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Author: Toria Nne
last update Huling Na-update: 2025-09-25 00:11:17

Gregory woke with a dry mouth and a sour taste in his throat. His head felt like it was filled with glass and regret. He pushed himself upright on the thin mattress and cursed under his breath. The safehouse had two rooms, one table, three mismatched chairs, and a window that looked out onto a narrow alley. It was ugly, and it smelled like old smoke and damp clothes. It was exactly the kind of place a man on the run should hate but accept.

He swung his legs over the edge and felt the ache in his body. For a week his body had been a map of other men’s hands. Don Adriano had taken his pride and left a bruise that wouldn’t shake. The pain in his backside was a constant reminder. He rubbed it, hissed, then pulled a shirt on. He did not have time for pity. Not now.

Marco stood at the kitchen doorway with a cup of coffee in his hands. Marco’s face was a map of lines—each line a job, a fight, a debt. Marco had been with Gregory for the long jobs, the bad nights, the cleanups that left other
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  • Everyday For The Thief: A Chaotic and Poetic Mafia Romance    177

    Gregory opened his mouth; a hundred words lined like knives. He thought of a thousand clever lines. He thought of bargains and of a thousand small ways to buy a second. He thought of Adriano’s nod.All that came out was a hiss. “I did what I had to.”They laughed like a pack letting out steam. A man stepped forward and struck Gregory hard enough to send stars crashing. He fell to his knees, rope burning his wrists. He tasted iron on his tongue and the world rolled slow.The men lifted him up and shoved him into the back of the truck. It smelled like old hay and the sea. In the dim, he saw Marco’s face appear in the open door, eyes wet and raw. Marco’s lips moved. Gregory could not hear him. Marco reached for him and then the door closed. Gregory slammed against the wood and heard the truck start with a cough.Dust and salt rose. The truck drove away and in the back, Gregory lay on his side and watched the city leave him. He thought of the pictures of Claudine, her smile caught like a

  • Everyday For The Thief: A Chaotic and Poetic Mafia Romance    176

    At a market near the river he met with a small-time fixer who owed him a favor. For thousands of euros—money he did not have but promised—this man agreed to reroute a shipping manifest. “Make it look like the Maranos did it,” Gregory told him. “Falsify a bill of lading, put the signatures in the wrong place, and I’ll pay you back when this is over.” The man took the money, looked at Gregory with the cold eye of a man who measured every risk, and walked away.On his way back to the car Gregory felt eyes on him. He slowed. A motorcycle idled ahead, two men on it. One had a hood up, the other watched him like a hawk. His pulse spiked. He kept walking. He couldn’t run. Running was for the guilty who had nothing left to lose, and Gregory had too much to lose. He made it to the car and drove. He felt watched.They got to the new safehouse—a flat above a bakery with thin walls and a man who took cash and looked the other way. They moved inside and locked the door. Gregory banged the palm of

  • Everyday For The Thief: A Chaotic and Poetic Mafia Romance    175

    Night fell and they moved. Marco stayed two steps behind him as if to catch him if he stumbled. They took the back alleyways, the road that avoided cameras. They parked near the old pier where the courier would meet them. The sky was black and the water smelled of the sea and diesel, a smell Gregory had learned to hate. He had learned worse smells than diesel in the last month.At the pier, a man in a grey jacket waited with a camera. He greeted Gregory like a man who had sold his soul and bought two more favors. He handed Gregory an envelope: photos, crisp and clinical. Photos of a woman—close-ups of her face, the mark of her jaw, the freckle by her ear. The photographs were clear as if taken by a spy. Claudine’s face in those pictures made his hands shake.“She’s beautiful,” the courier said. “Don Adriano would be so pleased if we get her.”Gregory forced a smile. “You do well.” He slid a wad of euros across. The money changed hands with hands that did not care for faces.“You’ll ge

  • Everyday For The Thief: A Chaotic and Poetic Mafia Romance    174

    Gregory woke with a dry mouth and a sour taste in his throat. His head felt like it was filled with glass and regret. He pushed himself upright on the thin mattress and cursed under his breath. The safehouse had two rooms, one table, three mismatched chairs, and a window that looked out onto a narrow alley. It was ugly, and it smelled like old smoke and damp clothes. It was exactly the kind of place a man on the run should hate but accept.He swung his legs over the edge and felt the ache in his body. For a week his body had been a map of other men’s hands. Don Adriano had taken his pride and left a bruise that wouldn’t shake. The pain in his backside was a constant reminder. He rubbed it, hissed, then pulled a shirt on. He did not have time for pity. Not now.Marco stood at the kitchen doorway with a cup of coffee in his hands. Marco’s face was a map of lines—each line a job, a fight, a debt. Marco had been with Gregory for the long jobs, the bad nights, the cleanups that left other

  • Everyday For The Thief: A Chaotic and Poetic Mafia Romance    Sounds like a death sentence

    The estate should have been quiet at that hour, its marble halls washed in silver moonlight, the scent of garden roses faint in the air.But Claudine woke with a sharp twist in her stomach, a searing cramp that made her hand fly instinctively to her belly. The silk sheets under her fingers were damp and sticky, and when she pulled them back, her heart froze. Blood.For a second, she could not breathe.Across the room, Hades was already awake, pacing shirtless, voice low and venomous into the phone. He had hardly slept these last weeks, the weight of endless calls dragging at his shoulders.Claudine had noticed the shadows in his eyes, the tension that coiled tighter each time the word Gregory surfaced in his conversations. Even in his silence, she could feel it: the storm of paranoia, his empire balancing on an edge.“Hades…” Her whisper broke him from his call.He turned, still clutching the phone, and the sight of her trembling hands stained red snapped every last thread of restrain

  • Everyday For The Thief: A Chaotic and Poetic Mafia Romance    Ghost's don't get caught

    Gregory Vancouver leaned against the edge of the villa’s marble hallway, one hand gripping the wall for balance. His body ached in places he hated to admit, and the expensive cologne sprayed around the corridors only reminded him of who he’d been reduced to—someone’s toy, someone’s shame.Every step felt like mockery. Even the polished tiles seemed to laugh at him as his shoes dragged across them.His loyal guard, Marco, followed quietly a few steps behind, eyes sharp, as though expecting Adriano’s men to pounce at any second.Gregory almost smirked—Marco still thought he mattered. Marco still thought his loyalty meant something in this city. But Gregory knew the truth: this was Adriano’s Italy. Not his. Never his.Gregory muttered under his breath, voice laced with venom, “If I stay here another night, I’ll end up worshipping the bastard’s boots.”Marco tilted his head. “Sir?”“Nothing,” Gregory snapped, waving him off. He pushed open the villa doors, and the sunlight slapped his fac

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