LOGIN"¿Qué haces?"—"What are you doing?"
PURITY••••••••••I shouldn't be here. I probably should be curled up in bed, mourning Marco as I sniff the minute remainder of his perfume from my sheets. But that's not how I was raised.I wasn't raised to be a doormat. I was taught to be a formidable force, one that nobody, no matter their status, ever crosses. And that's exactly what I intend to be.But this was definitely not what I had in mind when coming here.I only intended to achieve my goals and exit this filthy place, a mission I should probably abort. But the second I step into this room, my will betrays me."Ugh! Uhh! Fuck... Ah!"The lady moans like she's in a different realm, no longer in control of her own responses.He leans in close, lips brushing against her nape, hands firmly fastened on her petite waist. The way she buries her face in the sheets, nails digging into the mattress, letting herself melt into him, makes my chest tighten—the wrong tightening, but I might have to get used to it for now.The man is bruta
RYAN••••••••"Reigns!" He comes to stand beside me, a huge smile plastered on his face. "Such a pleasant surprise.""I do not share the same sentiments as you."His smile falters, but not all the way; a fraction of it remains glued to his horse face. "Always the cold Don." My brows draw together as he makes himself comfortable on one of the empty chairs at our table. And I was just about to ask why there are five chairs around a three people's table.Pointing his thumb at Leon, he says, "He'd have to sit or go wait with the other guards."My eyes drop to the last empty chair, and Leon gets the message immediately."Sit it is." Vincenzo whistles, sizing Leon."Seems we are here a bit too early," Kylian comments."Oh no, you are right on time." Vincenzo turns to him. "We are only waiting for the star guest. Once they arrive, we'd kickstart."The star guest?A star guest that's not a Reigns where there are two? That is definitely a jab on our person, but I let it slide. DeLuca can play
RYAN •••••••• The Elysian Circle. The words—that is the name of the DeLuca club—are printed in bold red neon, hanging in the middle of the coal-black building. Talk about hiding something in plain sight. One would expect an operation like this to be tucked somewhere deep in Long Island, where overlapping jurisdictions slow everything down and eyes look the other way. But the DeLucas don't hide. They like to be seen. They chose the Meatpacking District, close enough to the city to assert control, cleaned up just enough to make the operation look legitimate. Crazy fuckers. The car takes a turn into the underground garage. Once parked, Leon steps out and opens the door for me, and I follow. Looking at him, he nods, confirming tight security. "Ah!" Ryat heaves from behind me. "Isn't it refreshing?" I scan the area. From the peeling walls, to the garbage lying aimlessly around, then the rats that scurry through the corners. "How ironic." The inside is as filthy as the goings
RYAN••••••••Yesterday was unpleasant work, but it had to be done.Unlike most Dons who operate from behind their subordinates, we Reigns prefer to put ourselves out there. It's one of the reasons why we are so feared, some other Dons are trying to follow the blueprint, while others remain lazy, unwilling to move a finger, but we remain the pioneers.Of course, we are careful not to get our hands dirty, but as my uncle always says, if you want something done right, do it yourself.Regan was so meticulous with his methods that he created the perfect graveyards for the unfortunate souls who cross us.Built during his tenure under a fake name, on paper the place is listed as a biological waste treatment and research facility. Its permits are immaculate, its inspections are infrequent but always passed. The staff are credentialed, quiet, and paid well, leaving us no opposition.All that needs to be done is throw the body in
PURITY •••••••••• The De la Cruz is a feared name in most of Mexico, especially in the Golden Triangle. My family, since way before I was born, has always served as segundo al mando for the Del Infernos. We were ruthless—or so they say. I was only afforded the opportunity to witness my father hold that position for ten years, after which my mother's relentless nagging made him quit that life. Although what influenced Papá the most was the death of my abuela. I was there. I saw it. It was horrible. Abuela Marina's head was sawed off while she was alive. It was the most graphic thing I had ever seen. She protected us, though—kept us locked in the wardrobe while she tried to distract the men who came to attack us. If it was not for her bravery, I would probably have grown up in chains and been sold off, living as a sex slave by now. And my brother? They rarely keep the male. I've been through it. I've been through hell. I know what it feels like. It feels like the plate sitting
PURITY ••••••••••Heave.I let my lids fall shut, blocking out anything and everything. Anything that's a distraction; everything that evokes those memories. But what I'm trying to block isn't out there, it's within, eating at my very soul.Why would Marco write that?It doesn't make any sense. Not that his other letters did, but this one nips too close to something I've kept buried for far too long.He's not even the fateful type.And neither am I.More like... not anymore.I used to be a believer, that's until the Reigns brothers happened to me. Now, I can't even get myself to believe in anything.That aside, what are the odds?Marco quoting that exact book, the exact same verse. That exact same extract? Why?I take another breather, relieving my chest, but not quite feeling relieved myself.Peeling my eyes open, my reflection registers for the umpteenth time. Why am I even trying so hard to look good?Maybe to spite him?After yesterday's disciplinary session, I've been finding i







