Rising from the Ashes (Andrew and Lauren)

Shiloh waved her hand dismissively. "Dinner and all that fancy stuff don't matter to me. But these sneakers are broken, so you need to buy me a new pair!"

Andrew was amused. "I'll buy you ten pairs!"

Shiloh emphasized, "No, I only want one pair. And look carefully-mine is a brand-name athletic shoe!"

Francesca chuckled. "Shiloh, we recognize the brand. When we go out later, we'll buy you the same style!"noveldrama

Shiloh looked troubled. "Actually, never mind that. Let's get a domestic brand instead. I want to support locally made products!"

Francesca, Andrew, and Lauren all looked at each other in confusion.

...

At the same time, in the Driscoll residence, the sinister Walter opened his hawk- like eyes from his lounge chair.

"Eagle Eye didn't succeed?" he asked in his shrill voice.

Standing before him was a bearded man who was tinkering with various firearms. Hearing the question, he replied with a grin, "Not only did he not succeed, but his whole body was hanging from the concrete wall. It couldn't have been more pathetic!"

Walter's expression gradually turned cold. "Although Eagle Eye's martial arts weren't much good and he barely ranked in the middle-to-lower tier of the Underworld Index, his assassination skills had quite a reputation internationally. I never expected him to fail!"

With a click, the bearded man finished assembling the Desert Eagle. It was worth noting that this particular Desert Eagle was made of gold, looking extremely flashy.

Squinting one eye and raising the gun in an aiming motion, the bearded man chuckled and said, "Now it's my turn to make a move, right? I've been telling you all along, Mr. Burke. If you send me, Goldfangs, that kid will definitely die!"

As he spoke, he grinned to reveal a mouth full of protruding gold teeth, radiating an overwhelming nouveau riche vibe.

Walter glanced at him. "You're my most sensitive asset that can't see the light of day. If you get involved, the Phelans or even other factions might start sniffing around."

Goldfangs shrugged nonchalantly. "So what? I'm not going to cause trouble. I'm just going to slaughter a little nobody. Besides, Mr. Burke, don't worry. I'll shoot and kill him as quickly as possible, then return to your side without leaving any trace!"

Walter slowly nodded and raised one claw-like hand. "Fine, you can go. Tomorrow, Mr. Joe will be facing off against Andrew, and Mr. Driscoll Senior doesn't like seeing such things, as it's really beneath the Driscoll family's dignity. But you need to be quick about it, because if this gets out of hand and Mr. Joe finds out, he might come after me

for answers."

Goldfangs tucked the Desert Eagle into his waistband. Then, he picked up the Colt, Beretta, Glock, and other world-famous firearms from the table.

The last one was a domestic Type 77 pistol, and he flashed a brilliant golden grin. "Foreign guns might look cooler, but I still love the homegrown stuff. Support local brands. Etharia first!"

Walter looked at him like he was watching a clown at a funeral. "Every gun you picked up, except the Desert Eagle, is unloaded. Why the hell are you carrying them?"

Goldfangs checked his belt to make sure every gun was securely strapped before smirking again. "Mr. Burke, you're getting old. You don't understand this generation. Looking coot is half the job. Image is branding. The rest is just fluff."

Walter waved him off in irritation. "Get out of here. And remember the ultimate technique I taught you."

Goldfangs was already walking away and called back without turning around, "I remember, always remember. Beyond ten feet, the gun is faster, but within ten feet, the blade is fastest!"

Walter nodded with a smile. This Goldfangs guy might look like a slacker, similar to those street punks on motorcycles, but his martial arts talent, especially his assassination skills, were exceptionally good.

He appeared to be a gunman, but in reality, after Walter's training, Goldfangs' true specialty and sinister killing move was a triple-edged dagger hidden in his sleeve. One strike from that, and death would be certain.

With this man on the job, Walter was confident that tomorrow he would be attending Andrew's funeral.