Crooked Crows Novels & Stories

It was a Russian crime organization based in Brighton Beach. The name meant nothing to Elena at first. But Marco’s face darkened the moment he heard it. After the meeting, he explained what he knew. The Kozlov Bratva had been a small presence in the city for years. Recently, they had grown much stronger. They dealt in human trafficking and weapons. They were known for extreme violence. Even by criminal standards, they were dangerous. If they were moving into family territory now, it meant they believed they could challenge the commission.

Every page exactly where it should be. Every line written like it had been carefully planned. Too carefully. I flipped to the next page. Then the next. Faster. My eyes scanned everything, dates, medications, notes, signatures. Everything looked right. But something felt wrong. I slowed down. Went back. Read again. There. A small shift. A dosage change. No explanation. I frowned slightly. Turned the page. Another one. Different medication. Same issue. No reason given. My fingers tightened slightly around the paper. I flipped again.

The king grabbed the handle and saw that it was a dagger exquisitely made. The tip of the handle was a mixture of silver and gold seemingly woven over each other. Between the handle and the blade was a dark grey gemstone shaped like a shield and its crossguard and quillon were shaped like that of a wave. Securing the dark grey gemstone, two silver and gold snakes crossed over each other with their tails ending at the edge of the crossguard.

Lucky to be alive, but then a cripple. He dragged himself back, looking to hide out with the small-time crooks he used to look down on. However, his 'shining achievements' were the talk of the town, and nobody wanted to shelter this total washout and walking disaster. He could not even find a spot in the lowest rungs of the criminal ladder.

Tonight would demand that every decision be deliberate, measured, and decisive. As twilight settled, Ravenwood itself seemed to hold its breath. The howls of wolves rose, not in harmony but in tension, echoing the fractured landscape of loyalties. The council’s eyes were everywhere, yet their perception had limits. That knowledge was a weapon if wielded carefully. Every step, every pause, every breath could tilt the balance. I moved deliberately, sensing the rhythm of the night, the pulse of the territory, and the subtle currents of allegiance.

The ground began to shake, the sky was covered with dark crimson shades, spreading rapidly. The top cracked, displaying abysmal darkness. It was a large crack in the sky showing the sky will crack to take the sinners to their worst nightmares. Thick, maroon coloured blood began to drip from it, it was rotten by one’s own sins, dripping continuously. Frightening everyone by the thick consistency of it.

Crow is a highly trained scout that could fully hide his presence even with the enhanced senses of the werewolves. And his senses are also sharpened in finding out the distinct differences of any werewolves that he would come across which allows him to succeed in all of his past missions from the Royal Arc clan. Crow has been scouting around the outer territory of Rebelliad for the past month, but he did not manage to gleam any information about the treasures that exists in the city since it was built. After scouring the small forces of rogues in the outer territory, Crown entered the inner territory yesterday with the identity of a small travelling merchant from the Fressia Kingdom.

“Tell me.” Her smile grew. “They call us crows. Because of the way we look, dark crow’s eyes, and dark hair, like their feathers. And because we’re also very, very good at knowing when there’s going to be blood. You can see flocks of them sometimes flying over to-be-battlefields because they recognize the signs. Swarms of them, all ready to scavenge.” “And you think you’re a crow now? Is that it?” She pushed the heel of her wrist against his chest, palm scraping against the edge of his shoulder collar. “Don’t tease,” she mock-warned. “Trust my instincts.”

“No, Dante. You unleashed one.” --- The Enemy’s Mark Two days later, the answer arrived. Not in the form of intel, but in the form of another corpse. One of Dante’s capos was found strung up beneath a bridge, throat slit, chest carved with a symbol—a black crow etched in crude lines. The sight of it sent ripples of dread through the ranks. Old stories whispered in hushed tones—about the Corvi Neri, the Black Crows. A shadow syndicate thought extinct decades ago, more myth than memory.

"I won't be dealing with the likes of you. Anyone who can help pull this club out of the pile of dog shit it's been rolling in has a chance. I don't give a fuck what color their skin is. You would have killed that baby's aunt and allowed Kiley to go to a cho-mo. The only nigger I'm looking at is you and that includes anyone who wants to side with you." I look around again. "If you do, get the fuck out now." All attention is back on me. "If you plan to stay, you need to know a few facts about exactly who we are. It's time we begin living up to our name." I take my cut off and turn it around so everyone sees the emblem. "We're Crows-a tight-knit family. Loyal. We protect our territory. Like a