Santos On My Block Novels & Stories

This was my fresh start, or at least the best version I could manage after running. My phone lay beside me like a loaded gun. I picked it up, thumb hovering. G****e had shown me everything two nights ago at the airport. Ryder Santos. A Billionaire, and founder of Santos Global. The man whose hands had gripped my hips in that club bathroom now appeared on every business site, sharp jaw and expensive suits.

**ANTONY SANTOS**. "I'll drop you off at your place. We can talk on the way." I sighted the SUV from my end. He better have a damn good explanation. "I can literally hear you puffing from here, it's not like you can beat me up." He joked behind me.

Britany Santos took out her mobile phone, "Hello, Zhac Martin." "Come to my office and meet someone." "Wait a minute, I'll be right there." Britany Santos hurried downstairs to the criminal police team. The door was only open, and Britany Santos knocked on the door. "Come in."A loud voice sounded from inside. Britany Santos pushes the door in. a man in a black windbreaker and a canvas hat sit on the sofa and talk to each other.

If I had to guess I’d say he was about 6ft, generously built with broad shoulders and a face that I so desperately wanted to rearrange. It took Santos seconds to notice my presence. See that’s the good thing about this business, no matter where you are, you’re always aware of who’s around you, it’s a skill we require and one which has gotten us out of some sticky situations in the past. “Roman, good to see you” Santos says as I approach the booth, never taking my eyes off Ethan. “This is…” “Ethan…good to put a face to the name” I finish Santos’ sentence for him.

Santos leaning against the terrace, a lit cigarette in his mouth, with no intention of pursuing her. In the darkness, Mr. Santos leaned against the wall, phone to his ear. “It’s done.” A man’s voice replied, “You didn’t touch her, did you?” Mr. Santos smirked, “Relax. I wouldn’t risk the Santos family’s future for a woman.” “It seems prison hasn’t changed you at all.”

To his word, Santana Bursted out laughing dryly. " Maximo Santino won't take the offer. Hell, this man is filthy wealthy. He Worth almost eighty trillion Euros. Has more than twenty thousands men and women at his beck and call. A business man and a Mafia Boss who could Kill anyone just by the slightest provocation and you ... " Santana suddenly stop speaking when steady approaching footsteps was heard. " He is here " Carlos announced while sitting right. The three men heartbeat started racing as the sounds of the approaching footsteps drew near and nearer until finally, Maximo Santino pushed open the door and enters.

How Oliver made her happy that night. “Stop it please" Erica said. “Noooo…I'm cumming. Fuck you! Ahhhh .." Erica stopped crying and continued to cry. “What's wrong with you ?! You’ve change!" Her client said angrily. She still didn't say a word and lit Cigarette while her tears were still dripping. “Here's your money, maybe it will be the last time.anyway Thanks I need to go Said Mr.Santos. She couldn't quite imagine that in an instant she would return to this job. Her whole body was tired and sore because of Mr. Santos' sadism.She always looked at her cellphone and hoped that Oliver would at least call or text her but even hello she did not receive anything.

Santiago chuckled. After listening for a while, Sam set it down again and said, "it can be used if we work on it well enough. Can I ask what this is for?" "That's Mr Santos, CEO of JK pharmaceuticals. Just like they did to my father, Santiago and Juan are trying to forcefully take over his company. When I was at their place yesterday, I saw that Santiago had gotten his men to beat Mr Santos up because he had refused to sign over the company to them. I want you to file a lawsuit against both of them for their atrocities."

Maybe I should start calling him "Alpha Superstar." Still, there’s no sign of Serena, and that makes me uneasy. Somehow, her presence brought me a strange sense of calm. Trying to shake the discomfort, I twitch my fingers and start stretching, hoping to at least appear like I know what I’m doing. My movements are stiff and awkward—I probably look like a fish out of water. Not that it matters. I’ve never been the athletic type, and looking at the heavyweights scattered around the room, I’m pretty sure I’d need a miracle to even budge one. Honestly, the weights are more likely to lift me than the other way around.