THE MESSAGE
The soft glow of the desk lamp cast shadows over the leather-bound files stacked neatly before him. Cesar Rodrigo, the feared El Jefe of Spain, leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze skimming over the latest reports. The air in his office was thick with the scent of leather and Cuban cigars, but his mind was elsewhere.
A sudden gentle tap on the door broke his focus.
Cesar's eyes flicked to the small green light on the door knob—a silent signal that permission had already been granted.
The heavy oak door swung open, and his soldato stepped in, bowing slightly.
"El Don, there's a message for you," the soldier announced, stepping forward with an envelope in his gloved hands.
Cesar barely glanced at him, merely gesturing toward the mahogany desk.
"Leave it there."
The soldier obeyed, retreating swiftly. Cesar had always been a man of tradition. While others relied on encrypted phone calls and digital messages, he trusted only the weight of paper in his hands. Physical proof. Something he could touch, something real.
Hours passed, the city of Madrid glowing beneath the night sky. The world outside was alive, but inside his chamber, only the rhythmic ticking of the clock accompanied him. Finally, as the clock struck midnight, Cesar reached for the envelope.
Tearing it open, his eyes darkened as he read the invitation.
Mateo Romano.
An old associate. A man of power. He was hosting a coronation for his son, anointing him as the new Crown Prince of the Romano Cartel.
Cesar smirked. "Interesting."
Mateo was a man he respected. Missing such an event would be an insult.
---
The deep rumble of a matte-black Maybach echoed in the quiet night as it came to a slow halt in front of Rodrigo Manor—a fortress of luxury that stood at the heart of Cesar's vast private estate.The towering gates parted like loyal guards, allowing him into his domain.
Diego, his most trusted driver, adjusted his black leather gloves as he waited beside the idling car. He had been in Cesar Rodrigo's service for years, understanding the unspoken rules of his employer's world—never question, never falter.
The door opened, and Cesar stepped out.
He adjusted the cuffs of his tailored black suit, the fabric fitting his frame like a second skin. A man of authority. El Jefe. El Don.
His steel-gray eyes flickered to Diego. "Everything is in order?"
Diego gave a short nod. "As always, Jefe."
Without another word, Cesar strode towards his villa. His office chamber was only a few minutes away from his main residence, but he had worked late, sorting through files of business transactions, partnerships, and power plays. His world wasn't built on trust—it was built on strategy.
Inside, the air carried a subtle blend of oakwood and expensive cigars. The warm glow of golden chandeliers illuminated the grand marble floors as he ascended the spiral staircase.
----
The soft click of the restroom door sealed him in. Stripping off his tailored shirt, he let the fabric slip off his shoulders, revealing the scars and tattoos that marked his journey to power. The cool marble under his feet sent a brief shiver through his skin as he stepped into the rainfall shower.
The warm water cascaded down his body, washing away the tension. Cesar closed his eyes, exhaling as the scent of sandalwood and leather filled the air.
By the time he stepped out, his female servants were already waiting. Their heads bowed, hands folded, obedient. Trained to perfection.
One held out his plush black robe, while another carried his skincare essentials.
"El Don," they murmured in unison.
Without a word, Cesar allowed them to work. The first gently dried his damp skin with a soft towel, while the second massaged an amber-scented lotion onto his shoulders. Their touch was careful, almost worshipping.
He was a god to them.
-----
Inside his boudoir—a private chamber meant only for pleasure— he walked to the mahogany bar, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. With slow precision, he lit a Montecristo cigar, the scent of tobacco and spice curling into the air as he took a deep drag.
A soft click at the door.
His eyes lifted lazily, his lips curving into a knowing smirk as he saw her.
His mistress for the night. Luciana.
She stepped in, her curves accentuated by the thin, silk nightdress she wore, barely covering her full breasts and slender waist. The dim lighting highlighted the smooth caramel of her skin, her long, dark hair cascading down her back.
"El Don," she whispered, her voice dripping with seduction as she approached.
Cesar didn't move immediately. He merely took another drag of his cigar, exhaling slowly before flicking the ash into a crystal tray.
"You're late." His voice was deep, steady.
Luciana's lips parted slightly, the corner of her mouth tilting into a sly smile. "I wanted to make sure I looked… perfect for you."
She climbed onto his lap, straddling him, her fingers tracing along his tattooed chest beneath the open robe. He inhaled the vanilla-scented perfume on her skin, his hands sliding up her thighs.
Her breath hitched when his grip tightened, a clear claim of dominance.
With a swift motion, he flipped her onto the plush king-sized bed, his mouth capturing hers in a rough, possessive kiss. Her hands fisted in his silken robe, her moans muffled as he devoured her lips, trailing down to the sensitive spot along her neck.
Their bodies tangled beneath the soft sheets, the world outside forgotten in the haze of passion.
-----
Luciana lay beside him, her fingers trailing lazily across his toned chest. Her eyes held something new—something dangerous.
"Cesar," she murmured, her voice softer now. "Make me your wife. I would gladly accept."
Silence.
Cesar's expression shifted—cold, detached.
Luciana sat up, confusion creeping into her features as she searched his face for a sign of warmth. There was none.
Cesar stood from the bed, tying his robe shut before walking to the window. His voice, when it came, was as sharp as a blade.
"I do not take orders, Luciana."
Her face paled. "I-I wasn't ordering you—"
"Leave."
The single word cut through the air, final and merciless.
Luciana swallowed hard, realizing the weight of her mistake. With humiliated silence, she grabbed her robe and hurried out, leaving only the lingering scent of vanilla and regret.
Cesar exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. Attachments were weaknesses. And he had no room for weaknesses.
To be continued (stay updated).