Novelas y relatos de Sicario

Fabio made his way toward Santos, who was now frantically trying to understand what was happening. Santos’ eyes widened as he spotted Fabio advancing through the chaos. “You!” he shouted, his voice dripping with anger and surprise. “You dare betray me?” Fabio’s expression was cold, his resolve unshakable. “It’s over, Santos. Your reign of terror ends tonight.” Santos drew his gun, but Fabio was faster. He fired a precise shot, hitting Santos in the shoulder. The cartel boss staggered, but his defiance was evident as he tried to raise his weapon again.

He and his slutty mother have the habit of trying to possess things that don't belong to them. Luckily, I got to Italy in time with barely any time to rest. Killing Martinez was a hassle; he refused to tell me why he attacked my warehouse or expose who he was working with. I was busy tracking him down while trying to sign some deals. If only Rico was like him and not a coward till the end. I shot him out of anger until his face could barely be recognized and dumped his head and body somewhere the media would be able to carry.

Hunter has asked Rasmus to let him interrogate Alonso's men that he captured from the warehouse. "Silvia planned all this. Didn't she? She would get you guys killed because of her so-called plan and you both are ready to die?" Hunter asked calmly, tilting his head. They refused to answer. "Fine. Don't answer me. Just tell me that you guys are ready to die for her," Hunter said, pulling out his phone as he began to make a video of them. "We work for Alonso," He said. "Of course, so Silvia ordered you to sacrifice your life for Alonso's plan," Hunter said.

“Bring him in.” Minutes later, the man was dragged into the warehouse—bloodied, trembling, but alive. His name was Vico, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “You came to the devil’s doorstep,” Riccardo said, voice low. “Convince me not to kill you.” “I-I know things,” Vico stammered. “Delgado’s not just coming after you—he’s cutting deals with foreign cartels. If he wins this, he’ll turn the city into a warzone. Innocents, families… they won’t survive what’s coming.”

Mateo sat in his executive seat, the darkness clung to the wide space of his office like a ghost in a haunted house. The footsteps were loud, arrogant hitting the marble floor. "El sicario... We have him." He looked towards the figure they dragged. It didn't take long for the figure to advance from the darkness, beaten, bruised. A child less than ten years. "The Capo of Falcón wants him gone." Blood dripped down his face, sweat clung to his immature cheeks. His crystal black eyes stared out into the darkness, hopeless. His head fell down, both of his hands were held by the men, his legs dragged on the floor.

These two had access to information one could dream of, information that if it fell into the wrong hands, the consequences could be catastrophic for a lot of people. Marco Santoro, otherwise known as the ghost. Marco is a silent type you see, an elusive figure that isn’t seen, but always leaves a mark. A mark that’ll most often leave you with a gaping hole in your head. He oversees the syndicate’s covert missions, including, but not limited to kidnapping and assassinations. His eyes are always hidden behind dark sunglasses, making it impossible to read him.

Scarlett. I watched the crowd disperse, and the cold began to seep into my bones. They had left me out here to die. I did not mean to kill anyone. I just wanted to get away. I was tired of everything, and I wanted to get away. I looked around me, teeth chattering, hoping someone would take pity on me, but no one was there. Everyone had left. I was forgotten. Bet they were all waiting until I die and my corpse becomes frozen before they come and help. I wanted to tug at the mate bond, but how they looked at me before they left discouraged me. If they had doubts about Bianca's allegations, this was an apparent offence. I had indeed drugged the reservoir, and it had led to deaths. I was a mass

He followed shortly behind as he dialed Alec to inform him about our sudden meeting. Ascending the stairs and reaching the floor of my office, I walked down the corridor leading to it. Bodyguards on every corner of the way, lowered their head as I passed. I buttoned my jacket and run my hand through the expensive Italian silk. I opened the two tall wooden doors which stood between me and my office and walked into. I increased my pace and proceeded to my chair, making myself comfortable as Alec bursted in the room, sliding the folder with the printed photos on the desk. Sliding across the desk to my direction, I placed my hand on it stopping it abruptly. I glanced at it, a picture of a strang

Taken couldn't stand to be near normal people without killing them, so if one of us was safe, we all were. He was dressed in dark grey, with leather boots and a matching utility belt that hung at his waist. A gun sat at each hip, separated by a flashlight and a short sheathed knife. I looked up at his face and cringed. His skin was the tannest I'd ever seen, his blue eyes sharp and cold. He had a half sun tattooed on the side of his face, stretching from his right temple down to the tip of his jaw. "Where are you headed?"

“Santiago, I need information on Saint.” “Yes, sir. I was able to recover more information about him. He is from America. He joined the army at fifteen; he was the sniper, the best sniper the army ever had. This would mean if he wanted you dead. You would be dead. At twenty-one, he worked for the CIA; he was their finest, then at twenty-five, he left. Two years later, he went to prison for killing an innocent man with his bare hands; he served fifteen years and got early parole. They call him a saint cause he chose every step of his life, meaning that he wanted to go to prison; every step in his life has been perfectly calculated. I checked for track records of Mr. Morningstar dealing with h