جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 30

"You're already here."Daniel Brooks was already lounging in the leather wingback across from my mahogany desk when I kicked the doors open. The man didn't believe in appointments or knocking. If there was blood in the water, he was already swimming in it."I should have the guards break your legs for breaking into my sanctum at dawn," I said, dropping into my seat. I didn't wait for him to speak. I slammed the power button on the encrypted terminal. "It gives me a reason to start the day with a funeral."Daniel didn't flinch. He just chewed on a toothpick. "You told me to move fast if the Cruz scent got local.""Spit it out.""I did the deep dive on Eduardo Cruz like you ordered.""And? I’m not paying you for the scenery.""The old man is a ghost story."Daniel reached into his trench coat, pulled out a thick, black-bound dossier, and slid it across the desk. "While you were playing host at the Miami Royal Yacht Club this weekend, I was digging through trash in Little Havana." He sto

Santiago tightened his grip on the back of Lanka’s neck, pulling him upward until their heavy breathing filled the small gap between them. He didn't wait for a response, crashing his mouth onto Lanka’s other nipple. Electrical heat arced from the contact, jolting through Lanka’s frame and leaving him reaching for the headboard, his lungs burning as he fought to keep his cries inside the room. Santiago’s tongue was a blade, licking, biting, and devouring until Lanka’s spine snapped straight, his hips grinding upward to meet Santiago’s weight.Lanka clawed at the iron forearms holding him down. "I need... to touch you.""No." Santiago’s voice was a gravelly rasp as he reached for the hem of Lanka’s silk lounge pants. It was a clumsy battle with one hand, but the predator won. He jerked the fabric down, then sliced through the lace of the underwear with a single tug, ignoring Lanka’s startled gasp as the scraps hit the floor near the mountain of discarded pillows. Santiago’s gaze travele

"Is that the best you can do?"Santiago’s eyes didn't leave the screen. The captain of the guard was still droning on about logistics. I stood up. The chair shrieked against the floor. "The meeting’s over." I tapped my phone screen. "Something came up. Finish the report without me." I didn't wait for a response. I had a debt to collect.Lanka was sitting front row at the Citterio Palace when I found him. He was sandwiched between a pop star and Valeria. He was leaning in, whispering to her. Then his gaze hit mine. A jolt of pure electricity hit my gut. He looked like a king. Perfectly at home in the glitz. But there was a shadow there. A flicker of something that didn't belong.I walked toward him like a wolf on a scent. The music cut. The room erupted in applause as the designer took his bow."Santiago," he breathed. He didn't move. His voice was ragged. Addicted. He was as hooked on this madness as I was.I grabbed his wrist and hauled him out. He tried to say something to Valeria.

"The place is a goddamn fortress," Santiago muttered."Wait until you see how I’ve bled for the interior," Lorenzo shot back.We stepped into the foyer. It was a cathedral of violence and history. Gold-leafed frescoes of saints and sinners looked down from 17th-century ceilings. Lorenzo didn't shut up. He talked about the cost of the marble, the blood spilt for the tapestries, and the millions he’d laundered into the restoration. He led us through a labyrinth of corridors, past empty rooms that smelled of wax and old secrets. We climbed the grand staircase to a stone balcony overlooking the rear estate.The crowd below was lean. Dangerous. Less than twenty people. Most were couples—capos and their trophy husbands or wives, all in their prime. I was the youngest mark in the room. String music drifted from hidden speakers, competing with the low hum of conspiracy."It’s quiet," I whispered, leaning into Santiago. "Maybe your aristocrat friend finally grew a conscience. This isn't a week

He's going to catch us," Santiago rasped, his grip tightening on my hip.The crowd at the Palm Valley Polo Grounds was a sea of wolves in tailored linen. I’d spent all night watching tactical videos on how the game worked, but it was a waste of skin. Nobody was looking at the horses. This wasn't a sport; it was a goddamn trade floor for blood money. I understood why Santiago hadn't wanted to come. If the charity gala was a circus of sycophants, this was a graveyard of vultures.Every three steps, someone tried to corner the Don of the Rivera family. They wanted a piece of his shipping routes. They wanted his blessing for a new laundering scheme. They wanted to thank him for 'donating' to their front organizations while fishing for an invite to the next sit-down. And then there were the women. They didn't care that I was standing right there, tied to him by blood and business. They looked at Santiago like he was the only meal in a famine. Their desperation smelled worse than the horse