~24hrs~ Mateo sat hunched over in a leather chair, a glass of Grappa half-finished on the table beside him. His tailored black shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and his Sleek black hair hung in front of his eyes as he stared at the silent screen of his phone as if expecting a call. He rubbed his eyes hoping he didn't look as bad as he looked whenever he had sleepless nights. The silence broke suddenly with a sharp buzz. A name flashed across the screen: Elena. He answered without hesitation. "Well?" Mateo's voice was clipped, low, and impatient. On the other end, Elena sighed, tired but composed. "Still working on it." Mateo gritted his teeth. "Elena, you already have enough time.I need results, not excuses." "I'm not a magician,Mister. I'm really trying my best but you have to trust me." Mateo stood up abruptly, pacing the room. His bare feet padded across the cold wooden floor as he ran a hand through his hair. "You’ve got twenty-four hours? After that, I will fi

~I've Got Good News~ Elena stood frozen, her eyes fixed on the door Carlos had just disappeared through. Her pulse raced, her breath shallow. She hadn’t expected to see him here—at least not so suddenly, not without warning. There had been no exchange of words, no confrontation, just the fleeting moment when their eyes met before he turned and walked away, as if he’d seen a ghost. Clara approached, cutting through the club’s smoky haze with the ease of someone who belonged there. Though to others she appeared just another waitress, her role ran much deeper. Clara had been Elena’s eyes and ears inside this place for months now—discreet, reliable, and sharp as a blade. She leaned in close, brushing a hand lightly on Elena’s arm. “We can leave,” she said quietly. Elena nodded, still processing the moment that just happened. Together, they slipped out of the club and into the night, the cool air outside pressing against Elena’s skin like reality reclaiming its hold. The two women m

~Take Over~ Carlos Hugo was feeling untouchable. The evening air hummed with music from the courtyard below his sprawling estate. He reclined in a velvet chair, his thick fingers were wrapped around a glass of twelve-year-old whiskey, a smug grin was etched across his aging face. Two of his men lounged near him—Rico and Benito, his most trusted bodyguards. They chuckled at a tasteless joke Carlos had just told about Andrès, completely oblivious to the fight coming. Carlos raised his glass. “To finally getting what I deserve. That empire will be mine. The boy never saw it coming.” As if summoned by karma itself, his phone buzzed relentlessly on the table beside him. The screen flashed with a name—Silvio. Carlos answered with a lazy tone, “This better be good.” But the moment Silvio’s panicked voice cracked through the receiver, his posture shifted. The color drained from his face. “Boss, he knows.” Carlos sat up. “What?” “Andrès. He knows everything… about Don Simon. The lawye