Dj Octavio Mga Nobela at Kwento

Dalton shook his head at Marcus's pathetic strategy. "You fucking -" Marcus barked, leaping towards Dalton only to have Rowan and the warriors holding him back. Struggling to break free, they tightened their hold around him. "Let's say you had the perfect plan but luck wasn't on your side. We met this man, here," Dalton gestured at Lucas before continuing, "who guided us around the dark forest. Thanks to him, Rowan, Jordan and your chosen mate, we managed to figure out your next steps." Dalton smugly said as he held a thumb over his shoulders, pointing directly at me.

Montana I wanted to scream but I couldn't even open my mouth it felt like I was hypnotized, he is Dominican El-Marciano, the son of the unshakable Drug lord, right now I could feel beads of sweat running down from my forehead, my blood stopped running immediately, how did I end up in the house of the Maciano's, I couldn't take it anymore the air-conditioned was on but I am sweating so bad that I started dating myself with my own hand

Light and shade. I never read that fifty shades book, but this dude's at least a thousand hues of that dull, lifeless color. Probably more like a million. I'm off kilter because I can't control any situation I'm in that includes him, and I don't like it which makes me not like the guy who's causing it. Dante Giovanetti is a piece of shit, and my intuition tells me that there's no reason for him to be at the Armónico unless they're in cahoots with each other.

Antonio My shoulder hurts like a bitch, that damn Russian! But fuck am alive. I am still alive and he wants me to work for him. I don’t know why and I don’t think I want to ask. Or he might just be another bullet in me. DJ helps me clean my wound, he is quiet as he busied himself with the task at hand. “Say something.” His silence is bothering me now, DJ is never this quiet. “I am just trying to process the fact that we are still alive and now working for the Mafia.” He tells me and I am baffled.

Carlos asked shakily but he didn't wait for Mattia to reply before he continues " Maximo Santino is a wanted criminal in every countries. You can't include him in this ... " " And who else is more competent? " Mattia yell suddenly, jolting the two other men. He sighed roughly as he pulled off his glasses before he continues smoothly as if he never yelled out. " Konstantin Dmitri is a Russian Mafia Boss, what is wrong in it if I call in the sadistic Italian Mafia Boss into this? Do you both have any other options? " Minutes passes slowly without Mattia getting any response. He stood up from the chair he sat on and Walk away from the Long table.

I was wrong. “Yes, but–” I was cut off when Ricco gave Nikolas a machete. No. “You may think the interaction was harmless and maybe it was. Baby, Carlo knew what he was getting himself into when he touched you like you were his bitch. Now he’s crying like a figo.” (figo - pussy)

She gave him a sideways look. Octavio sat down across from Fiel with a dissatisfied expression on his face, and his disappointment radiated over the table, coating her. It was as if he had wanted to fight. Fiel looked at her gratefully and sighed deeply. Octavio seemed like the harder nut to crack. He had been enjoying the confrontation and seemed reluctant to let it go. It didn’t surprise her. “Octavio, I am sure that the spilt tea was an accident and that neither Alpha PataDiamente nor his men did it intentionally. Right, Alpha PataDiamente?” She asked, and he nodded.

“Are both of you high? I don’t fucking glow.” At this point, Otaktay comes over too. His normally serene features are etched with surprise. He pulls his long black hair away from his face and just looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. "You got laid," Javier says, deadpan. “Holy shit.” “It’s none of your fucking business.” “That’s a–what?–four year dry spell?” Javier starts a slow clap. “Congrats, man. Glad to know the equipment didn’t rust over.”

His vivid blue-grey eyes were already boring holes in my being when I locked eyes with his hues. He was towering over me, he’s Shaquille O'Neal looking down at my Eva Longoria height. I froze when he reached for my face, unable to step back because the closed door of the bathroom was behind me. “W-what are you doing?” I knew he won’t hurt me, but base on my experiences, looks can be fucking deceiving. He placed his closed palms under my chin, his thumb brushing the side of my mouth. “You got drools, Sweetheart.”

he said flatly, lifting a glass of whiskey to his mouth. Ice clinked as his fingers shifted. I couldn’t help noticing the small, bleeding cuts across his knuckles... and remembering what that man’s face looked like afterward. Goddess, Lorenzo was a sexy brute. “That’s me… Victoria Bian… Greco” I answered, standing there like I was in an interview. “About last night…” “The first time, you didn’t think the Greco family was worthy. You were too ‘precious,’” he cut in coldly, one dark brow lifting.