Cartel Tattoos Novels & Stories

Jennifer’s heart forgot to beat for a second as the news hit her ear. “Wait… don't tell me you didn't know? Mrs. Carter, you are married to a man who can kill 50 men with just a pocket knife and in 50 different ways. That's what that 50 on your tattoo stands for,”After all the Datura flower on her hand had the number 50 on the side and was also written Cosa Nostra.“I don't understand” She said, oh she did. She just don't understand the fact that it's the same man she married. “Give me your hand,” he said to her and she gently placed her hand in his. He turned around and traced his finger on the Datura flower. “Cosa Nostra… do you know what it means?”She shook her head.

I want this over quickly. “Yes, Mr. Carrero?” He looks casually seductive today, sitting behind his desk amid an open laptop and piles of folders. His pale blue shirt has its top two buttons undone at the neck, His dark hair ruffled out of its normally spiked style, as though he’s been running his hands through it, and his sleeves rolled up, revealing one of the tattoos on his inner left arm. A reminder of his rebel teen years. I know from images I’ve seen online that he has a few across his body. All tribal black tattoos and symbols; the effect is devastating even on me and I try not to react, annoyed that he still does this to me.

My eyes caught the Jaguar tattoo on his back as he turned to pick up his machete. Jaguar tattoo means only one thing, the Bratva has different gangs and they have symbols to differentiate themselves, if it were a Volk then it would be a Black Mamba but if it's a Jaguar that means it's... How? Did he know I was coming? There was another loud creak indicating that someone was coming, I swallowed a hard lump in my throat as I watched like an idiot as three men walked in. Now I see it, they all have those Russian features, including the machete guy.

I irritatingly mutter but he just presses his lips tightly to me. "You're not that talkative before" he mutters "Let me show you my tattoo" he whisper. I stop. So he's serious about getting undress first before I able to see his tattoo? "Eyes down here honey," he sexily utter "Here's my tattoo" I slowly look down and I saw him pointed the upper part of his waist. And there I saw his tattoo, a small crown with a written letter under it- Cosa Il Sovrano. The 'L' in the Cosa Il Sovrano was replaced by a knife. The font style is beautiful and it matches the font size.

She looked at the screen and said, “I could tell you about them. The Cartel De Imperio.” I laughed. “You’re bluffing. You know nothing about them.” “I know everything about them.” She started. “They started in Platinum Pack and they've spread into three different territories, they all have a crab tattoo on the neck, they recruit young werewolves and they sell drugs at The Vincio Club in town. Oh, and they have a loan shark team too.” My jaw dropped. “I’ve been chasing these guys for years and found nothing. How the fuck did you know all of that, little duckling?”

His heart skipped a beat as his gaze landed on a distinct tattoo on one of the approaching men's arms. The tattoo showed the profile of a Holt's helmet, visor closed, exuding silent authority. Adorned with a laurel wreath and backed by crossed swords, it marked victory, readiness for battle, and strength. A roaring lion at the base signified unmatched power. This was no ordinary mark—it was the insignia of a Mafia King, a symbol feared in the criminal underworld. Recognizing its significance, the guard's voice wavered, "Drop your weapons!" His partner looked at him in confusion, "What the hell are you talking about?"

Waiting on the other side of sex is millions of dollars. Why does this sound too good to be true? Skipper’s ocean-blue eyes feel like they’re scoring through my skull. I rip my eyes away from his face before I become completely hypnotized, and focus on something else—a faded compass tattoo on Carter’s arm. Before I have time to ask him what it means, I catch him staring at me. The last time I met Carter Trescott, he didn’t have tattoos. I saw him naked. And he had zero. Now, he has many. They’re scattered all the way up his arm, designs disappearing under his clothes. I look away, afraid that I’m gonna start picturing him naked.

I said, looking down at my thigh. “Diablo doesn’t know that it was you who was harmed.” He said, making me frown. “He heard that a woman in the cafeteria got in conflict with her brother, but he doesn’t know that it is you.” “How do you know that he is my brother?” I asked, and he chuckled, looking away from me. He raised his hand, revealing his tattoo on his arm, and I frowned. The man was a cartel. “A cartel taking the profession of a doctor?”

She walks in followed by a man in his thirties, bald head and a tattoo running down from the side of his face to his neck. I always wanted Tattoos but growing up my father never allowed it, even though we were the head of the Mafia family he was big on us not looking suspicious in any form. “Sir” he walks in intertwining his fingers between each other, his left hand carrying a tattoo that signifies the Silver Mafia cartel, a drawn tattoo of a silver bullet. “You may go, Maria,” I say to the maid, watching him leave closing the door behind her, leaving us in secrecy. “What's the update for the week?” I turn to him trying to tune into work mode but the thoughts of Isabella still taunt me.

“Yep, although it don’t seem like something you’d pick, cuz.” “It ain’t.” Colt grimaced. “This is what you get when you leave the choice in the hands of a smartass tattoo artist. Indy thought it’d be hilarious tattooin’ a horse on me when my name is Colt. That woman is seriously warped from havin’ so many holes pierced in her head.” His gruff attitude belied his oddly affectionate tone. “I’d love to have her design one for me one day when I can afford it. But you can be damn sure I ain’t gonna let her tattoo a car chassis on me.”