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They then talked for another hour, throwing ideas back and forth, new projects, political angles to consider, investment strategies, and who to watch in the entertainment press. It wasn't just father son bonding. It was a strategy. It was a partnership. It was empire building.
By the time Taylor returned and April woke up, the two men were laughing over something petty from years ago, Jack's disastrous attempt at trying to help Sandro do his homework during elementary school.
Taylor rolled her eyes. "Please don't let him talk about that horrible attempt again."
April grinned, walking over and dropping onto Sandro's lap. "How long have you two been plotting world domination?"
"Not long," Sandro said, wrapping an arm around her. "Just around two hours."
"Terrifying," she said with mock solemnity.
"Also very fun," Sandro replied, leaning forward to kiss her cheek.
The rest of the days followed in a similar rhythm. There are were board games and wine nights, Jack and Taylor cooking together like it was twenty years ago when Jack was courting Taylor, April and Sandro sharing quiet late night talks over takeout.
After the days passed for Sandro which essentially could be called holiday for him, it was time for his return back to his work for his first appearance in 2010 at FCW Weekly Monday live program, and right now he was already dressed in his ring gear with Big E where the two of them were hanging around backstage waiting for their turn to go to the ring as the show had already started.
Big E bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, rolling his shoulders, exuding energy even in the relative calm of backstage. "You ready, man?" he asked, grinning at Sandro with that ever present spark in his eyes.
"As I'll ever be," Sandro replied, placing the TNA World Heavyweight title on his left shoulder. He glanced at the monitor nearby where the first match of the evening was already underway. "Let's see how this plays out first. Big match to start the show."
On the screen, the camera panned across the electric FCW crowd as the ring bell rang for the opening match. The atmosphere inside the FCW Arena in Tampa was vibrant, the seats packed, the energy pulsing like a living organism. The banners for the FCW were proudly hanging from the rafters.
The sound of the commentator could be heard talking about the opening match, "Alright folks, kicking things off with an absolutely massive tag team title match! We've got the FCW Tag Team and TNA World Tag Team Champions, James Storm and Bobby Roode, Beer Money Inc., going toe to toe with the Wyatt Family's own Luke Harper and Erick Rowan for their FCW Tag Team Titles!"
"This is how you open a show! The double tag team champs defending one of their tag titles, and with the FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion Bray Wyatt watching on from the corner, this is going to be one wild ride!" Agreed his partner, who was filled with excitement.
The camera settled on the ring where Bobby Roode stood eyeing Luke Harper warily. Harper, tall, wild eyed, with that unkempt beard and twitching menace, looked ready to devour the moment. The crowd roared as the referee signaled for the bell.
DING DING DING
Roode stepped forward first, circling Harper with caution, trying to feel him out. Harper lunged suddenly, but Roode ducked and countered with a sharp elbow to the jaw.
Harper barely flinched, responding with a knife edge chop that echoed through the arena. Roode stumbled back into the ropes, where James Storm slapped his shoulder for the tag.
Storm came in hot, quick, and aggressive. He launched himself at Harper with a flying forearm and followed up with a stiff DDT. Harper rolled away and popped up, barely fazed, eyes burning with wild intensity.
"That DDT was solid, but Harper's absorbing damage like it's breakfast!"
"Well, Harper is a different breed, that's for sure."
Storm went for a clothesline, but Harper ducked and delivered a thunderous big boot that knocked Storm off his feet. Harper grabbed Storm and shoved him into the Wyatt corner, tagging in Erick Rowan.
Rowan stepped in like a giant, slow and menacing, cracking his neck side to side as he lifted Storm with ease for a body slam that shook the ring. He covered:
ONE…TWO…Kickout!
Storm powered out, and the crowd roared with encouragement. He reached for Roode, but Rowan yanked him back by the ankle. Rowan lifted Storm and drove him into the turnbuckle with brutal force, tagging Harper back in.
Harper took Storm by the beard, muttering something unintelligible before launching a stiff uppercut. He ran to the ropes and returned with a brutal big boot, but Storm ducked at the last second and dove to Roode for the hot tag!
Roode exploded into the ring like a man possessed. He hit Harper with a running clothesline, then another. Rowan came in and caught a spinebuster for his trouble. Roode was on fire, rallying the crowd behind him.
The commentators were going crazy with Roode's momentum, "Business is picking up now! Roode's cleaned house!"
"Momentum has swung decently to Beer Money's favor!"
Storm and Roode hit tandem offense, Roode lifting Harper in a spinebuster setup while Storm came off the ropes with a leg drop. They planted Harper hard, and Storm rolled out, exhausted.
Roode hooked the leg.
ONE…TWO…NO! Harper kicks out!
The match kept going, neither team letting up. Rowan and Roode brawled outside the ring while Harper and Storm clashed in the middle. Harper hit a sudden Sidewalk Slam that left both men breathless. Bray Wyatt paced outside the ring like a lion, barking encouragement at his family while holding the FCW Florida Heavyweight title.
Roode made it back in the ring and tried to save Storm, but Harper intercepted him with a discus elbow to the side of the head. Storm tried to recover, but Harper hoisted him up into position for the Discus Clothesline and landed it flush.
"OH MY GOD, that might've knocked Storm out cold!"
Harper didn't cover, he tagged in Rowan, who came storming back in like a tank. Roode, groggy, tried to intervene, only to get caught mid sprint with a devastating Big Boot that sent him crashing to the mat like dead weight.
Rowan roared, grabbed the top rope, and launched himself across the ring. The crowd rose to their feet as he crashed down with a Diving Splash on James Storm.
ONE…TWO…THREE!
DING DING DING
The crowd erupted as the Wyatt Family's music blared over the speakers.
The ring announcer, seeing this, immediately announced the result, "Here are your winners… and NEW FCW Tag Team Champions… Luke Harper and Erick Rowan… THE WYATT FAMILY!"
Bray Wyatt slid into the ring with a wicked grin, applauding his brothers as the referee handed them the FCW Tag Team belts. Harper stared into the crowd like a man in a trance, while Rowan clutched the gold to his chest, breathing heavily, nodding slowly as Bray embraced both men.
"So here it is, folks! We've got new tag champs! What a statement from the Wyatt Family tonight has all members now hold gold, proving Bray's long game paid off in championships!"
"Beer Money brought everything they had to stay as double tag team champions, but tonight? The Wyatt family's dominance continues."
After that intense tag team title clash, the energy inside the FCW Arena remained electric. Several matches and promo segments came and went, each stoking the crowd's fervor higher. High flyers wowed the fans with risky offense, underdogs scored shocking upsets, and brash newcomers staked their claims to fame.
But everyone in the building, both those seated in the crowd and those watching from home, knew what was coming next. The final segment before the main event.
The moment that had been teased all week across social media, in backstage whispers, and through the slow burning feud that had only grown more volatile over the past few months.
The arena lights dimmed.
And then—
"LOOK IN MY EYES, WHAT DO YOU SEE…"
The unmistakable opening of "Cult of Personality" by Living Colour thundered through the speakers, and the moment it hit, the reaction was immediate and ferocious.
BOOOOOOOOOO!!!
A sea of hostility washed over the arena as Sandro stepped through the curtain, draped in gold, the TNA World Heavyweight Championship slung confidently over his left shoulder.
Dressed in his ring gear, his expression was unreadable, his jaw set, his presence magnetic in a way that made you want to love him or hate him, nothing in between.
Big E followed close behind, his ever imposing frame scanning the crowd with stone cold eyes. The enforcer, the wall, the muscle. As part of their current kayfabe, Big E had taken on the role of Sandro's bodyguard, and together they looked like a dangerous hybrid of ruthless ambition and brute force.
The fans didn't hold back. Boos, jeers, insults rained down on them as they slowly made their way down the ramp. Some in the front rows shouted, "TRAITOR!" or "YOU SOLD OUT!" while others held up signs like "SANDRO = PAPER CHAMP" and "BIG E DRANK THE KOOL-AID."
But neither man flinched.
They entered the ring, and Big E walked over to the ropes where the ringside crew was waiting. He reached out, took a microphone, and handed it to Sandro with practiced smoothness. Sandro received it with his right hand, looked around the arena as if unimpressed, and simply waited.
He didn't speak right away. Instead, he stood there, letting the boos crash down like waves. He basked in them. Soaked in the hatred like it was fuel. He didn't flinch, didn't move, didn't react. He just waited.
When the crowd finally began to quiet down, Sandro lifted the mic.
"Unreal."
That single word was all it took to reignite the crowd. The boos returned, louder than ever.
Sandro smirked slightly, then raised the mic again.
"You'd think after everything I've done, after the bodies I've left behind, after the matches I've carried, the legends I've beaten, you'd show a little respect."
BOOOOO!
"But no," he said, pacing now. "Because you people only cheer for the ones who lie to your face. The ones who put on a smile, kiss babies, and pretend they give a damn about you.", He stopped, eyes narrowing. "That's not me."
He tapped the TNA World Heavyweight Championship resting on his shoulder.
"I beat Kurt Angle for this. Clean. No tricks. No gimmicks. Just me and the mat. And then I beat Sting, the Icon, weeks later. He gave it everything, and it still wasn't enough. Because I'm not just good. I'm not just better. I'm the best wrestler on this damn planet. I've proven it in two companies, hell, two worlds."
More boos. A chant started, "YOU'RE NOT KURT!" followed by "YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK!"
Sandro let it ride before continuing.
"And yet... I lost this." He pointed toward the FCW Florida Heavyweight Title banner hanging in the rafters, the one now representing Bray Wyatt's reign. "I lost that title to Bray Wyatt. And you know what? It opened my eyes. Being the nice guy, the hero, trying to lift everyone around me up, it got me nowhere. Kofi? Dead weight. Taylor? Same thing. And when Harper and Rowan ambushed them at ringside, guess who stepped up and put the nail in their coffin?"
He looked to his right, at Big E, who gave a stoic nod.
"We did." Sandro turned back to the hard camera. "And it felt damn good."
The crowd exploded in renewed hatred, but Sandro wasn't done.
"Beating Kofi and Taylor senseless was satisfying. But beating Sting and Kurt Angle senseless at the TNA Impact Zone? That… was the cream of the crop."
Just as Sandro was about to continue, the arena lights flickered—
"WHOOOOOOO!"
"IT'S SHOWTIME, FOLKS!"
Sting's entrance music blasted through the arena speakers, and this time the roof nearly came off. The fans went ballistic. Cheers erupted like a dam breaking.
Everyone shot to their feet, and Sandro and Big E immediately turned toward the entrance ramp, their faces stiffening with awareness. Through the smoke and blue lights, Sting emerged first, trench coat swaying, black baseball bat in hand. Right behind him came Kurt Angle, all intensity, decked in jeans and his signature T shirt. Both had microphones in hand. The music cut off, but the cheers did not.
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Name: Alessandro Zhang
Age: 20 (2010)
Birthplace: Orlando, Florida, USA
Brand: FCW
Wrestling Style: Mixed Of All Styles
Faction: None
Championship History: 1x FCW Tag Team Champions, 1x FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion, & 1x TNA World Heavyweight Champion