Novel & Cerita Bolo Tie Pulp Fiction

"I'll make sure our weaponry is reinforced." "I should thank you for taking personal responsibility for our safety." "We can't do anything if we're dead, can we?" He smirked, a strange expression coming from him; Mateo, the youngest, usually handled the jokes. I brushed aside the comment and pulled out my leather chair, settling into it with purpose. I snapped my fingers, drawing Theo's attention. "Did Mateo personally inspect our shipment from Bolivia?" "Yes." He tugged at the sleeve of his blazer and glanced at his expensive watch, a habit of his I found a bit ostentatious, though I couldn't deny my own penchant for luxury.

He asked, still straddling me, but I didn't reply. “Have you?” he asked again, more forcefully, and I shook my head no. “Why do you think that is? You’ve been living with them for months now. Why have they never invited you when they go there? I’ll tell you why: they’re not who you think. Murray is a murderer. Your boyfriend, Camilo, is a murderer. You think I am evil? I am nothing compared to him. He’s a trained killer. He and his grandfather have taken countless lives over the years. Their hands drip with innocent blood.” He spat, looking me in the eye, and more tears gushed out of my eyes at his words.

What the fuck had happened here today? My gaze tore back to the man, who was moving his mouth weirdly. I knew instantly what he was planning and reached for his lips before he could bite into the pill. Before my fingers could pull it out, though, the man dug his teeth into the cyanide poison. He was foaming at the mouth before he drew in a second breath. "Fucking bastard." I shoved his lifeless body back against the floor. "He seriously offed himself?" Ruth's eyes widened. "What the fuck is going on?"

He headed straight to the bar, poured a drink, and slumped onto the couch behind her. Then came the breaking news. A body was found this morning in Grand Lake. It’s been identified as Dimitri Petrov, also known as The Bull—a Russian Mafia figure. Eileen watched José smirk as he downed his drink. Sources say Dimitri’s 19-year-old son was also found dead, stabbed multiple times and his throat slit, at his school campus. Police suspects it as a murder for revenge. “They get it wrong every single time,” José said with a smile as he stood and climbed the stairs.

This was the first time I’d ever taken a gun with trembling hands. “Just shoot. Don’t hesitate,” Alexei said. I drew a breath and aimed the gun at his shoulder. If this really could trigger his memories, then so be it. My finger tightened on the trigger once. On the second pull, there was no turning back. BANG!

Damien When I got downstairs, I noticed that everything was cleared out. It was like the incident had never happened. The blood was gone, the bodies removed, and even the shattered glasses had been swept away. But there was one thing they hadn’t touched—a hole in the wall of the hall. A bullet hole, just beneath a painting. It stood out like a scar, a harsh reminder of everything that had taken place. I wasn’t surprised by the sudden clean up. This was how mafia men worked. Clean up the mess before the blood dried. Hide the chaos behind polished floors and calm voices. Act like nothing ever happened.

Everything had been a lie—a manipulation and a show to lead to that moment, the moment he could get revenge against the mafia that covered up the man who raped him and did the same to his mother, destroying his life. I'd been a pawn in his game of conquest—not more than another piece on that board, someone Marco manipulated according to his will. Fury invaded me, and without thinking anymore, I clenched my fist and raised it quickly, punching his face hard. The surprise and force made him release the chair and stagger back. I didn't care about the pain spreading through my fingers and knuckles—I stood and went after him, kneeing his groin and leaving him grunting in pain before turning towar

I waved it off, dragging her into the lecture hall before she could read into that confession. We slipped into our seats just as Mr. Bello, our aging but surprisingly savage Literature professor, started his usual rant about students being “chronically allergic to punctuality.” I sat there trying to pretend I wasn’t still reeling from her words, or from the soreness in my thighs, or from the mental image of Larry’s stupid smirk when he saw me wobble down the stairs this morning. Of course Sasha kept poking my ribs with her pen and passing notes like we were in middle school.

He cursed himself for getting entangled in this fight. Lewis's lips curled into a mocking grin. "Regretting it now?" Lorenzo's eyes narrowed, his expression hardened. "Don't flatter yourself." But Lewis wasn’t in the mood for banter. He lunged forward, delivering a brutal kick to Lorenzo's leg, causing it to tremble and go numb. With Lorenzo momentarily incapacitated, Lewis seized the opportunity, driving a heavy punch into his face. He then grabbed Lorenzo's arm, hoisting him into the air before slamming him hard onto the unforgiving concrete floor.

Wary of the information, they all stare at him, hoping he would retract them. "Those dumbass are just hiding" the old man persisted. Unconvinced of what the two men were trying to explain. "Roel Bostillo was executed. A gruesome execution. Not just a bullet in his head but a pencil in his neck. A fucking pencil got him!" Vladimir interjected after the group remains unconvinced.