Vic Fuentes Somebody That I Used To Know Mga Nobela at Kwento

Familiar. Too familiar. I squint. Turn the volume up. “Paulina?” I say. “Why are you calling this late? I was sleeping.” Sleeping my ass. “You were just waking up?” “What’s your deal, Rico?” I hesitate. “Nothing. I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.” She clicks off. But I don’t move. Because I swear on everything… that voice I heard? That was Victor. Victor—my boy. My best friend. The one person I thought I could trust with anything.

she worriedly asked after letting me go. Though struggling, I did my best to tell them everything that had happened. I kept nothing from them except the detail that took place inside the VIP room and who the man was. They would never believe me if I told them that Joshua Elijah Fuentaverde was with me. I'm so ashamed of my stupidity and I can't go into more detail about it. "That's what happened," I said when I finished telling the story.

Because for years I’d believed Viktor Vasiliev was dead. But now? Now I didn’t know who the real enemy was. And I wasn’t sure I was ready to find out.

Lucia began prepping a clean whistleblower packet to leak to investigative journalists, while Victor scrubbed every trace of my digital footprint. And me? I reached out to someone I hadn’t spoken to in a long time. Damien Cruz. My former fiancé. Miami’s favorite tech wunderkind. The one man Thiago had always loathed for reasons he never admitted. I knew Damien still had a soft spot for me—or at least for the thrill of chaos. And right now, I needed both. He picked up on the first ring. “Bridge,” he said, voice low and amused. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I insisted in on the laptop that had come with it. I found a bunch of files about various people including Donald Dante, Lord and other names I only recognized because they were very important people. I realized Vincent had given me classified information about the cartels and some big companies of which was also the general. I felt a wave of relief as I opened the General’s file. I had been so worried about the case but now, I had the upper hand and knew exactly what to do to win the case. The only question that remained at the back of my mind was why Vincent Vincenzo had left me with this information.

“How can you that? You barely know me.” “Oh. I know you.” Seeing the bafflement in Leo’s face made Victor laugh, “I mean… I read your files…” shrugging and lying so very easily and at the same time isn’t, Victor continued, “A habit of mine. I just make sure I know the people I work with, that I could trust them. Anyway, you have an amazing background, grew up very smart. A loving family, your friends seems so great too, except for that one woman.”

He spoke enthusiastically and opened the map. “This right here!” He pressed his finger on top of the picture of two men and stared at me with big eyes. “These are Victor Vives and Pedro Vidal, Aka Panther.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “These are the assholes who had a big part in letting M. Castillo walk out free.”

I needed to hear what he had to say before I decided how to respond. Victor leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs. “I am Victor,” he said in a smooth voice. “A respected mafia boss in this part of the country. I was a close friend of your father. We worked together for many years.” I stared at him trying to remember if I had ever seen his face before. I had not. His name meant nothing to me. “I have never met you,” I said calmly. “My father never mentioned your name.” Victor smiled again like he had expected me to say that.

and "No Terrorists in America." My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number: "How does it feel to have your dirty laundry aired for the world to see? This is just the beginning. - V" I stared at the message, feeling a familiar mix of fear and fury rise in my chest. Viktor thought he could break me by exposing my past, by turning my own story against me. He had no idea how wrong he was.

“We don’t move blind.” I straightened, my jaw tight, my mind racing. Naming Viktor risked a leak—his spies had ears everywhere, even in a cleaned-up FBI. “A Mafioso,” I said, my voice firm, my eyes hard. “Responsible for the murders, the drugs, the money theft. I’ll wire up, get you his voice, his face, everything. In two days at midnight. Be ready to swarm when I signal.” Martinez crossed her arms, her voice sharp, her eyes glinting. “No name, no backup,” she said, her lips tight, her skepticism clear. “You’re asking us to trust a ghost.”