Novelas y relatos de High Heat By Richard Castle

It's just not the plan he imagines. I'm in the castle basement, in a maintenance room that almost no one uses. It's small, damp, full of old electrical panels and tangled cables. The smell of mold and oil is strong. I prepared this place days before the operation. I brought my own equipment. Installed backdoors. Mapped the entire castle's network. Richard thought he had a secure system. He was wrong.

I replied, my tone low and dangerous, carrying a hint of something darker. Castiel took a deep breath, his body tensing under the heat, but his gaze never left me. I could see the curiosity and awe in his eyes as he watched me, his mouth slightly parted as if he were waiting for something, some kind of revelation to make sense of everything that had just happened. He didn’t back down, though. Even with the fire raging around us, even with the heat threatening to suffocate us both, he didn’t flinch.

"But here's the thing, we don't need them for the case against Michael and Kevin. We have enough evidence without them. They're just loose ends." "Dangerous loose ends." "Agreed. Which is why we have officers watching Charlotte's mother's house and your building. Just in case." Sarah's tone shifts. "Speaking of cases, Michael's lawyer showed up this morning. Richard Castellano. You know him?" "By reputation. Manhattan's most expensive criminal defense attorney." I lean against the wall. "Let me guess, he's already filing motions."

"Victor is in trouble. Real trouble. Someone found out he is still alive. Someone with resources and motivation to destroy everything he built. Including you. Including this club." "Who?" "My brother. Senator Richard Castellano." The name hit like a punch. I knew that name. Everyone did. Richard Castellano was one of the most powerful politicians in the country. Longtime senator. Presidential hopeful. Untouchable. "Your brother is Senator Castellano? The one who has been crusading against organized crime for twenty years?"

I groan as we walk together to find Malison. “You mean your hot cousin?". Yeah, Gabby had a thing for my cousin. Infact, she wasn't the only one who had a thing for him. I mean, he is so hot, and undeniably, I might have a thing for him too. “He is not so hot". I sigh. Pftttttttttt, what a big lie! He is literally the hottest guy I've ever set eyes on. “Whatever miss four eyes". She retorted.

Richard's POV1 "I can't believe that son of a bitch. How dare he kicks us out of the Castle. We should be the one's staying here, not him," I growled when we arrived at our room. I picked up the lamp that was sitting on the coffee table and threw it into the wall, causing it to shatter. "Calm down, Richard. Everything is going to be alright," My mate Cheryl said. "How do you expect me to calm down? That boy has taken everything from me. My home and my brother," I replied

he teased, winking playfully. Heat crept up my neck. I nodded shyly, knowing he was only half-joking. His pasta was barely touched, so I took a tentative spoonful. As I ate, I noticed the she-wolves sitting across from us throwing icy glares my way. Their resentment practically radiated off them.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides as his eyes dragged slowly down my body, from my red lips, down my neck, over the swell of my chest, all the way to my bare thighs, before snapping back up to my face. "Go upstairs," he ordered. "Now." "Make me." I reached out, slow and bold, and placed my palm flat right over the center of his chest. His heart was beating fast. I could feel every thud vibrating against my hand. I let my fingers spread wide, feeling the hard muscle underneath. I dragged my hand slowly down, over his ribs, down to his stomach, pressing lightly, feeling the rock-hard abs tense instantly under my touch. "You know..." I murmured, voice dropping to a purr, eyes locked on

3rd POV Inside the grand halls of a castle, reminiscent of Germany's Neuschwanstein Castle, King Richard sat in his study, immersed in ancient texts. The serene silence was shattered by the ringing of his smartphone, a jarring intrusion in the medieval setting. With a sigh of resignation, he answered, expecting yet another trivial matter. "What do you want, Son?" he asked, his voice echoing slightly in the room. The video call revealed a startling scene: his son, Prince Nicholas, bound to a chair with iron chains, a menacing figure standing beside him.

Check the news. I pulled up my phone's browser, found the breaking story: RICHARD HALE SPEAKS OUT: "My Niece Needs Help, Not Prison" The article was sympathetic to Richard, painted him as a concerned uncle devastated by his niece's "mental breakdown." He claimed Marissa had been unstable since her father's death, that Chris had tried to help her, that the murder was a "tragic result of untreated mental illness." "Von Castellano is a dangerous influence," Richard was quoted as saying. "He's using my niece's vulnerability to rebuild his father's criminal empire. Someone needs to save her from herself before she destroys what little future she has left."