Concierge Of Crime Novels & Stories

"Earlier at the confession box. Remember, Mariana How did he know her name? Her heartbeats collided with a crash. Why had her name rolled out of his tongue like he knows her? Her gaze darted to her father. What was going on? Why were these men here? Did her father gamble with them? Who was this man? Was he here to hurt her and her family? A lot of questions seeking answers ran through her mind. Fear clawed at her chest. "Who are you?" "I am a man who knows what he wants." He stared down at her She stared up at him. As a corner of his lips lifted, she realised she was amusing him. Her cheeks heated with annoyance. "And what I want right now is you." Her heart skipped a beat as his words echoe

She was afraid the glass may have something inside it. "Ah, you can have some of your drink," the man said. "Cheers to the revelation that would lead to the arrest of those criminals," the man toasted and lifted his glass. Angela raised the paper drink box and clicked it with the man's glass. She opened it and took a sip before putting it back down on the table. "So who are the criminals and who sent them?" Angela asked. "Yes, the criminals. They came from a group of notorious criminals who ran their business in an abandoned warehouse at an outskirt place in this New York city," he said.

The question was more to myself than it was to him. In the reception there was a small table and on it sat a big woman. She looked at me as soon as I walked in, not recognizing me or looking very happy to see me. When I reached the table, she spoke, "How may I help you?” Her voice was rough and unpleasant, "I am detective Melody. I've come here due to a report this rehab made on a former patient” She sat up straighter when I said what I did. "I'm sorry about that, I should have known away” she shook her head and smiled, "You don't look anything like a crackhead”

"Still trying to flip the script? Wesley slumbered alone then. Who else could infiltrate like that? In the whole complex, only you have those feathers. The janitor and residents will attest. And your nail fragment matches the tire scene impeccably." Each word drained color from her face, unrelenting. "Our bond?" he sneered. "We've bumped into each other a few times. We're barely acquaintances. My wife's postpartum stuff is private, not fodder for outsiders. Your intrusive care unnerved me from the outset, but politeness restrained me. Now I see that was a mistake, letting your twisted delusions fester till you targeted my family." His declaration barricaded any angle of argument. Without del

I am wearing a dove-grey suit today, tailored to razor sharpness, and a single diamond pendant that catches the light. The concierge, a young man named Stefano with impeccable hair and a terror of making eye contact, straightens as I approach. He doesn't know about the bodies in the basement of the farmhouse. He doesn't know about the gun in the diaper bag. He only knows that I sign his paycheck and that I own the ground he stands on. "Donna Vitale," Stefano breathes, bowing slightly. "Welcome. Is everything satisfactory?" I run a finger along the edge of the marble counter. It is dust-free.

The VVIP lounge on the balcony felt like a sniper’s nest, partitioned by reinforced glass that overlooked the chaos below. The air was thick with the scent of expensive gin and illegal cigars. The crowd was a lethal cocktail of the city’s elite. I saw pop stars rubbing shoulders with hitmen. In a corner booth, I spotted Lorenzo DeMarco holding court with a couple of high-end ghosts. Further down, I recognized Giovanni Morelli. He was there with his wife, and I knew for a fact that man’s 'import-export' business was written in blood.

Her and Connor outside a coffee shop in Brooklyn. It was grainy, the kind of photo that suggested someone had been waiting for the shot, had been watching for it. The headline positioned it as mysterious, positioned her as questionable, positioned the entire situation as something that required explanation. "Zachary Cole's mysterious new girlfriend with a troubled past. Questions surrounding her connection to Cole Global's renovation contract and her involvement with known financial criminal Connor Dealt." It wasn't devastating. It wasn't even particularly damaging if you read it carefully and understood that tabloid headlines were designed to create drama where none existed. But it was a me

"Then we arrest him anyway. We have enough for probable cause. Conspiracy. Racketeering. Murder. The evidence from Edward's office gives us what we need." We loaded into vehicles. Convoy heading north. To Connecticut. To Greenwich. To Riverside Assisted Living. To James Morrison. The Architect. Finally. After fifty-two years of hiding. Fifty-two years of control. Fifty-two years of crime. His time was up. We arrived at 9:55 AM. Facility was beautiful. Expensive. Manicured grounds. Private rooms. Top-tier care. Crime paid well. Rodriguez approached the director. Showed warrants. Explained situation.

I heard myself say, still sounding hesitant as I was unwilling to accept that this was how it would end. I needed to find who did this, so it won't happen again. I can't just accept this news. “But…it is not enough,” Conor's eyes widened in a fraction as he met my hard stare. “Keep digging,” “Mr Wellington I have been digging!” My eyes narrowed, “Obviously it hasn't been deep enough,” I replied coldly, “There is no perfect crime, Conor,” I pointed out, holding the man's gaze with a dangerous look. “You will get me the answers I need, understood?”

But…. “There is an issue I would like to discuss,” he said, his face turning serious. “We have noticed suspicious activity in the east… just a few days ago, Connor turned up dead,” he said. Connor is a dealer in everything illegal that they can get. “Do we have any leads?” I asked. He shook his head, “Nothing other than the fact that Kane and Noah had paid a visit to the east… might be a coincidence or…” “Plain execution,” I muttered.