The Jalisco Cartel celebrations were a world of dangerous excess. The sprawling hacienda outside Guadalajara was alive with music, laughter, and the low hum of power. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light over marble floors, long tables groaned under plates of mole, tacos, and aged tequila, and armed men in tailored suits watched from the shadows. Beautiful women in designer dresses moved through the crowd, the air thick with the scent of expensive cologne, grilled meats, and raw danger.Rafael Santos, 42, stood near the fountain in a tailored black suit, watching the guests. The Brazilian businessman with deep ties to the cartel had come to celebrate a major victory. Now his hunger had shifted to something far more primal.He had spotted her earlier near the private bar.Luna Vargas, 28, a Guadalajara artist with warm golden-brown skin, long dark curls, and striking hazel eyes. Her body was a masterpiece — full, firm breasts, a narrow waist, and long, sculpted legs. She wore a fitted
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