Novels by mwombomitshel

“Yes, sorry ma’am.” They both gasped. I walk over to the still screaming intruder, and stomped on his head, causing him to knock out. I ripped off his mask, to revel quite an ugly bald man. Older, too pale to be an Italian or Mexican. Probably an assassin of some sort, and obviously not a good one to have his face covered in scars. Tattoos covered part of his face and neck. Curious, I ripped off his shirt. He was muscular, and by muscular, I mean huge. At least 6’4 or 6’5. I examine his tattoos until my eyes wander to one on his chest. I clenched my teeth, knowing exactly who sent him. “Inform my parents about this situation. Take this fucker to the basement as well. And make sure he doesn’t die…yet.” I said to the bleeding guards. They nodded and immediately started to drag the unconscious body out of my room. “Oh and get someone to clean up this shit too.” I yelled out, waving my hand at the fresh blood that now decorated my walls I rinsed off the shampoo and blood from my hair,

***Allegra's pov*** I enjoyed the mafia life, but hated the formalities. Every year, the leader of the Mexican Mafia threw a stupid ball as a way to bring together every mafia in the world. Ridiculous, I know. And every year, it’s a “peaceful” environment to talk business and create alliances. It’s like a Met Gala for fucking criminals. “Ouch..” I bit my lip as the second stitch went in. “It’s next week… and…” he started, choosing his words carefully. “I get it. Don’t kill anyone there.” I said creating the third stitch. “Am serious Allegra. We cannot cause any trouble with the Mexicans. If you overstep your boundaries again, I cannot save you. Our partnership with him almost ended because of what happened last year.” He said sternly “He fucking started it.” I mumbled. My quick fingers finished up the sixth stitch on my arm, and I cut the excess away. I cleaned off the residue of blood, and stood up to face my parents. I knew exactly what I was referring to. Last year,

***Aces pov*** I stormed into the house, still fuming from what happened in the warehouse. I make my way downstairs to my fathers office, I burge in and my father is pacing the room, screaming in Italian. You can tell when he’s pissed because he always switches from Italian to English. I make my way to the chair in the corner and sit. “CAZZO!” He's Screaming “I don’t give a fuck what you have to do dipshit, just FIX IT.” He threw his phone against the wall, causing it to shatter in a million pieces. He sat behind his desk, put his elbow on the desk and rubbed both of his temples. “Your brother is going to be the death of me.” He groaned. Romano, my little brother, the smartest idiot I know. He’s brilliant, and learns quickly, but is messy. Always making stupid mistakes. From going out on the job, and leaving behind witnesses that we have to clean up after, constantly loosing our shipments. That, and he can’t keep his dick in his pants for more than two seconds. This years

The guard spoke, attempting to keep his eyes off my exposed chest. I acknowledged him with a swift nod as my Ferrari roared past the gate. I made my way to the second Gate and typed in the ridiculously long code father insists on having. He changes it every week. I presssed my photographic memory as the second gates swing open. I pull in to the front of our mansion, which has more security than the damn White House, and parked in front of the garage. I walk out, and throw my leather jacket over my shoulders. I make my way to the 15 feet double doors and swing both of them open roughly. Like always the house was alive with movement and noise from the gang members that lived here. I walked in ignoring their stares. “Horny motherfuckers” I thought to myself. I made my way to the kitchen, my favorite place. I opened the fridge and grabbed a water bottle and apple from the counter. As I was about to take a bite from my apple, I paused mid bite feeling a presence to my right. I glanced o

***Aces pov*** I backed away into the shadows. Watching Grey’s every move until I was no longer visible. I would have killed her right then and there, but my father always taught me “timing is everything.” And with that what seemed like half of New York’s fucking police outside, timing wasn’t on my side. I sped walked to the side of the building , to the door I entered from. I walked out , and around the side, hiding behind rubble as I watched the cops barge through the warehouse. I climbed the fence and stared to make way to my vehicle. My men were parked a few streets away. As I approached the black Cadillac, my fist clenched in anger. l swung the door open to the SUV, and slid into the back. I slammed it shut, causing the car to shake. My men looked at me with fear in their eyes as the car started to quickly drive away. Their eyes met mine, and started drifting down to my neck in horror. My fingers graze my neck, only to feel blood dripping down. I forgot that the lit

I focused on my scope. My eyes scanned throughout the five-star restaurant 1500 meters away. My breathing steadied as I focused on my target. He aligned perfectly with my sight. He was an unpleasant looking man. Overweight, silver hair, that kind of smile that makes your skin crawl. No surprise he was surrounded by trashy whores half his age. But what else can you expect from a gangster.. Now the question of the day: head shot? Or heart shot? That was always my biggest dilemma during my mission. I sighed and settled for the head. I held my breath to focus the shot, and pulled the trigger. His head physically exploded, sending blood flying all over the whores he was with as his lifeless body plopped to the floor. His security rushed to him, frantically trying to grasp what just happened. “Gotcha.” I chucked as my lips curved into a grin. I grabbed my sniper rifle, my trusty McMillan Tac-50, and started packing it up. I dismantled my weapon in record time, and dusted myself off. I