Carlos From Descendants Two Novels & Stories

They sounded childish. “Carlos, there’s some pasta that Alfredo had prepared for you. Do you want to eat some right now?” Shirley asked kindly. Carlos nodded his head and said, “Yeah, I’ll call my sisters and get them to come down to eat.” Though Carlos was only ten years old, one could already tell that he would grow into a very handsome man. He resembled Scarlett in terms of looks, but his temperament was just like that of Francis. He was, in a single word, stoic.

Deep down, he knew that Carter would never do such a thing, but trust isn’t something he comes by very often. Carlos Lozano wasn’t always a bad man. He was born in Ireland as a regular guy. However, his father wasn’t great. Erick was just an evil man who didn’t value women. He had bought his wife because he needed an heir and that’s exactly what he did. Beat, starved and cheated on his wife until one day she sadly took her life. There was no escaping, she was one of the many immigrants who were “lost” by American Immigration. No one searched or even had an idea where they were. Carlos was only a kid at the time of his mom's death.

he asked, his voice rising half an octave, like he’d just found buried treasure in an old drawer. "Romanova." Pascha whispered. I gave a polite smile. “Ignacio.” “From Madellin, right?” he went on, eyes narrowing. “Don Carlos Sr.’s granddaughter? I met your father, Carlos Junior, in Guadalajara. Full of energy, way too into salsa, and absurdly proud of the family’s tobacco legacy.” I nodded slowly. “That sounds like him.” Pascha stayed silent beside me, his gaze fixed on Ignacio with that signature quiet that could drop a room’s temperature by two degrees.

He looks at me with puppy eyes. "Please, you know I don't like having to deal with them." Carlos' is third generation rich. His grandfather started the Diaz group and his uncle, the first son is the current head. Carlos' dad is a lawyer and the 3rd son but the favorite. Meaning Carlos is the favorite and most privileged grandchild. Both grandparents have spoiled him for years getting whatever he wants.

Throwback: Three Years Ago Carlos pulled up to the back of a derelict warehouse, the engine of his car purring like a contented cat. This was Nacho’s territory. Nacho wasn't a businessman in the way Carlos was; he dealt in the currency of desperation. Carlos stepped out of the car, the humid night air clinging to him. Two men stood by the heavy iron door, their arms crossed over their chests. They didn't move as he approached. "I’m here for your boss," Carlos said, his voice flat.

She stood up and said goodbye to the two. "I'll go with you!" A voice from behind Alyssa. Alyssa turned around. She saw Carlos, the young man standing on the side of the kitchen door. She met him earlier while they were having lunch. Carlos is handsome. He looks mestizo even though he says that his parents are pure Filipinos. Tall and perfectly built body. Carlos walked closer to where the two friends were. "I can't talk to anyone, those other boys are in the room to take a nap." He said, staring into Alyssa's eyes.

The one and only Carlos. He was frustrated with Sylvester for one year. That Irish Mafia was way too hungry to grab a hold on American Underworld. He did not understand the fact that it belonged to Carlos. Carlos is the superior and the leading Mafia in American Continent. Just to avoid the gang war in the first place he was not attacking the entire troop of Sylvester. He was searching for Sylvester to rip his heart off. Carlos made his way up to this not by smoking weed. He killed brutally, tortured mercilessly, and pulled every throne out of his path to rule the world. He never denied joining hands for business. But he didn't forget to cut down every finger that ever tried to raise to grab

After all, she is still one of the student council members and should be preparing for the upcoming death festival, right? “DOWN in the alley, I go.” Carlos sings, humming the tune as he is on his way to his target his mission that he intends to make done quickly as he promises his general. “Look at that! There’s my prey.” He giggles, still taking everything as a play and his naughty playground. Sneaking, but not intently, he sat on the window sill as he observes his prey for a few seconds. “Whose there?” Alarmed by his presence, as he already anticipated it. He smiles and wide introduces himself. “The name’s Carlos.”

Her voice was laced with sarcasm. “I can honestly say, Hazel, I never thought I'd see you here again,” Carlos quipped. Carlos's hair was longer than it had been the last time I saw him, and it fell over his left brow. He was wearing formal warrior gear. Which I found odd since he was not a warrior. Perhaps he did it because it made him feel more macho. Who the hell knew with that one? “Where's Billy,” I demanded. “I want my son back.” “All in due time,” Carlos said. “Now, I’d like to invite you all into the packhouse to join me for some refreshments and drinks. What kind of host would I be if I didn't offer you something to eat and drink.”

"No, it's not like that at all. I swear, there's nothing going on between me and Elena." "Elena?" Isabelle's voice cracked. "You're on a first-name basis with your mistress?" Carlos sprang to his feet, his voice sharp with annoyance. "She's not my mistress!" he almost exploded. "She's she's my sister - the last born of the family." Isabelle blinked, certain she misheard. "Your.what?" Carlos flopped down onto the couch, suddenly appearing very tired. "My half-sister, to be exact. I only found out about her existence a few months ago."