18. Faustino
Faustino
“Now for business,” Faustino growled as he dropped a gear and thundered onward.
As Faustino peeled away from his apartment, the car’s engine snarled to life as he merged into the rain-drenched streets, the city’s neon lights bleeding across the windshield in jagged streaks of red, blue, and green.
The night loomed heavy, the storm a relentless assault, its roar pounding the roof and windows like a war drum echoing his racing pulse.
Faustino was all set for the meet with Matteo, Michael, and of course the loyal generals and street soldiers – men who’d stood by them against the usurpers threatening to tear the whole Fendi family apart.
The weight of the situation pressed on Faustino, a brutal showdown ahead, and his hands gripped the steering wheel tight, knuckles paling as his mind churned.
Reece’s voice looped in his head, a fierce anchor pulling him through the dark. This fight wasn’t just for power. It was for him , for the life they could build if he made it out alive.
“My boy…” Faustino muttered. “I have to do this for my boy.”
The road unfurled before Faustino, the rain sheeting down in torrents that blurred the edges of the world around him. In the safety of the car, the steady thrum of the engine and the rhythmic slash of the wipers carved out a space for Faustino’s thoughts to drift…
Justin had been Faustino’s first love, a wildfire of a boy…
blonde hair that caught the sun, a laugh that could cut through any gloom, a spirit too bright for the shadows Faustino had dragged him into.
They’d been young, reckless, tangled in a life he hadn’t yet learned to control.
A rival crew’s hit gone wrong, meant for him, had caught him instead…
a spray of bullets on a quiet street, his blood pooling red against the gray pavement, his eyes wide and still as Faustino screamed his name.
The guilt had hollowed Faustino out, a tragedy that shaped the man he’d become… ruthless, walled-off, always bracing for the next blow and searching for the next kill.
But tonight, as the rain lashed the car and the city blurred into a watercolor haze, Faustino felt the shift – a quiet, final release.
Justin was gone, he was a wound he couldn’t heal, a past he couldn’t rewrite.
What happened to Justin was a tragedy, but it was truly time to let him rest. Reece was here, now.
He was his present day Little to protect, his boy to shield from the chaos that had claimed Justin.
And the only way for Faustino to do that was to be at his absolute sharpest, his most deadly – to cut through this war with precision and fury, to ensure no one could touch his darling boy.
The thought steadied Faustino, a fire igniting beneath the trauma, and Faustino pressed the gas harder, the engine’s growl a promise to the night.
A red light flared ahead, stopping him at a deserted intersection, the rain hammered down so thick it turned the world to liquid shadow. Water streamed down the windshield as the wipers struggled to keep up.
Faustino’s phone buzzed sharply on the passenger seat, cutting through the storm’s bluster, and he grabbed it, the screen’s cold light illuminating his face.
“Coordinates,” Faustino said, his voice low. “Looks like this is happening right fucking now.”
Faustino’s jaw clenched, adrenaline surging like a live wire through his veins. He yanked the wheel hard, tires squealing as he pulled a U-turn, the car fishtailing on the wet ground before he floored it, powering through the night.
The wipers continued to fight a losing battle against the rain, the road a tunnel of blurry darkness, but Faustino didn’t ease up—every second was a countdown to the fight that would decide everything.
The old metalworks district hulked on the city’s fringe, a decaying relic of industry swallowed by rust and neglect. It was prime land for a Fendi redevelopment project, but in that moment building work and property empires were a million miles from Faustino’s mind.
Faustino rolled to a stop at the corner of the block, cutting the engine as the abandoned building loomed into view. The air was sharp with the scent of damp metal and oil, the rain a steady hiss against the cracked pavement, pooling in the ruts of a place and time long forgotten.
The district was a wasteland of twisted girders jutting like bones from the earth, machinery left to rot under years of weather.
But tonight, it would come alive. Steel’s intel had pinned this as the traitors’ meetup spot, their last gasp to rally and strike at the Fendi triumvirate of Michael, Matteo, and Faustino.
The war was going to end here, one way or another.
Faustino stepped out of his car, the rain soaking his jacket instantly.
Matteo’s black SUV gleamed wet a few yards off, Michael’s sleek 911 parked beside it, their shapes stark against the dim streetlights.
Allies moved near the building’s edge… street generals like Vinnie and Marco, their weathered faces set in grim determination, and a dozen street soldiers, young and hungry, their weapons glinting as they melted into the wreckage.
“It’s time,” Faustino growled, wiping the rain from his face. “Time to go psycho one last time.”
Faustino jogged over, boots splashing through puddles, the cold seeping into his bones, and found Matteo crouched behind a massive concrete block and close by Michael hunkered beside a rusted steel girder streaked with orange corrosion.
Vinnie and Marco flanked them, their breaths visible in the damp air, while the soldiers fanned out, taking cover behind crumbling walls and twisted metal…
silent, lethal, a coiled spring ready to snap.
Matteo looked up, rain dripping from his brow, his voice a low growl over the storm’s din.
“They’re due any minute,” Matteo said. “Steel says fifteen, maybe twenty, armed to the teeth. They think we’re back in the city. The last thing they’ll expect is that we know their location. We hit fast and hard. No mercy, no survivors.”
Michael checked the clip in his pistol, his soaked shirt clinging to his lean frame, tie long gone.
“We end it here, tonight,” Michael growled. “They won’t know what hit ‘em till they’re bleeding out. A clean slate for us.”
Faustino dropped to a crouch, his own gun heavy and slick in his hand, water streaming down his face as he peered through the rain.
“Loyalty or death,” Faustino said, his voice a hard edge, unyielding. “They picked the wrong side. Tough luck, motherfuckers . Let’s make it quick and let’s make it bloody.”
Faustino felt every fiber of his wild side come to the fore. This was the hunt, the kill, the chase all rolled into one.
The group settled into silence, the rain relentless as they waited, tension winding tight in the damp, electric air.
Suddenly, headlights pierced the gloom, a convoy of three cars rolling up slow and deliberate, their engines a low rumble beneath the storm.
The traitors had arrived. Rifles slung over shoulders, handguns at hips, they moved with a swagger that reeked of arrogance… fools who thought they’d already won.
Faustino felt anger and vengeance bubble up inside him as he held his position, waiting.
Scum bags…
Traitors…
Dead men…
Faustino’s grip tightened, his pulse a steady thud, rain stinging his eyes. He caught Matteo’s gaze, a silent signal flashing between them… now .
The night erupted in gunfire, a brutal symphony that swallowed the storm.
Faustino fired, his shots precise and merciless, catching the villainous Sal mid-step, the big man’s chest blooming red as he crumpled to the wet pavement with a heavy thud.
Matteo’s rounds tore through Tony, a clean double-tap to the heart, while Michael’s pistol barked, Frankie’s head jerking back as he dropped lifeless to the floor.
The soldiers unleashed a storm of their own, muzzle flashes lighting the dark like lightning, bullets ripping through the traitors before they could even aim. Screams pierced the chaos, cut short as bodies fell, blood pooling dark and slick, swirling with the rain into the cracks of the earth.
“Move, move!” Faustino said, leading the men onward as they blasted every last one of the traitors with no mercy whatsoever. “They all die!”
It was over in a heartbeat. Brutal, efficient, absolute.
The traitors lay scattered, a grim mosaic of shattered rebellion, their game snuffed out before it could ignite.
Faustino stood, his breath heaving, the gun warm and dripping in his hand as he scanned the carnage. No twitch of life, no second chances… just silence, save for the rain on the cold, hard ground.
As he turned to Matteo and Michael, Faustino saw their faces streaked with water and resolve, a shared triumph in their eyes. The rebellion was quashed, stamped out in a hail of lead and fury.
The three Fendi Daddies… brothers forged in blood and battle… would reign unchallenged now, their grip on the family sealed in this wet, violent night.
Matteo wiped his face, holstering his weapon with a faint clink.
“It’s done,” Matteo said. “The family’s ours. For real this time. No one’s touching it again.”
Michael grinned, a rare flash of teeth cutting through the darkness.
“They’re a lesson now. Fuck with us, and this is what you get,” Michael said, shaking his head. “We’re untouchable.”
Faustino nodded, the adrenaline still buzzing, a wild current in his veins, but his thoughts were already turning back to Reece, waiting in his apartment.
“Let’s wrap this up and get home,” Faustino said, his voice rough but steady, rain dripping from his chin. “Our Littles need to hear it. They need to know we won, that we’re coming back.”
“Spoken like a true Daddy,” Matteo laughed, playfully punching Faustino in the arm. “But seriously, you’re one of us, Faustino. Always were. And now you’ve proven beyond doubt what a great leader you are.”
“Thanks you, Matteo,” Faustino said, seeing beyond Matteo’s playful joke and focusing on his words about being a leader. “Coming from you, that means a lot.”
And with that, the three Fendi bosses dispersed.
It was time to meet up with their Littles.
For Faustino though, it was about way more than a hug and celebratory kiss. It was about telling Reece exactly how he felt about him…