Page 36 of Shotgun Daddy
The sky rumbled, a low growl, and heavy raindrops began to splatter the pavement, cold and relentless.
“Perfect,” Faustino muttered, quickly getting soaked from the downpour.
Faustino’s shoulders hunched against the sudden rain, his boots splashing through puddles as he made for his car.
The rain came harder, like a curtain of gray that blurred the streetlights as he ran, drumming a frantic rhythm on the rooftops. Faustino arrived at his car, drenched, and slid into the driver’s seat, slamming the door against the storm. As he sat there, soaked and shivering, the water dripped from his hair onto the leather. The rain crashed against the windshield, a deafening roar that drowned out the city, each drop a hammer blow on the car’s roof.
Truly, it felt like the world was closing in, pressing him down, and for a moment, he let it… just him, the rain, and the hollow ache of Reece’s rejection.
“Snap out of it,” Faustino pleaded with himself, banging his fist on the car’s steering wheel. “You’re a Fendi. You’re a killer. You’re a…fuck.”
Faustino’s phone buzzed in his pocket, a sharp jolt that snapped him out of his spiraling emotions. Faustino took the phone outof his pocket and the screen glowed through the wet streaks on his fingers…
MATTEO: Steel says the rebel Colazzis are moving fast. Plan to take us out soon. Tonight or tomorrow, but they’re coming and there’s nothing to do but be ready. I’ve got men ready to fight. Good men too. But this is going to take everything we’ve got. All three of us. Meet us at my penthouse. Now.
Faustino’s jaw clenched, the words igniting a fire that burned away the hurt. The splinter group wasn’t just plotting, they were striking – andsoon.
This was war, official and unforgiving, and there was no time to wallow. Faustino might have been all mixed up about his situation with Reece, but that had to be put on the backburner for the moment at least.
Faustino tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, the engine roaring to life as he peeled out, tires screeching through the rain-slick streets. The wipers slashed at the deluge, barely keeping up as Faustino sped toward Matteo’s apartment, the city a blur of wet lights and shadows.
It was time to fight and put this matter to bed once and for all…
Matteo’s East Side apartment was a fortress in the heart of the city, a penthouse sitting at the top of a sleek high-rise that loomed over the rain-drenched city streets.
Faustino stepped out of the elevator, his boots leaving wet prints on the polished marble floor of the hallway, the faint hum of the building’s systems buzzing in his ears.
The door to the apartment swung open before he could knock, Matteo filling the frame, his dark suit rumpled, a glass of whisky already in his hand and a concerned look on his face.
The living room beyond was a sprawl of modern luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the storm-lashed skyline, the glass streaked with rain. Dark leather furniture sat in precise angles, a glass coffee table gleamed under recessed lighting, and a massive TV flickered silently with a muted news feed.
This wasn’t Matteo and Kyan’s cozy home, this was Matteo’s place of sanctuary when serious business needed doing.
Michael sprawled on a couch, his tie loosened, a bottle of ice cold beer in his hand. The tension in the room was palpable, thick as the storm clouds pressing against the windows.
Faustino shrugged off his wet jacket, tossed it over a chair, and dropped into an armchair, the leather creaking under his weight.
“So…” Faustino said. “This is it. Isn’t it?”
The rain hammered the glass, a relentless tattoo that underscored the gravity of their meeting. Matteo set his glass down with a clink, pacing to the window, his silhouette stark against the city’s glow.
“It could be,” Matteo said, his voice low, steady, but carrying the weight of a man staring down his own end. “Our last stand together. Or the win that locks this family down for ageneration. Steel’s sure as sure can be… they’ve got numbers, guns, and a plan to hit us hard. We don’t know exactly when, but it’s soon. Tonight, maybe dawn. We have to be ready.”
Michael’s eye narrowed.
“Stakes don’t get higher than this,” Michael said, sipping on his beer. “We’ve took down the old regime. We know how much blood is spilled when a family goes to war with itself. One of us might not walk out of this. Hell, maybenoneof us will.”
Faustino leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his hands clasping tight to keep them still.
“We’ve got no choice,” Faustino said, his voice rough, edged with the fury that had been simmering since the bar. “They want war, they get it. They think this is a sneak attack. But we’ve got the intel. We know they’re coming. That gives us the advantage. And if all else fails… we’ve got three crazy sonsofbitches leading from the front.”
Matteo turned from the window, his gaze locking with Faustino’s.
“You’re right,” Matteo said. “Hell, you’ve been right all along. We’ve let it fester too long, hoping they’d fall in line. They won’t. This is kill or be killed.”
Matteo paused, swirling the whisky in his glass. Faustino could tell that his cousin had more to say, but was thinking of how best to say it.
“But first, I need to see Kyan,” Matteo said. “My Little. My world. He deserves to know what’s coming, even if I keep it as light as I possibly can. I need one last moment with him, just in case.”
