"LORDS OF THE UNDERWORLD" TRILOGY

BOOK I: Lords of the Underworld: The King

BOOK II: Lords of the Underworld: The Prince of Sin

BOOK III: Lords of the Underworld: The Executioner

Dedication

For those who know that danger can be as addictive as a forbidden kiss.

This book is for those who do not fear the darkness, who surrender to the seduction of danger, and who understand that even the coldest heart can burn in flames when provoked.

Here, love is not sweet; it is fiery, it is cruel, it is relentless.

WARNING

This book is about the mafia, contains explicit scenes of violence, sex, strong language, and sensitive themes. It is an intense, raw, and uncensored story, where danger and passion walk side by side.

If you enjoy an intense romance, full of tension, desire, and chaos… then, welcome.

Read at your own risk.

Enjoy the read!

My name is Cristian Martinez, and I am the king of the Spanish underworld. The eldest of the Martinez brothers. My father, Javier Martinez, had run these businesses for decades, but he decided to retire and leave me on the throne. Arms trafficking, total control of Spain, and three allied families who obey a single voice: mine. Who challenges this order? Well, they don't live to tell the tale.

That day, I was lying next to a woman, her body still warm from the last fuck. Gabriela Sanchez, daughter of one of my allies. She was snuggling up to me, something I hate. Women's damn sentimentality gets on my nerves.

“Cristian…” her voice was wheedling. I already knew where this was going. “We’ve been like this for a while, haven’t you ever thought about… about something more serious?”

I rolled my eyes and ran a hand through my hair. This conversation again?

“No, Gabriela. And I told you from the beginning. You came to my bed knowing it would never be more than this. Now don't come at me with this commitment bullshit.”

She pulled away, hurt. I got up without giving a damn and started to get dressed.

“You really don't have a heart, do you?” her voice was heavy with frustration.

I gave a cold smile.

“No. And if I did, it wouldn't be your problem.”

I left before she could start crying or make a scene. I didn't have the patience for it.

In the car, I was driving my Bugatti when I called Ramon, my younger brother.

“Ramon, you bastard, are you ready for tonight? That deal with the Russians could be a trap.”

“Of course, hermano. But if it’s a trap, we’ll send those sons of bitches to hell before they can even draw their weapons.”

“Good that you’re ready. I don’t like surprises.”

“And since when do you like anything?” he laughed.

I kept driving, my mind already planning the meeting, when suddenly…

“¡Mierda!” I slammed on the brakes. A figure was crossing the street right in front of me. The sound of something hitting the car made me curse louder.

I got out, furious, and came face to face with a young woman… covered in cake. Yes, a damn cake was spread all over the ground, on her, and, by the looks of it, on my car too.

“What the fuck…” I muttered, looking at the scene.

She was pissed off, her eyes shining with anger as she cleaned herself up.

“Are you blind or what?! Isn’t crossing the street enough, now you have to go around running over innocent people?!”

I raised an eyebrow. What the hell?

“You’re the one who crossed without looking, idiot. I should just leave you there and go on with my life.”

She huffed, picking pieces of cake out of her hair.

“Wonderful, not only blind but arrogant too. A prize for you, Mr. ‘I Own the Street’!”

I should have been irritated. But, for some reason, I just found this girl completely crazy. She turned, still huffing, and walked away… covered in cake.

I shook my head and got back in the car. Crazy.

...----------------...

At the family mansion, my father was waiting for me in his office. Javier Martinez still had presence, despite his retirement.

“How was your night?” he asked, picking up a cigar.

“Quiet. But today we have a negotiation with the Russians. If they try any shit, we’ll wipe them out.”

He nodded, satisfied, and Carmen, the family's trusted maid, served us coffee.

“I need a new head chef. The last one… was let go,” my voice was loaded with meaning.

My father smiled, amused.

“Ah, Cristian, always so… efficient.”

I called Carmen.

“Do you know anyone reliable, competent, invisible, and mute? I want someone who cooks and disappears. No small talk, no fuss.”

She thought for a moment and then smiled.

“My niece, sir. Kiara. She studies Gastronomy, cooks very well… and she’s a good girl.”

“Good for her. But if she’s not good enough, she’s out. Find the housekeeper, Concepcion. If she doesn't approve, she's out.”

I finished my coffee and stood up.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with some Russians. Either they do business with me… or they end up at the bottom of a river.”

...----------------...

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My name is Kiara Vazques. I live in San Sebastian, one of the most beautiful cities in Spain, surrounded by the sea, with a charm that blends elegance and rebellion. But my life is far from a fairy tale. I've lived with my aunt since my mother died. My father? I never knew who he was, and honestly, it doesn't make a difference today. I grew up knowing that if I wanted something, I'd have to fight for it. And I fought, even when I was so young. I always chased my dreams, and my aunt always supported me. That's why I do what I can to give back.

But that day... ah, that day, it seemed like the universe had decided to throw a load of shit in my face.

First, some bastard almost killed me when I was crossing the street. My cake, carefully prepared for a client, turned into a culinary tragedy spread across the asphalt. I was covered in frosting, flour, and a deep sense of humiliation. And to make matters worse, the wretch, a man with a cold and dangerous gaze, still had the audacity to stare at me as if I were to blame. That ogre.

And then, as if that weren't enough, I got to my job... and I was fired. That's right. Fired because I "could no longer be trusted with important deliveries." Hell!

That late afternoon, I left college exhausted, accompanied by my best friends, Lucia and Ana. They were my sanity amidst the chaos.

"Damn, girl, what a horrible day" Lucia commented, frowning.

"Horrible? It was an apocalyptic disaster! I'm officially screwed! No job, no money... and, damn it, I can still smell that cake in my hair!"

Ana tried to hold back her laughter but failed miserably.

"Look on the bright side... At least you weren't actually run over. Can you imagine such a ridiculous death?"Young woman found covered in whipped cream after being run over by a scoundrel.

I shot her a death glare, but I couldn't help laughing. In the end, we laughed together. Because it was either that or completely lose it.

When I got home, a simple but cozy house, my aunt, Carmen, was setting the table.

"Wash your hands and come eat, my dear."

I did as she asked and sat down, resting my chin on the table, exhausted.

"What happened, Kiara?" she asked, placing a plate in front of me.

"What happened? I got fired! That's what happened! Some bastard destroyed my cake, almost killed me, and in the end, I lost my job!"

My aunt's eyes widened, worried.

"Wait... What do you mean"almost killed you"? Are you okay? Who was this man? Do you want me to call the police?"

"I'm fine, auntie. But the wretch was arrogant, smug, and a cretin. He looked at me as if I were nothing! If I find him again, I..."

She sighed, ignoring my fury.

"Well, maybe this was a blessing in disguise. I found a better job for you."

I stared at her with hope.

"Really?! Where? Tell me now!"

My aunt smiled.

"Cristian, my boss's son, needs a private cook."

My hope died instantly. I felt all the blood drain from my face.

"Auntie... you don't love me, do you?" I muttered, dramatically.

She frowned.

"What are you saying?"

"Those people are dangerous! God forbid! They'll cut off my hands if I get the seasoning wrong!" I said, crossing myself several times.

She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, child! Yes, they're dangerous, but I worked in that house for years. I took care of those three boys. They won't do anything to you! Besides..." she crossed her arms, with a smug smile "you'll earn three times more than you did in that dive."

My eyes widened.

"Three times more?!"

She nodded, satisfied.

I feigned exaggerated drama.

"Well, if that's the case... I accept!" I said, trying to hide my sudden enthusiasm.

My aunt laughed.

"Ah, you little mercenary!"

I rolled my eyes.

"Call it self-interest, call it survival. I'd rather eat well than starve to death!"

But deep down... I knew I was getting myself into trouble. Because working for mobsters never came without consequences.

The night was hot in San Sebastian, and I was driving my Bugatti down the road, cigar between my teeth, as the city blurred past me. My thoughts were far away, until my cell phone vibrated on the dashboard. The name that appeared on the screen made me let out a dry laugh.

Gabriel Martinez, my other brother.

The son of a bitch was locked up. That's right, locked up in one of the most impenetrable prisons in the world. ADX Florence, in the United States. That wasn't a jail, it was a black hole nobody got out of. But, of course, my brother always liked a challenge.

"Missed you already, hermano!" I answered sarcastically, blowing cigar smoke to the side.

"Thought you'd forgotten about me, cabron" his voice came through firm, with that characteristic mocking tone.

"How could I forget? My little brother vacationing in a maximum-security prison! Now that's showing off" I joked, but my voice had an undercurrent of steel. "How is it in there?"

"The usual. People trying to kill me, me killing people... But they've already found out who they're messing with. Now they're quite... calm."

Translation: someone tried to screw with him, and he sent the message the right way. With blood.

"Are you eating?" I asked casually.

"Prison food. It's not one of your five-star restaurants, but it'll do."

"Need anything?"

"Just patience, brother. When the time comes, get me out of here. Until then, I'm going to have a little fun."

I smiled. Gabriel always had a peculiar sense of humor.

"I'll take care of it" I finished. "Take care in there. And if you need to... do what you have to do."

He laughed.

"I always do."

The call dropped. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, a muscle in my jaw twitching. Gabriel was fine... for now. But someone was going to pay dearly for putting him there.

But now, I had a negotiation to handle.

I parked the car and got out, already seeing Ramon waiting for me outside the warehouse, along with our men. He gave a half-smile when he saw me.

"Hermano" he greeted me, lightly patting my shoulder.

"Gabriel called me..."

"How is he?"

"Alive. But not for long if we stand by idly."

Ramon nodded. He knew we needed to sort this out.

We entered the warehouse. Three Russians were there, surrounded by grim-faced brutes. The leader, a bastard named Sergei, smiled when he saw me.

"Ah, the famous Cristian Martinez. I've heard a lot about you. They say you're a hard man to negotiate with."

"And they say Russians talk too much" I retorted, smiling humorlessly. "Did you bring the money?"

Sergei gestured, and a briefcase was opened. Money. Lots of cash. But I knew something was wrong. My instinct never failed.

"And the weapons?" he asked.

"In the truck outside. But first, let's see what's in this briefcase."

I opened the briefcase and riffled through the bills. Everything seemed right... but there was a smell of bullshit in the air. My eyes met Ramon's, and he understood instantly.

"Any problem, Mr. Martinez?" Sergei asked, feigning innocence.

"Oh, none. I'm just thinking... why the hell do you think you can pull a fast one on me?"

A heavy silence fell. The Russian leader feigned surprise.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't?" I picked up one of the bills and tossed it to him. "Counterfeit money, Sergei. Do you think I'm an idiot?"

The Russians immediately drew their weapons and pointed them at me and Ramon. I laughed.

The sons of bitches looked confused.

"Any problem?" I asked, still smiling.

And then I whistled.

From the metal structures above in the warehouse, dozens of men appeared, all armed to the teeth. The Russians' faces paled. Some trembled. Others swallowed hard.

"Now, let's try again" I said, drawing my gun and shooting three of them without hesitation. "Who else wants to negotiate with me?"

The Russian leader fell to the ground, bloodied. I approached, kicking his weapon away and pointing my pistol at him.

"Get the fuck up!" I ordered.

He groaned, trembling, but obeyed. I grabbed him by the collar and pushed him out of the warehouse. Ramon followed me, lighting a cigarette.

"What are we going to do with this piece of shit?" he asked, blowing out smoke.

"We're going to let him have a little fun."

We took him to a platform near a dark river. The bastard realized where he was and turned pale.

"Jump" I ordered.

He looked at the water and then at me.

"N-no... Please..."

I cocked the gun and aimed at his head.

"Jump, or I'll make you jump the hard way."

The bastard, sweating coldly, hesitated... but in the end, he jumped. The splash was followed by a scream of pure horror.

Crocodiles.

Two enormous monsters emerged from the darkness and attacked the Russian. His scream was short, cut off by the sound of bones crunching.

Ramon whistled, impressed.

"Good night for a swim, don't you think?" he commented.

I let out a short laugh and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Throw in the rest. Let's feed the animals."

And so we did. When it was all over, we smoked another cigarette and headed to the club. Because, in the end, it was just another normal night.

The next day

That morning, my aunt practically dragged me to a mansion that looked like something out of a movie about eccentric millionaires. The house was immense, elegant, but had a somber vibe. As if it hid secrets within its marble walls and the impeccable silence of its hallways.

As soon as we walked through the door, a woman with a rigid posture and an analytical gaze was waiting for us in the hall.

"Señora Concepcion, this is my niece, Kiara" my aunt announced in a polite but firm tone.

The woman, who looked like she had decades of experience taming even the most rebellious demons, sized me up from head to toe, as if trying to calculate whether I was capable of frying an egg without setting the kitchen on fire.

"So, you study gastronomy?" She asked with a slight hint of suspicion.

"Yes, I'm about to graduate" I replied, trying to sound professional, but feeling my heart beat faster than a mixer on high speed.

"Excellent. I want to see what you're capable of. Prepare some dishes and drinks. Something worthy of Señor Martinez."

Translation: "If you mess up, you're out."

I swallowed hard but forced a smile.

"With pleasure."

I was led to the kitchen, and, by God, if there was a paradise on Earth, I was in it. The space was a dream, state-of-the-art equipment, fresh ingredients from all over the world, and utensils worth more than my entire bank account.

I took a deep breath and went into survival mode. If this was a test, I would give it my best.

I prepared a seafood black paella, ensuring the rice absorbed all the flavor of the broth, and finished it with a touch of artisanal aioli. Then, I made Iberian ham croquetas, creamy on the inside and crispy on the outside. To accompany, I served a signature cocktail with orange liqueur and spices, perfectly balancing freshness with the intensity of the alcohol.

When I finished, I took a deep breath and faced Señora Concepcion, waiting for the verdict.

She picked up a fork, tasted the paella, closed her eyes for a brief moment and...

"Hmm."

I held my breath.

Then she tried the croquetas.

"Interesting."

And, finally, she took a sip of the cocktail.

Her silence was killing me.

"So...?" I asked, unable to hold back my anxiety. My nails were bitten to the quick.

She put down the glass, looked at me, and, with a serious expression, said:

"You start today."

I almost let out a scream.

"Seriously?!"

My aunt smiled beside me, satisfied.

"I don't usually give compliments, but you have talent, girl... Let's go over the rules."

Rules? Oh, great.

"First thing, avoid meeting Señor Cristian. He doesn't like it."

"What?! What do you mean? He hired me, but he doesn't want to see me?" My eyes widened.

"He hates having his routine disturbed. Your job is to cook and disappear."

"Wow, what a nice guy." I said under my breath.

The housekeeper ignored my sarcasm.

"Another thing, everything must be exactly where it is. Señor Cristian is an absolute perfectionist. If you move anything... he will notice."

I blinked.

"Notice? Oh, please, he won't even notice."

She gave me a serious look.

"He notices."

Okay. Detective psychopath activated.

"One more rule: don't snoop. Don't listen to conversations that don't concern you. Don't ask anything. Just cook and do your job."

I swallowed hard.

"Okay... sounds easy."

She handed me a list.

"Here's everything he likes. And here, what he's allergic to."

I looked at the papers and made a face.

"Wow, so fussy..."

She crossed her arms.

"Señor Martinez does not tolerate mistakes."

"Got it. If I mess up, I die, right?"

"Exactly."

I smiled sheepishly. Oh, wonderful.

After the brief introduction to the hell that awaited me, I was left alone in the kitchen. I decided to start lunch. I chose oxtail stew, a sophisticated Spanish dish, accompanied by truffled mashed potatoes and grilled vegetables. For the drink, I made a special tinto de verano, balancing the flavors with a touch of rosemary.

While I cooked, I put on my headphones and started dancing to reggaeton, swaying my hips as I chopped the ingredients.

"Now this is the life" I murmured, stirring the spoon in the thick sauce.

I took out the utensils and, as I used them, put everything back... but without realizing it, I put things in slightly different positions.

Will he notice? Oh, I doubt it.

I wrote a quick note.

"Mr. Grumpy, before you eat, add a pinch of smoked paprika to the sauce. It will make you smile. If you're capable of that, of course."

I took the note and threw it in the trash, grabbed another piece of paper and wrote the same message, but without the insults, of course, I didn't want to end up dead so young.

I signed it with a scribble and smiled, satisfied, sticking it on the fridge.

Before I knew it, my cell phone vibrated. Time to go to college.

I took one last look at the kitchen, straightened everything up, and left, thinking the job was a piece of cake.