Bratva Tattoo Novels & Stories

The unknown young man shouted to the girl. “Stop this, both of you!” Tohya shouted at the same exact moment that the young man did. Yuri can only stare at the young man before noticing the black butterfly tattoo on the side of his neck, and her gaze went down to his left hand where there was a Hati bracelet wound around his wrist with the Roman numeral of two engraved on the silver crescent moon pendant. ‘A Phantom? Then that means…’

The weight of the moment was palpable, heightened by the realization that the priest standing beside me was none other than Krystallo, the infamous mafia priest known for his merciless acts. My eyes inadvertently drifted towards the cross-shaped tattoo, intertwined with a viper, adorning Krystallo's neck. The intricate design served as a chilling reminder of the countless lives he had taken and the blood that stained his hands. It was a symbol of power and ruthlessness, one that sent shivers down the spines of even the most hardened criminals.

He cut the call without another word. THE BRATVA'S EMPIRE The iron gates of the Bratva’s Empire loomed ahead, black and towering, the Morozov crest carved into steel. Armed guards stood at each side, rifles in their hands, faces blank masks. As Mikhail’s car rolled closer, the beams of its headlights caught the silver edge of their weapons. The gates creaked open with deliberate slowness, metal groaning as though even the compound itself acknowledged the weight of who was arriving.

“Grandmother despises schemers. When she finds out you’re the reason I lost my inheritance, she will make you pay. I promise you that.” “I’m the reason?” I scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from you.” “At least I have true Moretti blood in my veins!” Dante suddenly thrashed, trying to get up. “You’re nothing! You’re just a cheap—” His words were cut short. In his violent struggle, he tore the sleeve of his hospital gown. I saw it then—a black tattoo on his forearm. The design was distinctive: a double-headed eagle with Cyrillic letters beneath it. My heart skipped a beat. That was a Bratva tattoo. The mark of the Russian mob.

Sienna said as she started brushing her hair. “Happy to help” I said biting my bottom lip, catching sight of the tattoo she had “that tattoo must have hurt something proper” It was the Dragonetti Dragon, Alessio had told me once that most members of the family, if not all, had it “it didn’t hurt as much as the knife that carved a Bratva star, but it was close to second” “Bratva star? Not…”

Then he gestured his hand towards our back. "I'm Thunder." Then she leaned on the wall. "I'm Boston." I took a glance at the guy who talked to Rhyme earlier. A tattooed man. He shifted his position, then he pointed his shoulder. He shoved his black shirt to show me his BRIT tattoo, the fifth that I saw in his skin based on my quick count as I scanned his arms. I was stunned after realizing that Rhyme also had that on his wrist. But the guy named Boston had it in his right arm and it was bigger. I nodded to myself.

Anika wouldn't even mention his name, but that wasn't what bothered him, for a second, while she looked helpless and affected at the thought of killing a man, she had actually considered confronting her about Nikolay. The tattoo on her back was a tattoo that he only shared with her brothers, the Bratva took ranks seriously, and tattoos were a way of marking position, some showed them and were covered in them like her father, her sister had acquired hers recently, Nikolay was covered in them, but the first tattoo the Petrov brothers shared, the mark of their initiation, and if Anika knew them…

"But I am unsurprised with your assessment of me." "See? You even talk fancy." I rolled my eyes and she smiled wider. "But these men from last night," I asked, focusing my curiosity on the present. "And the ones still here." She nodded. "What about them?" "Are they really criminals?" I asked. "Yeah. Don't quote me, but the Russians are from one of those Bratvas. The others are from an Italian Mob family." She shrugged. "But hey, it's nothing scary. Mind your business, don't ask too many questions, and just treat the patients."

Sable Brant walked up to me and scooped me into his arms. He carried me to a garden and gently laid me down on the soft grass. “My little bunny…” he whispered in my ear, then sucked the tip of it. I moaned. He knew exactly how sensitive I was there. In what felt like a blink, our clothes were gone, and Brant was positioning himself at my entrance, his cock teasingly brushing against my pussy. His eyes moved to my chest—his name tattooed there caught his gaze, inked across my breast. He looked up at me, then down again, spotting it on my neck, where his name was inked once more… and when he turned me over, there it was on my butt cheek too, bold and clear—his name, staring back at him from my

My God. The candlelight plays across his chest, illuminating a canvas of ink and muscle that makes my mouth go dry. His shoulders are broad enough to block out the rest of the room, tapering down to a waist that speaks of discipline and control. But it's the tattoos that steal my breath— intricate Russian script wrapping around his ribs, disappearing beneath the towel's edge. A hawk spreads its wings across his left pectoral, feathers so detailed I can almost feel them beneath my fingertips. His abs aren't the gym-sculpted perfection Viktor obsesses over. These are working muscles, carved from something harder than vanity. A scar cuts through the ink near his hip— pale against bronze skin— a