Novel & Cerita Rico Kruz

“I am different from you. You play e-sports because of passion, while I just want to earn a living.” “What about the entertainment industry? Do you have a passion for it? You are not a showy person at all. Otherwise, you wouldn’t wear a mask and a hat every time you play in competitions.” “I don’t like the entertainment industry, but... she is there,” Cru said calmly. “She? Who is she?” Oscar suddenly had a lightbulb moment. “Is it Jean?” Hearing her name, Cruz finally let out a faint smile on his overly calm face. “Do you know why my ID is JM? It is her.” JM was Jean’s initials.

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)

"Nope. Do you?" "Nah. Do you have any weird quirks? Like, my best friend says I always cross my legs when eating, but never when I’m drinking." His eyebrows rose. “Why are we having this interview session, giglio?" "We're playing twenty-one questions, Luca." I rolled my eyes. "You're weird." He just looked at me for a while. "Oh, I know. So, quirks?" -------------------------------------------------------------

He loved how her stares made him feel. --- The night was still young. Jesse and K were out again on the street. They just finished eating, both of them were feeling so full and satisfied with their meal. Jesse got them Shoyu ramen bowls. K was berating him for eating the pork char siu slices on the side, being that he was Jewish. He just laughed it off, clearly rebellious of his faith and even went as far as mocking Judaism. He remarked that it was getting tougher and tougher to be a bad Jew. And that if necessary, he would kill his rabbi with a pork chop without any hesitation, should his religion be an impediment at how he wanted to live his life. K was so amused at Jesse's shrewd thinking

Mav gets ready to attack, but I stop him. "What's your name, and what are you?" I ask. "Cruz, and I'm a minotaur. Are you going to let me in or not?" he replies. "Well, hello, good people. How are you today? My name is Zion, and I'm here to help you." What the hell is going on? A man walks from behind Cruz. He's tall and has golden blonde hair. "Don't trust him. Euphenia and Calla are all over him. They tried to hide it but didn't do a good job," Kierra says. I look at the two men. Which one is she talking about, Zion or Cruz?

Her voice was low, but Cruz heard her and turns to look at her, the look on her face like that of a mother who was ready to scold the shit out of him. Not getting the response he needed from the fucker he had his hand gripping tightly on his throat, his head in the bowl of ice, as he struggles. Cruz finally pulls Ronald's head back “Fottiti. (Go get fucked)” He cursed in Italian, burying his fists in his face, leaving everyone gasping for the up tenth time, as he lets Ronald who went unconscious immediately to the ground.

-Cherie- I don’t want to turn around because I know I’m going to crumble into little pieces in front of the man I did not want to meet so soon. But I mustered up my strength to face the absolute legend, Alpha Kai Volkov. Even in his old age, the man looks like a powerhouse. I see where Creed gets his stature from because this man is massive - I feel dwarfed just looking up at him! Wearing a black t-shirt and jeans with combat boots, he seems awfully at ease. His long blonde hair, now silver, is braided down his back, crow's feet and wrinkles marr his face but he doesn’t seem like an elderly man.

Amidst the smoke, his star-like eyes drooped down, making people indistinct. But as always charming and magnetic. Ryan asked Dennis with a sweet smile while playing with the ring on his thumb, "Denny, Will you come to my concert?" Dennis bit the cigarette, and his voice was a little vague as he replied, "No" Ryan's face was full of disappointment as he blinked, and then said, "If you have time, please come". Dennis hummed softly. Ryan Cruz was a star singer of both America and China because he was half Chinese from his mother's side and half American from his father's side.

“We’re beginning.” I force my eyes open even without my glasses. My lids are heavy, as if a winter sky presses them shut. The circle is carved into the earth, old as the trees. Symbols crawl along the stones—knots and crescents and lines that flare with the color of blood when the flames lick them. The ropes at my wrists tighten and drag, an animal’s leather, wet with something warm. Someone is kneeling just outside the ring, hood back. He looks like the countryside—scarred, sun-leathered, a grin too wide for decency. It's Victor Cruz.

Her stomach turned. “Who is he?” she asked quietly. “Silvio Cruz. Former military. Discharged after a violent incident. Now he sells his skills to the highest bidder.” Rafael’s voice was low. “He’s worked for politicians, CEOs, even cartels. And now? He’s working for the Ricardos.” Ximena felt a bitter taste in her mouth. “Why go this far? We’re divorced. I walked away.” “Because now, you’re not just a woman who left their world. You’re competition. And to people like them, that’s unacceptable.”