Bartolomeo Ship Novels & Stories

His eyes narrowed. “Carlos,” he muttered, before stepping away to answer. The call was brief. His silence when he returned said enough. “The La Mano Roja’s attacked our shipment at the seaport,” he said grimly. “Dozens of our men are dead.” The air thickened instantly. Mikhail’s jaw locked. “We’ll return to Italy in five days,” he said through clenched teeth. “Dimitri and the others can handle cleanup. But this means one thing—the La Mano Rojas are back. And this time, they’re not hiding.”

“Talk.” He hesitated. “One of our captains — the Sorrenti crew out of Naples — flipped.” “To who?” Luca asked. Mateo’s jaw clenched. “We're not sure. But two of our intel are dead, and someone leaked the coordinates of our cargo ship in the Adriatic. It was hit an hour ago. Sunk.” Amara’s face didn’t change. “How many casualties?” “Ten. Including the captain.” Her silence was louder than a scream.

Arturo thought he had arranged everything perfectly and that he could quietly send Avelina away without anyone noticing. But he forgot that the Brunetti Famiglia had eyes and ears all over Marinella. His every move—the ship's route and departure time—had already been discovered. They were just waiting for the right moment to take them all down in one fell swoop. Less than two hours after the ship—with Avelina on it—left the port, several speedboats suddenly surrounded them from all sides.

Augustus so wanted to kick him but refrained himself by looking in other direction. The spy coughed out loudly as his throat tried to grasp fresh air. Aurelius went near him and patted on his back and asked in stiff tone , " What made you say so? " Spy was still trying to breathe but mustered up to speak, " We recieved a news that around fifteen days back, a ship was standing on the port which had no flag on it. Since it was the time when Sicily, Sardinia and Corsica were fighting for sea dominance, nobody paid much heed to it . Our spies went deeper into the matter by capturing captain of the ship. He told us that they came from Sicily and after few tortures, he opened up to us that they we

Alejandro finally cursed under his breath and reached for his phone. “Whoever this is better be dying,” he muttered. He answered. “Boss we have a problem.” It was Mateo, the head of Favino shipping operations. Alejandro sat up immediately. “What kind of problem?” “A big one,” Mateo said. “Three of our ships in Valencia have been delayed. One didn’t leave port. One reported a mechanical failure that wasn’t on any record. And the third…” He exhaled. “The third sprung a leak.” Alejandro froze. “A leak? How?”

During the crossing over the scarlet waters of the Atlantic, Alvaro lived the five best days of his life; drinking unlimited quantities of the most exquisite liquor, smoking one after another, the best tobacco; and trying out the women he wanted. He alternated all this with card games, darts and billiards. Boarding the ship from the United Kingdom to Le Havre, France, was the most fun part for Alvaro; he had not wanted the ferry to ever arrive. The owners of these cargo ships used to accumulate exaggerated debts with the Tonali brothers, so the shipments of their merchandise were a form of retribution.

The stormbellow turns off and Garth with Lard emerge from the living space of the ship with ropes in hand. Garth tosses one of the ropes to Gardax and they both tie a knot along the centerfold of the bridge and then lift and jumping off the ship and onto the wooden docks securing the ship. Garth grabs one of the planks that is set up on the docking station and connects it with the Translucent Sun. Lard is the first one that makes his way off the ship followed by Romera then finally Salavanta. The redhead captain folds her arms across her chest and on that long sleeve white shirt in the front with the long black leather trench coat. “Well, you all know the drill!” they all nod and begin to tr

“It is my honor to speak in the presence of the Holy Emperor. The situation on the Western Front is— in my opinion— the bleakest it has been since the beginning of the war. I am reluctant to speak the truth, as I am afraid that His Majesty may find himself in a state of extreme shock if I inform him of the terrible news from the Western Front.” Emperor Khartoum whispered into General Iskender’s ear once again, and the general spoke on behalf of the emperor. “Speak as you will, General Bartholomew.” “I will speak, then, upon Your Majesty’s request. I have been informed that a relatively small force of Medietan soldiers acting against orders embarked on a troopship and sailed across the Strait

"The‍y co‍n​trol the Mediter​ranean‌ access, C⁠eleste. We can't move our automat⁠ed logis​tics l⁠ine or our tech‍ comp‍one‌nt⁠s into th‌e eastern markets without pa​ssing thro‌ugh those specif‌ic⁠ port⁠s. Ther‌e is no altern‌ative route availabl‌e on th⁠e open marke​t.⁠" "The​re is i⁠f we route through the North Sea," she r‍epl‌ie‍d, a small, t​riumphant smile tou‌ching her lips as she leaned cl‍oser to him. "Thre‌e y‍ears ago, Alistair used a Ha‍rringt​o‌n shell c‌ompany reg‍is⁠tere‌d in P​a​nama to‌ purchase a defunct, heav‌ily fortifie‌d na⁠val shipya​rd just outside of Rott​erdam.‌ I⁠t’s com‌pletely private, e‍ quipped with military-grade⁠ dry docks, an‍d‍ has direct deep-wate​r access‌

I cut him a look. "I meant your attention." "I know what you meant." He grinned. "Just making sure." Before I could snap something back, Matteo knocked once and let himself in. "The Scarlatti shipment arrived early," he said, tossing a folder on my desk. "Two crates light." I skimmed it. "Same dock?" "Same manifest. Different crew." "Anyone we know?" Matteo leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "A name came up. Silvano."