Cyberpunk Black Hand Novels & Stories

His black T-shirt did nothing to hide the thick muscles of his arms and shoulders, his broad chest straining against the fabric. He arched a dark brow, his glossy black hair falling forward in gentle curls over his forehead. He was beautiful. As beautiful as he was deadly, and it chilled me to the bone. “Do you want to know what I do to bad girls?” He rose slowly, stepping toward me as I backed away and pressed my weight into the door of the study. Like a caged animal, he had me trapped, and the Hand of Death closed the distance between us with cat-like grace.

"You look beautiful. And you left your hair in its natural colour. I hate it when you dye it blonde. It's long and soft and so lush." "You're starting to sound so creepy. " I said as I put on my shoes. This is a formal event, so I'm pulling out everything. He walked me to the car outside and helped me in. "No sex Soph." "Ok," I said with a smile. He closed the door, and we were off. Karrion Xavier Black. Head of the Guerra di Sangue Mafia. He's notoriously dangerous and a well-known player. I've never met him in person, but hopefully, tonight goes well.

And the man they called the Black Hand—the Don who'd built an empire on blood—broke down and wept. "Maria. Maria..."

The bullet hit the wall behind him. Lorenzo slammed Scarface into the concrete. The sound made Kyrian sick.Scarface didn't move after that. Lorenzo turned around. His eyes were completely black. Glowing gold around the edges. Not human. Pure Enigma. He looked at Kyrian.Everything stopped. Then Lorenzo was moving again. But slower now. Careful. Like Kyrian might break. He dropped to his knees in front of Kyrian. His hands shaking when they touched Kyrian's face.

"Bleeding? I just got here. I haven't even seen a bed." "An Aurelius does not cry, Phineas. An Aurelius bleeds others." Aurelius turned his back, his voice echoing off the glass. "Learn it, or go back to Lucian’s collar. The choice remains." The morning air in the training yard was a razor. It lunged into Phineas’s lungs, cold and unforgiving. "Is this the Little King?" A man with a jagged scar running from his ear to his chin stepped into the light. Behind him stood twelve others, dressed in tactical black, their eyes flat and clinical. The Black Hand unit. These weren't pack guards. They were monsters in human skin.

The city lights stretch out below me like a sea of fake gold, but my eyes are locked on the dark silhouette of the Moonshade Atelier rising in the distance. Tristan Blackmoor thinks he can burn my work, frame my ghost name, and force me back into his pack chains. Seraphina Duskryn thinks she can use my old codes to start a war between the syndicates. They don't know who they're playing with. I pull the throttle back, the engine screaming under me as I slice through the dark. My hand tightens around the grip of the silver dagger tucked into my belt. Suddenly, my burner phone vibrates violently inside my inner pocket.

Sophie's pov **The Descent Into Darkness** The black SUV rumbled through the abandoned meatpacking district, its tires crunching over broken glass and decades-old filth. Damien Blackstone sat motionless in the backseat, his hands resting on his knees, his breathing steady despite the gun pressed to his ribs by the hulking enforcer beside him. Outside the tinted windows, the warehouses loomed like gravestones, their broken windows staring blindly into the night. *"Last chance to turn back, Blackstone,"* sneered the man to his left—Rico, Ferraro's right hand, with knuckles scarred from too many bare-knuckle fights. His breath reeked of garlic and cheap whiskey.

Dominique managed to question him despite the searing pain oozing from every pore of his skin. Dylan tsked, “So many questions. All right this time I wouldn’t disappoint you. But we will go with the second part first, hmm. Now tell me have you heard about ‘The Black’?” Dominique quirked a brow at his absurd question. Nevertheless answered. “Of course, I know. He is the psychopathic Mafia Lord of America, Leader of the Night Stalkers.” He grated out. “Ouch,” Dylan feigned a hurt expression and placed his palm over his heart.

the man assured him. "A life for a life," Ethan growled through clenched teeth. The men around him nodded in silent agreement. "You got everything we needed from him? I want every piece of information that bastard has," Lucas asked, his gaze never leaving the unconscious criminal. "Yes, sir. We have everything. He was stubborn at first, but we got what we wanted in the end," the man replied with a satisfied smirk. "So, no one would come looking for him if he suddenly disappeared? No relatives, no friends... basically a parasite living off society," Darvid remarked casually, studying the battered man with dark amusement.

I just don’t think anyone could ever imagine the consequences would be so nefarious. I’m in the middle of ordering a cocktail from the bar when I feel a soft hand gently brush against the healing wound on my shoulder. “You should be more careful, Miss Blackheart. Such beautiful skin should never be tainted,” says Hexton in a low voice as he leans against the bar. If we were anywhere else I would gladly cut off his hand and wear it as a necklace.