Exposed to the CEO Behind the Mafia Mask

Brodie’s POV

Time crawled by in this concrete fortress they called a federal penitentiary. Every day stretched like an eternity, broken only by the occasional hour in the yard and visits from Tiffany. That woman showed up monthly, more out of duty than love, but I needed her connection to the outside world. Doing time without any lifeline would drive a man insane, especially when you’re marked as a rat in a place full of Thorne family loyalists.

Her first visit had been explosive. She’d discovered my affair with Monica and came ready to claw my eyes out. But I knew exactly which buttons to push with Tiffany. I fed her the same sob story I’d perfected over the years - that I was weak, that Monica had manipulated me, that it meant nothing. Tiffany swallowed it like always. Years of our relationship had taught me her weaknesses. She’d rage, I’d grovel, and eventually she’d forgive me. The cycle never changed.

Our son had been born the week the feds dragged me into this hellhole for my role in the Thorne parents’ car bombing. Tiffany brought him once, expecting some touching father-son moment, but I shut that down fast. This wasn’t some family reunion. If she wanted to visit, she could come alone for conjugal visits. A man has needs, and prison walls don’t change basic biology.

My court-appointed lawyer was worthless. Showed up once, mumbled about plea deals, then disappeared. I needed real representation, the kind that costs serious money and knows how to work the system. That’s when I started pressuring Tiffany to reach out to her cousin Ivy. Ivy had married into the Thorne empire, and blood was supposed to help blood. But Tiffany came back empty-handed, claiming Ivy wanted nothing to do with our family.

So I switched tactics. I reached out to Inspector Adler through the warden, dangling information about Roman Rossi’s whereabouts. The detective took his time responding, but he finally agreed to arrange a face-to-face with Ivy Thorne. My ticket to potential freedom lay in what I knew about that night.

Ivy Thorne. Just thinking about her made my blood run hot with frustration and desire. She’d always been the prize, even when I was stuck with Tiffany. Perfect curves, sharp mind, and completely untouchable once she entered the Thorne world. When she got pregnant years ago and didn’t know the father’s identity, I nearly lost my mind with jealousy. I’d been so close to having her before everything went to hell.

But I possessed information she didn’t know I had. After that helicopter job Roman paid me for, a detective had come sniffing around our neighborhood asking about a woman in red at some high-end mafia gathering. Roman panicked and paid me handsomely to misdirect the investigation. During my conversation with that detective, he’d revealed what he was really hunting - the mystery woman who’d been with Caleb Thorne that fateful night.

It didn’t take genius-level intelligence to connect the dots. He was searching for Ivy. Caleb Thorne was her kid’s father. I’d planned to take that secret to my grave, watching her squirm in ignorance while I enjoyed the power it gave me. But somehow they’d figured it out without my help, and more investigators kept circling our old territory.

When Ivy disappeared from town years ago, I saw dollar signs. She was heading somewhere she might discover the truth about her kid’s paternity, and I could have cashed in on that knowledge. But when she returned, she was always accompanied by that interfering bitch Zoe. The day I spotted them at the neighborhood market, I made my move the second Zoe walked away. I was ready to name my price for the information, but that nosy woman returned and caused a scene before I could close the deal.

The next day, I watched Ivy meet with Caleb Thorne himself. He told her everything, and my payday evaporated like smoke. But I still wanted to understand how they’d connected the dots without my intervention.

"Brodie, get over here." Grime’ gravelly voice cut through my brooding as he strolled across the yard with his usual swagger.

"What’s the word, Grime?"

"Got some premium shine brewing in my cell. You buying?" Grime operated the most sophisticated moonshine operation in the entire cellblock, and I was his most reliable customer. Tiffany kept my commissary account stocked with cigarettes, which I traded for liquid comfort and temporary escape from reality.

"You know my money’s good. Same rate as last time?"

Grime nodded his approval and I handed over the payment in tobacco currency.

"Inmate Brodie, front and center." A guard’s authoritative voice boomed across the recreational area. I walked to the reinforced gates where he waited with standard-issue restraints. "Get in the transport cage. Warden wants to see you immediately."

"During yard time? What kind of operation are you people running here?" This interruption genuinely pissed me off. That single hour of freedom was sacred in this concrete tomb.

"I’m not your personal secretary, convict. Move your ass." The guard cuffed me and subjected me to the humiliating search routine - strip down completely, squat and cough while they examined every crevice. Complete degradation disguised as security protocol.

In the warden’s sterile office, Inspector Adler sat waiting behind a manila folder thick with case documents. My pulse quickened with anticipation. This had to be about my arranged meeting with Ivy Thorne.

"The detective’s here to discuss your request," the warden announced curtly. I moved toward an empty chair across from Adler.

"Did I authorize you to sit, inmate Brodie?" The warden’s voice dripped with institutional authority. "You remain standing until I explicitly grant permission otherwise."

This power-hungry bureaucrat was really testing my already-thin patience, but I couldn’t afford to antagonize him.

"Mr. Brodie, Mrs. Thorne has agreed to meet with you under strict conditions," Inspector Adler said, cutting directly to business without preamble. "But we’re conducting this entirely on my terms. You stay restrained throughout the complete conversation. If you step out of line even once, I terminate the meeting immediately. Are we absolutely clear on these parameters?"

The detective was flexing his authority, but I desperately needed this face-to-face encounter. "Absolutely, Inspector Adler. I genuinely appreciate you facilitating this arrangement."

"Inspector, can I ask you something personal?"

"You can ask whatever crosses your mind." His response carried a smug undertone. "Whether I choose to answer depends entirely on my discretion."

"Those women who got arrested alongside me - Roman’s crew - they still locked up in here?"

"Yes, they’re both still incarcerated. Why do you suddenly care about their welfare?" His eyes narrowed with obvious suspicion.

"Just professional curiosity. One’s Roman’s daughter Yara, the other’s his longtime mistress Monica. Seems strange that Roman isn’t moving heaven and earth to help either of them." I was genuinely puzzled by Roman’s complete abandonment of his own people.

"That’s correct. And here you sit, protecting information about someone who won’t even lift a finger for his own blood relatives."

"That’s cold as hell," I muttered, more to myself than anyone else in the room.

"We’re finished here, Mr. Brodie. You’ll receive notification when everything’s properly arranged." The detective dismissed me with a casual wave of his hand.

"Fred, escort the inmate directly to his cell. Yard time’s essentially over anyway," the warden instructed his subordinate.

"Come on, warden, there’s still valuable time remaining-"

"Would you prefer extended solitary confinement instead, inmate Brodie?"

"No, sir. My sincere apologies." I swallowed my rage and allowed the guard to lead me away from potential freedom.

Back in my cramped cell, I shared news of the moonshine acquisition with my cellmates. Everyone wanted shares, and I charged premium rates per shot. By the time Grime delivered the potent goods, I’d already recouped my initial investment and turned a decent profit. Then I proceeded to get completely obliterated on the homemade alcohol.

The next morning arrived far too early. My skull pounded from the brutal hangover as a guard yanked me from my thin mattress. Dawn was barely breaking over the prison walls, and the aftereffects made everything infinitely worse.

"What’s happening now?" I asked groggily as they secured the restraints, but received no response until they shoved me into the patrol vehicle.

"Inspector Adler ordered your immediate transport to the station for questioning," the officer finally explained once we were moving.

My heart raced with nervous anticipation mixed with desperate hope. Today I would finally see Ivy Thorne again, and maybe, just maybe, find my path back to freedom through the information I possessed about her past.