Sinful Desires

Five Years Later

Five years had passed since that fateful night when Victor Reis had lost everything. Now, he sat by the window of his Italian villa, gazing out at the Mediterranean Sea. The same villa where he had woken up bleeding and broken, with nothing but rage and vengeance to keep him alive. The setting sun cast long shadows across his face, highlighting the scars—both visible and hidden—that he carried.

"Five years," he murmured to himself. "Five years of building, of planning, of becoming someone else."

In those years, Victor had transformed himself into an almost mythical figure in the criminal underworld. The Ghost, they called him. A name whispered in fear across Europe and beyond. No one knew his face; no one knew his real name. Those who had discovered the truth were swiftly silenced, their secrets dying with them.

The rumors about The Ghost were the stuff of criminal legend. They said he could walk through walls, that he had spies in every major organization, that he could make people disappear without a trace. Some said he wasn't human at all, but a vengeful spirit who had returned from the dead to punish the wicked. Victor did nothing to discourage these tales—in fact, he cultivated them.

His thoughts turned to the Conti family, one of the first to fall to his new persona, the only ones who had known when he arrived in italy. They had been arrogant, thinking themselves untouchable in their little fiefdom. It had taken him just three days to dismantle their entire operation. Not through brute force, but through fear and precision. One by one, their lieutenants had vanished, only to reappear days later with tales of a shadow that spoke with Victor's voice. By the time he was done, the once-mighty Contis were begging for mercy.

Maria's soft footsteps interrupted his dark reminiscence. She approached with a steaming cup of coffee, her eyes meeting his with that same complicated look she always carried when they were alone.

"You're lost in thought again," she said, handing him the cup.

Victor accepted it, his fingers brushing against hers for a moment longer than necessary. "Just remembering where we started."

Maria smiled faintly. "In this very room. You were half-dead, Or so Jordan said."

He studied her face, remembering the woman he had saved from Contis men. Now she stood before him, confident and capable, his right hand in all things. Maria had promised herself she wouldn't fall for him—she had told him so one drunken night—but her eyes betrayed what her words would not. Yet Victor kept his heart locked away, frozen since Selena's betrayal.

From the adjoining room came Jordan's loud curse. "Son of a b***h! How do you keep doing that?"

Gerald's soft chuckle followed as he made fun of the younger man. "It's called strategy, Jordan. You should try it sometime."

Victor's lips quirked in a rare, slight smile. Some things never changed.

Maria rolled her eyes. "Children, both of them," she muttered. "Jordan! Stop losing all your money and come play with someone at your skill level."

"Like who? You?" Jordan called back. "No thanks. I value my wallet."

Victor set down his coffee cup with a decisive click. "Enough games," he said, his voice carrying easily to the next room. "It's time."

Silence fell immediately. Jordan and Gerald appeared in the doorway, all traces of humor gone from their faces.

"Tomorrow, we return to America," Victor continued. "To New York."

The weight of his words settled over the room like a physical presence. For Jordan, it meant the chance to prove himself anew. For Gerald, it was a return to a life he thought he'd left behind. For Maria, it was stepping into unknown territory, following Victor into the heart of his old kingdom.

A sharp knock came at the door, and one of Victor's men entered after a brief pause.

"Sir, the private jet is ready. All preparations have been made as you requested."

Victor nodded. "Thank you, Alvarez. We'll be down shortly."

As the man left, Victor turned to Gerald. "Is everything in place on the other side?"

Gerald nodded, his expression grave. "Yes. I've secured the property in New York—the one we discussed. It's been prepared for months under a shell company. The location is perfect—close enough to keep an eye on your old territories, but not so close as to raise suspicions."

"And our resources?" Victor asked.

"All in place. Money, weapons, personnel—we're ready."

Victor rose from his seat, straightening the cuffs of his impeccably tailored charcoal suit. The fabric whispered of wealth and power as he moved. His dark hair was longer now, swept back from his face, accentuating the hard angles of his jaw and the intensity in his eyes. He looked every bit the dangerous man he had become.

"Then it's time we showed Xavier what happens when you leave your enemy alive," Victor said, his voice cold with promise.

Jordan grinned, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "About damn time."

Maria watched Victor carefully. "Do you think Xavier suspects you're alive?"

Victor shook his head. "No. He believes he won. That's his weakness—he's grown comfortable in my throne."

Gerald gathered his tablet and phone. "We should go. The longer we stay, the more chance there is of word getting out."

They moved through the villa, a sleek, dangerous unit forged in the fires of betrayal and ambition. Each step brought them closer to America, to the war that awaited them.

As they reached the door, Victor paused, looking back at the villa that had been both his prison and his fortress for five long years.

"When we return here," he said quietly, "it will be to celebrate, not to hide."

Maria stepped beside him, her hand briefly touching his arm. "We'll make them all pay, Victor. Every last one."

He met her gaze, seeing the unwavering loyalty there. "Yes," he agreed. "We will."

They walked out into the gathering darkness, leaving behind the safety of their Italian sanctuary. Ahead lay America, Xavier, and Selena—all the pieces of Victor's past that had betrayed him. But this time, he wouldn't be walking in as Victor Reis.

He would be returning as The Ghost—and ghosts, as Xavier would soon learn, could not be killed twice.