Don't Be A Square Pulp Fiction Novels & Stories

The lie tastes like poison, but I still keep going. "I was never scared of anyone. Your enemies, your families. I didn't even care if they killed you. I got bored of your stupidity. Always playing around like a foolish lover boy, it made me sick. I thought you were sensible enough to take the clue after I left. I needed something new...someone fresh and ready to spend on me like a queen since you were already running down." I force a cold fake smile. "You're not even that interesting in bed, by the way. And I was done faking every single one of my lines."

I finish my story with a sad smile towards him. John stares at me than back at Anthony, he holds his hand up to his mouth tears beginning to fall. He also falls to the floor dropping the gun just in floods of tears, Anthony cocks the gun back, I knew what he wanted to do. I walk over taking his arm pulling closer to me.

Valentino embraced me from behind, his chin resting in the crook of my neck. "What are you looking at?" "The news." I handed the tablet to him. On the screen was a small, unremarkable headline. [Former Mafia Don Lorenzo Bartoli Arrested on Multiple Counts of Murder and Money Laundering. Informant Revealed to Be His Mistress Sofia Finzi. Sources Report Sofia Gave Birth to a Stillborn Child in Prison and Has Since Been Committed to a Psychiatric Hospital.] Valentino gave it one look before throwing the tablet into the ocean.

He was beside me, holding the pull-tab from the Coke can, sliding it onto my finger. Looking at that girl in the photo, laughing like nothing was wrong, I felt a brief, dull sadness. Not for him. For that time. If I'd had a choice, I'd have kept him a broke kid forever. I'd have worn that pull-tab ring. But the world doesn't deal in what ifs. I closed the album. No hesitation. Dropped it in the trash by the door. The rain stopped. I opened the window. Clean air, after the rain, filled the room.

It took me two hours to brew over four hundred cups of coffee. But the moment Sofia sipped hers, she smashed the cup against my forehead. The hard ceramic shattered and sliced my skin, and I curled up on the floor in pain. But she wasn't done. She scooped up more coffee and poured it over me, and the shards of broken ceramic cut further into my skin. When Cesare arrived, Sofia tearfully explained, "I'm on my period, and she put ice in my coffee. My stomach hurts so much." Cesare didn't ask for details. Instead, he scolded me for failing after four years of service, even suggesting I might have been deliberately targeting Sofia.

"I went to the Underboss and Captain's Wife book club. I am sorry for causing trouble, but she had it coming. She rambled on, and I smirked and pressed a kiss on her lips. "I know and am super proud of you". She smiled and asked, " What did you do today". I yawned and whispered "Mafia shit". "Mace, do you have your phone on you? Something is poking me". I smirked. "I'm wearing my briefs; where would the phone be?" "But something is poking me". She asked, still confused. God, how innocent is she? I guided her hand to what was poking her and whispered in her ear "That is Mace junior; your soft Ass is pressed against it; what did you think would happen".

I dropped my plate and ran to him. He had scars and cuts on his face, lips and his clothes were covered in blood!? I felt like gagging at the smell of iron that filled my nostrils when I came closer. "OMG Aldonis what happened?" "It's nothing Vera. We just came back from a fight with a rival mafia that thought they could take the reigns from us but they were wrong. They were more prepared for our arrival but we still truimfed We got off with bruises but they didn't survive"

Cleo’s POV The Paris morning was calm, a soft light spilling into the room, bathing everything in a warm glow that felt almost surreal after the stormy night. I stood at the window, trying to gather my thoughts, but they kept drifting back to Russo and the unexpected vulnerability I had seen in him. Last night, I’d seen a side of him that he kept hidden from the world, a side that reminded me he wasn’t just the ruthless mafia boss who had trapped me in this twisted marriage. He was also a man haunted by his past, much like me.

“Then maybe that’s your answer.” Later that night, Ryan stood by his window. The streetlights blurred in the distance. His inbox pinged again a reply from L. Tansey, offering a call. He didn’t answer yet. Instead, he opened a blank page. And he typed: “A Story That Doesn’t Belong To You” by Ryan Calloway He stared at the title for a long moment. Then under it, he wrote: “This isn’t a story about revenge. It’s about reclaiming.” Two weeks later.

My father's cruelty knew no bounds, and soon, the blood from the whip splattered, dripping incessantly. My strength drained away, and I collapsed to the floor, my legs throbbing with pain from the bullet wound. But then, suddenly, the physical pain seemed to fade, as if time itself rewound to a simpler moment, one from long ago. The breeze was soft and carefree as the warm sunlight filtered through the trees. A young man, his face bright and clear, stood in the shade. A shy girl, holding a love letter with a heart drawn on it, approached him. "Zach, I like you. Will you be my boyfriend?"