Novel & Cerita El Diablo Prisoner

“She was supposed to be my daughter… in another life.” *Flashback* "You’re sure it’s him?" Darius Voltaire's voice was calm. Too calm. He stood in the dim hallway of the underground prison wing, dressed in a simple black suit, his silver cufflinks glinting under the flickering lightbulbs. The four men standing before him were built like tanks. Former military. Now mercenaries. Scarface..the one who spoke the most…nodded, eyes gleaming. "Jordan Castillo. Cell 403. He’s in there right now writing some damn letter like he thinks he’s got time."

"But he'll cooperate as long as we mention your name. Looks like the truth of that night three years ago has been eating him alive." I turned and looked at the other women in the room. This wasn't some heavily armed fortress. It was a safe house, protected by Omertà. Petra was sorting through encrypted hard drives. A former intelligence clerk, she went to prison taking the fall for her boss. Now, she was skillfully piecing together the fragmented evidence Leo had provided. Quinn's fingers flew across her keyboard, monitoring online chatter. She was a genius of the dark web, our eyes and ears.

I rested a hand on the handle. "I'm not interested in answers you've memorized." Without another word, I stepped outside. The guard closed the steel door behind me. Damian looked at me. "That's it?" "For now." "You got nothing." "I got exactly what I wanted." He raised an eyebrow. "He never denied Ghost Rider." I started walking toward the second holding room. "He corrected nothing I said." "You noticed all that?" "I noticed everything." The second prisoner looked younger. Maybe twenty-five. His nose had been broken during the capture.

“No, sir.” “Yes, sir.” For the past few years that Estrella had worked for Mr. El Diablo, those were the only two sentences she had ever used while speaking to him. Their relationship had been strictly professional. He was the master of the house and she was a simple maid Estrella had the weird sense that everything was about to change as she watched a very drunk Mr. El Diablo stumble into the house and almost land on his face. She immediately abandoned the inventory she was taking and rushed to him.

Not for myself. “You’re asking me to accept something I don’t understand, something that feels alien to me,” I said, turning my gaze away from Ramiras. “I don’t know who I am anymore.” “But you must understand that you were chosen for a reason,” Ramiras urged. “You’re descended from a long line of powerful guardians, and even if you don’t believe it, you are meant to help save the world.” I shook my head. “I am El Diablo de Spania (The devil of spain). The evil Mafia Don. The man who kills and whose past is tainted with the blood of my enemies. How can I be this saviour?”

I ended my relationship with that loser Gabriel and started scheming to make Miguel mine. I needed to eliminate Kiera entirely. Even though Mom despised her, I knew she would never approve of my plans, so I took things into my own hands. After stumbling upon Papa's list of creditors, I held on to it, and I realized I had to reach out to the most dreadful of them all—El Diablo. My research revealed he had a talent for luring young girls, and using them for his twisted games. With Caleb’s help, I tipped El Diablo off about Papa’s location and waited for things to unfold. “Urgh,” Miguel groaned from the bathroom, and I immediately flattened myself against the mattress, eyes squeezed shut, prete

he said to the bartender, who was wiping the glass. Ilawana Delta Maheswara, an architect and Melvin's best friend. The man had been the designer of Melvin's buildings for the past few years. A man who had repented of approaching women, even though Delta was a notorious playboy who dated almost every student on his campus back in college. "You ordered drinks without me?" asked a man who had just arrived, patting the shoulders of his two friends. "Want a drink?" asked Delta. "No, no one will drive me home if I drink, right? Besides-"

Mason told me the only reason they have a kitchen is for when the vampire king has human guests around. We lie to the guards, saying it's time for Mom to eat. “Hi, Mason. How are you doing today?” the guard in front of the dungeon says. Luckily, Mason’s good friends with him. He’ll allow me to enter without making a fuss. “I’m doing well. How are you doing, Sam?” Mason asks. “I’m good. You must be here to give the prisoner in cell 201 her food.” “Yes.” “Open the tray,” he says, and Mason does as he asks. He checks the tray for sharp objects. Once he’s sure that there is none he clears us to go in.

"She's a former sniper, dishonorably discharged, and was recently a suspect in a case down in Columbia along with this character." Once more the screen changed. A dark eyed man with tousled hair was captured walking down a street, facing a camera. "Damian Naraujo, who lives in El Paso. Naraujo on the surface is just a computer consultant, but we know of him because of his work in South America. He's a mercenary, people or companies hire him to take out competitors in emerging markets. Mostly tech, but he'll do anything for anyone at the right price." "And you think he's related all because of a dead body?" Priscilla wasn't sure she bought that. It was a leap. A big one.

The kind that came from knowing exactly who held his life in their hands. Dante stopped a few paces away and studied him in silence for a long moment. The prisoner cracked first. “Please… I didn’t do anything. I swear on my children, on my wife — I didn’t let anyone in. You have to believe me.” Dante’s voice when it came was low, calm, and terrifyingly controlled. “You had access. You were on rotation last night. The breach happened on your watch.” The man shook his head frantically, tears mixing with the blood on his face. “Being on rotation doesn’t mean I betrayed you. I was in position, yes, but I never opened any doors. I never—”