14. Faustino
Faustino
The downtown bar was a gritty hole-in-the-wall, tucked between a pawn shop and a laundromat, its neon sign flickering Rusty Anchor in a dull red glow.
Faustino strode in with Owen at his side, the heavy door creaking shut behind them, muffling the late afternoon bustle of the street.
The air inside was thick with the stale scent of beer, cigarette smoke, and the faint tang of sweat—a working man’s joint, all scuffed wood floors and chipped tables. A jukebox in the corner churned out a scratchy blues tune, the wail of a guitar weaving through the low murmur of voices.
Dim lights hung from the ceiling, casting long shadows across the handful of patrons hunched over their drinks, their eyes flicking up briefly before darting away.
This wasn’t a place for strangers or tourists, that was for sure – and Faustino and Owen certainly didn’t fit either of those descriptions.
Matteo and Michael were already there, seated at a round table in the back corner, flanked by Steel, their trusted ally, and a couple of loyal bosses, Vinnie and Marco, whose grizzled faces bore the scars of many years in the game.
Also in attendance were several prominent street soldiers, the kinds of men who had small, loyal troops who would move on their command when the moment was right and the orders given.
Faustino’s gaze swept the room, noting the missing faces… Sal, Tony, a few others who’d been tight with the old regime. Their absence was glaring and undeniable, a rift in the Fendi family laid bare.
Faustino slid into a chair, Owen settling beside him, the leather of his jacket creaking as he leaned back, eyes sharp and watchful.
“Well, well, well…” Faustino said.
“Indeed,” Michael replied, sipping on his espresso.
Matteo’s dark eyes met Faustino’s.
“We always knew this would happen,” Matteo said, his voice low, steady, cutting through the blues like a knife. “A coup shakes things up, leaves cracks. But it’s come sooner than we figured. And it’s very, very real.”
Faustino nodded, his jaw tight.
Faustino had seen all this before over the years… every power grab left a wake of instability, a window for the disgruntled to fester and plot.
“After we took over, it was only a matter of time,” Faustino said, his voice a rough growl. “Loyalty’s thin when the old guard loses their throne. Needs to be nipped in the bud before it turns into a full civil war.”
“Our enemies are watching,” Michael added, leaning forward, his fingers tapping on his glass. “The Viccis, the West Coast crews… they’re all waiting to see if we hold or crumble. If this splinter group gets traction, we’re fucked.”
Steel grunted in agreement.
“Word’s out on the streets,” Steel said. “Some of the old-timers are pissed you three took the reins. They’ve been meeting, quiet-like. I got a tip about a house they’re using, out in the suburbs.”
Faustino’s fists clenched on the table, the wood cool under his knuckles.
A splinter group wasn’t just a nuisance, it was a virus, one that could prove deadly if it went untreated.
“Then we hit them hard,” Faustino said, his tone final, sounding like a leader. “No waiting, no pussyfooting around. Loyalty or death.”
“You’re right,” Matteo said. “We’ve danced around it too long, trying to play nice.
You’re fully back in, Faustino. Equal say, equal weight.
And your first task starts now. We need you out there, eyes on this meetup spot.
Steel’s got the address. Watch, learn who’s in, then we plan the strike. And when we do, it’s shoot to kill.”
Vinnie, a stocky boss with a scar slicing his eyebrow, cracked his knuckles.
“Hell yeah,” Vinnie said. “I’m with you, Faustino. Let’s make them bleed.”
Faustino felt a surge of grim satisfaction. This was what he’d wanted from the start —no leash, no compromise, just the raw, brutal justice he thrived on.
“Good,” Faustino said, pushing up from the table, the chair scraping against the floor. “Owen, let’s go. It’s time to see what these traitors are cooking up.”
Owen stood, patting Faustino on the shoulder as they headed for the door, the jukebox’s hum fading behind them.
Trouble was brewing, but Faustino was ready. He was ready to crush those who were out to take him, Michael, and Matteo out. Not only that, but he was ready to reclaim his place at the front and center of the family.
The only question was how deep the rot went…
Faustino’s car idled across the street from a nondescript suburban house, its engine cut, the silence eerie.
The place was a two-story house with a patchy lawn, the curtains drawn tight against prying eyes. A single streetlamp buzzed overhead, unusual for the afternoon, casting a sickly yellow glow over the quiet cul-de-sac, the kind of place where neighbors minded their own business.
All said, it was perfect for a group of low-down traitors to meet in plain sight…
Faustino sat in the driver’s seat, his pistol resting on his thigh, eyes locked on the house. Owen sat beside him, loyal as ever, one arm slung over the passenger seat, his own gun tucked under his jacket.
Steel’s tip had been solid, as expected. Three figures had slipped into the house twenty minutes ago, their silhouettes unmistakable even in the dim light. Sal, Tony, and a wiry guy Faustino pegged as Frankie, one of the old guard’s enforcers.
Traitors, every one of them, plotting against the family.
Faustino’s fingers tightened on the gun, his pulse a steady. This was supposed to be a watching brief. Observe, report back, then report back so that him, Matteo, and Michael strategize. But the urge to kick in that door and blast them all to hell burned hot in Faustino’s chest.
In and out.
Down them all.
Problem solved…
Owen glanced at Faustino, reading the tension in his jaw.
“You’re twitchy, man,” Owen said. “What’s eating you? This job or something else?”
Faustino exhaled sharply, his gaze flicking to Owen.
“Both,” Faustino said, a wry smile on his face. “This shit with the family, it’s personal. But it’s Reece too. He’s up in that hotel, safe for now… but I can’t shake the feeling he’s a target. That guy tailing him yesterday? I’m convinced it’s got something to do with the move against us.”
Faustino had waited long enough. It was time to move. It was time to seize control of the situation in the only way he knew…
With his mind made up, Faustino reached for the door, adrenaline surging, when his phone buzzed in his pocket.
Faustino yanked his cell phone out of his pocket, expecting Matteo or Michael, but Reece’s name flashed across the screen…
REECE: Daddy, I got a last minute audition today! A TV pilot, I’m sooo excited! Please don’t be mad, I can’t not go. I just have to do this! Heading out now. Wish me luck XoXoXoXo
The words hit Faustino like a right-cross to the jaw. The boy had disobeyed his direct orders, left the hotel, and was stepping right into the open when he’d told him to stay put.
“Fuck,” Faustino snarled, slamming the phone onto the dash.
How could Reece be so reckless? But Faustino’s anger was drowned by a wave of worry. Reece was out there, alone, with traitors on the move and enemies circling. The grocery store stalker flashed in Faustino’s mind, and his heart flipped. Was this audition a trap?
Owen raised an eyebrow.
“Trouble?” Owen enquired, a knowing look in his eyes.
“He’s gone,” Faustino said, his voice tight. “Reece left the hotel for some damn audition. I told the boy to stay, and the damned Little didn’t listen.”
“Shit,” Owen muttered. “The boy’s got guts, I’ll give him that. What’s the play? Hit the house or haul ass back to Reece?”
Faustino’s mind raced, torn between the two fires blazing in front of him. The house loomed, a nest of vipers he could crush right now, end the threat at its root. But Reece, his darling Little, was out there, defenseless, potentially walking into a trap.
Faustino pictured Reece skipping into an audition, oblivious to the shadows that might be waiting. His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, the gun heavy on his thigh.
This was Justin all over again. An innocent Little drawn into a deadly world that he wasn’t made for. Faustino knew he had no other option.
“Fuck it,” Faustino growled, starting the engine with a roar. “Reece comes first. We’re heading back. I’ll deal with these bastards later.”
Owen nodded, no judgment in his eyes.
Faustino peeled out, tires screeching as he gunned it toward the city, the suburban street shrinking in the rearview.
Anger simmered inside Faustino. For sure, Reece would get a talking to and a whole lot more for disobeying. But it was fear that drove Faustino now, a primal need to get to his boy, shield him, and keep him from harm.
The traitors could wait. Reece couldn’t.
Faustino just hoped he wasn’t too late…