Attraction, desire, and sinfully beautiful, Mika Santana is a devil with the face of an angel. Despite her tragic past, she's never given up her ruthless pursuits for success and vengeance which leaves little to no room for matters of the heart. But...
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I park my Lamborghini Aventador on the quiet back street where the message instructs me. After reading the letter about Diablo's Paraiso, I couldn't resist the curiosity surging through my veins. It might've been my naïve way of living, but I have questions about everything. I hunger for knowledge.
So, I went ahead and texted the number at the end of the letter. El Diablo sent multiply messages explaining the services available at the club. However, he kept the information lighthearted and innocently encouraged to come to see the other temptations.
Skepticism straggles into my thoughts as I lock the car. My chest tightens, taking in the desolate, dark streets with no CCTV cameras insight. It's a complete one-eighty from the bustling, noisy front entrance. Since becoming Jefe, I haven't left the house without my bodyguard, but El Diablo insisted.
To be honest, showing up could be one of the biggest mistakes in my life. It isn't ideal for someone in my status to visit a place with no security. I easily could be stepping into my own death. The words Mateo said to me earlier blink through my head to keep me from hesitating and turning back.
Not only do his words speak to me, but my gut agrees. My mama did everything in her power to keep me hidden from the evil, dirty parts of the world. But I couldn't stay blind anymore. Countless lives reside on my shoulders. If I don't start navigating myself through this dark world, I'll turn out like my brother.
Dead.
With my black mask in hand, I step towards the building, goosebumps traveling up my spine. Two lean guards with their hands folded mounts before the door. Their uniform appears to be high-end, along with their shades. A red carpet stowed underneath their feet as a black chain keeps others from entering.
"Good evening, Mr. Morterero," a man says in a thick Spanish accent.
I gulp. "Are you... El Diablo?"
He bobs his head, the ponytail on his head twitching. "I sure am."
I rub my palms on my black trousers. "Do I call you that? It's quite a peculiar name."
Diablo chuckles lightly. "Yes, you may call me that, Mr. Morterero. Every peculiar name has a story behind it and the name is already stuck." He unhooks the chain, having his arm give me a signal for entrance. "Shall we? But before that, kindly wear the mask you have with you."
I nod, tying the mask around my face. A cold sensation runs through my skin as it makes contact with the disguise. Stepping into the establishment, I met with something that resembles a hotel lobby instead of a nightclub. It's empty as opposed to the mask-cover receptionists at the front desk.
"Buenas tardes, El Diablo, and buenas tardes, Sir. Do you have your membership card with you?" The blonde-haired receptionist greets.
(Good afternoon, El Diablo, and good afternoon, Sir.)
