Все главы Sinful Desires: Глава 31 - Глава 40

The light from the television bathed Selena's face in a cold blue glow as she sat perched on the edge of the plush sofa in her gilded cage—a penthouse that, despite its luxury, remained her prison. Her eyes never left the screen, drinking in the sight of Xavier's perfect world crumbling around him. A slow smile spread across her lips, satisfaction warming her chest for the first time in days. "Look at you now," she whispered to Xavier's image on the screen. The once-powerful man looked rattled, his eyes darting nervously as reporters shouted questions. "Not so untouchable after all." This had Victor written all over it. The precision, the timing, the perfectly orchestrated humiliation. She recognized his handiwork like she would recognize his touch—with every fiber of her being. Just yesterday, FBI agents had stormed into Xavier's club downstairs, flashing badges and warrants, sending patrons scattering and staff into panic. Selena had watched from her window as black SUVs surroun

The sun cast long shadows across Xavier's sprawling mansion grounds as Selena sat in the backseat of the black sedan. Her fingers nervously twisted the strap of her purse, eyes fixed on the imposing gates ahead. Today was Saturday—her only chance to see Miguel, and perhaps their only opportunity to escape this nightmare. "Almost there, Ms. Vasquez," the driver announced, his eyes briefly meeting hers in the rearview mirror. She didn't recognize him—not Thomas today, but another of Xavier's seemingly endless supply of men in black suits. "Thank you," she replied quietly, her mind already racing ahead to what awaited her. Would Roberto keep his promise? Had their meeting been discovered? As the car wound up the long driveway, Selena's thoughts drifted to the past—to that pivotal day five years ago when Roberto Vega's fate had become entangled with her own. She remembered his face, desperate and pleading as he had come to her private quarters, having somehow evaded Victor's secur

Outside, Jordan sprinted to his motorcycle, cursing fluently as he strapped on his helmet. "A fucking extraction? At Xavier's?" he growled, gunning the engine. "What the hell are you playing at, Roberto?" The bike roared to life, tires squealing as he peeled out of the parking lot. He weaved through traffic recklessly, earning honks and gestures from other drivers that he cheerfully returned with his middle finger. "Every goddamn second matters," he muttered to himself, taking a corner so sharply his knee nearly scraped the pavement. "Victor's gonna flip his shit when he hears this." He pressed the Bluetooth button on his helmet. "Call Victor," he commanded. No answer. "Fuck!" Jordan yelled into his helmet, trying again with the same result. Either Victor wasn't answering or the signal was bad. As he approached Xavier's sprawling

As Selena watched Santiago enter with his small black suitcase, she fought to control her breathing. Despite her resolve, her heart hammered against her ribs, the steady thump-thump betraying her outward calm. She kept her face impassive, repeating the same mantra in her mind: Miguel escaped. That's all that matters. Miguel escaped. Santiago placed the suitcase on Xavier's desk with practiced precision, the soft click of the latches unnaturally loud in the quiet room. He opened it slowly, methodically removing tools that gleamed under the study's lights—steel implements with specific, horrifying purposes. The arrangement was deliberate, theatrical even, designed to maximize terror before the first drop of blood was spilled. Xavier leaned against the doorpost, arms crossed over his chest, a wicked smile spreading across his face as he observed Selena's subtle reactions—the slight flaring of her nostrils, the barely perceptible tension in her shoulders. "You know, Selena," Xavier s

Maria spoke for the first time since Jordan had entered. "On his way. He just replied to my text." Victor nodded, resuming his pacing. Jordan watched him, recognizing the signs of his boss in deep thought—the slight furrow between his brows, the way his right hand absently touched the scar on his neck. "Roberto must have contacts," Victor mused aloud. "Safe houses, Something I can use." "I can find him," Jordan offered, cracking his knuckles. "Won't slip away from me twice." Victor turned to him. "I need Roberto and that child. Alive and unharmed. Understand?" "Crystal clear, boss," Jordan nodded. "I'll be gentle as a fucking butterfly." The study door opened, and Gerald entered. Unlike Jordan with his leather and attitude, Gerald was understated elegance—crisp suit, silver-streaked hair perfectly combed, weathered face betraying nothing. But today, there was something in his stance, a tension that Jordan immediately noticed. "Where have you been running off to these day