Best Books About Gangsters Novels & Stories

Alex asked as he climbed into the back. Diego shut the doors behind them. “A safe house on the south end. Belongs to Arturo Mancini.” Alex raised an eyebrow. “The gunrunner?” Diego nodded. “He owes me a favor.” Arturo Mancini was a middle-aged Italian ex-smuggler with more scars than smiles. Built like a tank and always smelling faintly of cigars, Arturo had operated in the shadows for years, supplying weapons and laundering cash for both the Moranos and their enemies—whichever paid more. His loyalty was questionable, but his discretion was unmatched.

The women on stage move to the music as if they’re stuck in quicksand, sinking deeper. The walls and furniture are all in shades of red, while the stage shines bright white. The poles look grimy and in need of a scrub. As we stroll through the club, the women wear vacant, dazed expressions. Places like this make my skin crawl. I can’t let my disgust show, though. It’s just business. Money. Power. That’s all that counts. A security guard leads us to the back. In a room near the office, a group of guards is pressuring a drunk guy to hit up his bank machine and empty it out. They’ve got his wallet and a bunch of photos as leverage.

My suspicion grew further when Kalixo hinted about this mark. Is it difficult to confront the people behind this because they are skilled at hiding? One of the investigators even said that no one really knows who is truly behind it. All they know is that it involves the Mafia, syndicates, or gangsters who engage in illegal transactions. They had been searching for it for a long time, until they halted their investigation because more pressing crimes took precedence. I couldn't believe they could just do that. I refuse to believe it could be that easily put to rest.

Being gangsters, these people should have expected to be killed, but at whose hands. And these gangsters are not good birds. Real gangsters aren't as elegant as Marlon Brando's Godfather movies. The real American mob is a bunch of murderous, cannibalistic, bone-spitting bastards. Finally, the old black did not escape Li Jie's chase, Li Jie caught up with him from his position in the heart of the direct blast out of a punch. A blow with internal force to the common man is completely irresistible. Old black

I couldn't take the suffocation I felt. My father didn't stop me. He simply sighed as I made my way past him and into the family room. I wanted to laugh at the irony. I sat on the couch and stared at the piano. I wanted to play but I knew the moment I touched that piano I would break down. I had no room for emotion in my life right now. I was going to be the biggest Mafia Don this world had ever seen. Mafia Dons have no room for emotions or family. My father taught me that early on. “Good Evening Master, Neko is making Dinner. Would you like me to play you a song?” Ayla questioned as she spotted me staring at the Grand Piano.