Cuco’s pov;
I tightened my grip on the Beretta. Three rounds and plenty of men. In my state, I couldn’t even fight off a man, lest the whole lot I had seen now.
I kept my beretta tucked in and grabbed the knife as I stepped into the open.
“Fernando,” I said, my eyes scanning him as though I would find something to use in defeating him.
His men fanned out, guns lining their hands. Fernando stayed back, his eyes sharp. He looked exactly the same, maybe even better and I wondered if he betrayed us because he thought Maldini could gget be him a better life.
“You look like hell,” he said finally.
“And you have the look of a traitor,” I replied, not moving my eyes away from the gun in his hand.
It was quite funny that this man who held a gun against me was once my brother, the same man wh
