No Saints in Nuevas Fuentes

Third Person POV The man’s screams echoed off the warehouse walls. Enzo didn’t flinch. Blood dripped from the golf club in his hand. “I told you,” he said calmly, “stealing from me will put you in hell.” Crack. Another swing. Another scream. The man was barely conscious, but Enzo didn’t stop. His grunts filled the warehouse with every hit. The club crushed into the guy’s face over and over until it was nothing but blood, bone, and broken teeth. Blood splattered across Enzo’s white shirt, soaking the fabric like ink in snow. His chest rose and fell steadily. Unbothered. He dropped the club. It clanged on the concrete, metal slick with red. His men stood in silence. Not one dared flinch. Enzo turned, picked up a long, sharp knife, and dragged a full-length mirror in front of the bleeding man. “Look at me,” he said, crouching beside the wreck. “No one crosses La Salamancas. No one crosses me.” The man whimpered, barely alive. No words came out, just ragged breaths and broken sounds. Enzo didn’t hesitate. He pressed the blade to the man’s throat and dragged it slow. Deliberate. Blood poured out fast, soaking the floor and streaking the mirror like something out of hell. No one moved. The warehouse felt like a tomb. Enzo stared at his own reflection, blood-splattered and calm, his mouth twisted into a slight smile. He stood, wiped the blade on the man’s shirt, and chuckled. “God damn. You bleed like a motherfucker.” Behind him, someone let out a shaky breath. Another whispered, “He’s worse than the old man.” But no one dared say it loud. He lit a cigarette. Smoke curled around his jaw. Blood still dripped from the blade in his hand. He stared down at the body, voice low and rough. “s**t. Some p***y might help me sleep tonight.” ✦✦✦ Vierra’s POV I woke up in the middle of the night with a man’s face buried between my thighs. His sleeves were rolled up, white shirt still on, and his tongue was already deep inside me. I moaned loud, back arching from how good he felt. The only thing in my mouth was air and broken sounds. His tongue moved slow at first, then faster. Like he wanted to memorize every part of me. “You like that, hmm?” he said, slipping two fingers inside me like he owned me. My eyes rolled back, mouth open as I came hard against his tongue. I gasped, trembling from the force of it. He stood, pulled off his shirt, and I couldn’t stop staring at his abs. He dropped his pants. The thick bulge in his boxers made my mouth water. I yanked them down, desperate to taste him. No words. Just hunger. “f**k, come on baby,” he groaned when I took him in my mouth. I licked and sucked him slow while my hands stroked the rest. He held my head, guiding the rhythm. His moans got rougher. He pushed deeper into my throat. “Oooh yes,” he growled. I choked around him, eyes watering, tongue still working him. When he pulled back, he tore off my bra. My n*****s hardened in the cool air. He stared at me like I was dessert he couldn’t wait to ruin. He lifted me, sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled me into his lap. His mouth found my breasts, sucking slow while I grinded on his c**k. I reached down, lined him up, and sank onto him. Inch by inch, I gasped. “You’re so f*****g hot,” he said, gripping my waist tighter. I bit my lip, bouncing on him slow and deep. “You feel so f*****g good,” I whispered, watching his jaw tighten. Then he grabbed my hips and slammed me down harder. His c**k hit deep, right where I needed it. Skin slapped skin, fast and filthy. He stood, flipped me onto the bed, and shoved back into me from behind. His pace turned rough, steady, overwhelming. I moaned into the sheets, gripping them tight as he pounded into me. His hands bruised my waist, thrusting without mercy. I could barely breathe. “Just like that,” I cried, shaking from how deep he reached. My legs trembled. p***y clenched tighter as the orgasm hit. “Holy f**k,” he groaned, slamming in one final time. I shattered, screaming his name, and he came right after me. Loud. Raw. When he pulled out, I collapsed. Ruined. The sheets were tangled, air thick with sweat. My heart raced. Morning came, and he was still next to me. Calm. Sleeping like nothing happened, while I replayed every second in my head. I sat up, careful not to wake him. My body ached—his hands, his mouth, his c**k still ghosting my skin. Then I saw him clearly. Daylight hit his face and everything froze. My heart sank. Because that man, the one who made me forget my name wasn’t just some sexy stranger. He was Enzo f*****g Salamanca! “What in the actual f**k?” I whispered, scrambling for my clothes. My hands were shaking. I crept toward the door. Every nerve in my body screamed for an exit. But the second I opened it, I froze. Two armed guards stood outside. Silent. Dead serious. They didn’t blink, didn’t move. I wasn’t going anywhere. Panic hit me hard. And then I heard his voice behind me. “Going somewhere?” I turned around slowly. He was sitting up like a king, shirtless, cocky, dangerous. Smug didn’t even begin to cover the look on his face. I stared at him, frozen. What the hell did I just do? Who would’ve thought I’d end up in bed with a mafia billionaire? The kind of man who could ruin me without even touching me again. And just to twist the knife, he said, “Besides, I haven’t paid you yet, right? Saint Vierra.” His smirk was lethal. And I had no idea what the hell I’d just walked into.