flare. His grip on the blade tightens. But Scar doesn’t back off.
“Maxine’s alive,” Scar continues. “You feel that, don’t you? She’s out there. And this piece of shit might be the only thread we’ve got.”
For a moment, it’s silent except for Zack’s ragged breathing.
Brando leans in so close I see blood smear across Zack’s face just from the proximity.
“You get one chance, Zack,” he whispers. “One. You keep feeding me half-truths, and I swear to God—I will carve out your fucking tongue and send it back to your boss in a jar.”
Zack trembles. He’s about to crack—I can see it in the twitch of his eye, the tremble of his lips. The facade is shattering, piece by piece. Zack spits blood but says nothing.
Brando pulls a burner phone from his coat pocket and tosses it at his chest. “Call your boss.”
Zack stares at the phone like it’s a loaded gun.
Brando leans in close, voice dropping into something cold and terrible. “Here’s how this works. You call him. You say we want to trade. Maxine for you.” His lip curls. “If they say no? Then you’re not worth shit to them. And you’re worth nothing to me without the answers I want. You get one chance - fuck it up and you die.”
Zack’s hands tremble as he picks up the phone. He dials.Waits. Everyone’s holding their breath. It clicks. He puts it on speaker as requested.
The voice on the other end is calm, a little too cautious. “What is it?”
Zack stutters before he answers. “It…it…it’s me. Zack.”
The silence stretches longer than it should. It’s not a silence caused by bad reception—but an intentional one. A listening silence. A calculating one.“Zack…?”
Brando answers for him. “We’ve got your boy. We want Maxine Andrade. Alive. We get her back, you can have your boy.”
There’s another long pause. Then the voice says, crisp and quiet, “Do what you want with him.”
Zack stiffens. Blinks like he misheard.
“What?” he breathes, disbelief coating his features. “But…Dad?—”
But the voice doesn’t repeat itself. He hangs up, and we all turn to look at Zack, dumbfounded.
Zack’s face goes white. Everything in his face shifts—cockiness draining away, replaced by something pale and wounded. He opens his mouth again, but the words fall out strangled, helpless. Unintelligible.
“Wait,” Mason says. “Dad?”
That’s when it hits. The silence. The weight. And then Brando’s eyes go wide with dawning horror. And the world stills.
The phone slips from Brando’s fingers. Mason’s entire body goes taut beside me. Even Scar swears under his breath.