Fatale Homme Novels & Stories

"Don't come anywhere close to me" Ava took a step backward sobbing, she thought he was going to turn his back and leave, but her hope shattered when he took another step towards her. Ava had seen his profile and she had decided not to have anything to do with him. Don Drexel Mason popularly known as the snitch killer or the grim reaper, is the most dreaded Mafia Assassin in the underworld, not just in that country he was known all over the underworld in the whole continents.

Slap! The scrawny man slapped the face of Zoro’s man as he walked past, and that sent the man flying backward. Zoro’s man crashed onto the wall with blood gushing from his mouth. When he fell on the floor, he had lost signs of life. One slap and the scrawny man killed a person! He killed Zoro’s man with one move! The other two of Zoro’s men were horrified as they unlocked the second iron door and it was too late for them to run.

His shirt is slightly dishevelled, with the first two buttons undone and untucked from his pants. His chest hairs are visible through the opened shirt, and his biceps are noticeably large, straining against the sleeves. I feel my chest rise and fall with each shallow breath I take, and instinctively cover my mouth with my hand to muffle my heavy breathing. “Where the fuck is the little prick?” The man with the shotgun in his possession growls in a low and homicidal tone. “I know he is behind tonight's fatalities. No one would have the balls to send out a message the way he did. I bet he stood there and watched his night light up like the fourth of fucking July.” The man continues to growl in

he said, his eyes resting on the glass in his hand. A man came in just as the door creaked open. He seemed to be in his mid twenties, just like Damien. You could pass them off as age mates. While Damien had jet black hair, his hair was blonde, and his skin was paler than Damien's. He was dressed in a white long sleeves T-shirt and black pants... Something Damien wouldn't wear. Damien was an all black person. "Sir" Lucas called out, bowing his head "Speak" Damien replied, twirling the glass in his hand indifferently as he stared at it

The man is really made of stone. “Lorenzo didn’t make it. Renzo and Dario took his body.” He listens to whatever the other person says, then replies, “It was the Slovak mafia… yeah, get everyone ready for war…I’m five minutes away.” He ends the call, and all I can do is blink at him. Why would the mafia want to kill Mr. Vitale? Did he do something to piss them off? When he drives through a pair of large black gates, my eyes widen at the sight of all the men.

His father was really dead? Originally, Catie didn’t believe his words at all, but now he was confused. He saw Smith being killed by a member of the security bureau with his own eyes. Bring him away with a black muzzle. Catie was completely panicked. "Director Hanmu, is my father really dead?" Director Hanmu nodded. “It’s bad to be so straightforward but that is the truth.” Thump! Catie collapsed to the ground. His father was a super giant who single-handedly created the Nightfall organization, one of the six major European clubs.

His face remaind nonchalant as he only stared at her. "Bring him in ''. He ordered and immediately, two men walked in supporting a man. They reached in front of Cesare and threw him on the floor. Greta sharply gazed. It was the man she had paid to kill Leniela. His face was barely recognisable with fresh blood all over his face and torn clothes. He looked half dead. She knew each member of the Ferrari's were heavily guarded in the shadows but she didn't expect same for a concocted wife.

He slapped me again, harder this time, but I was too emotional to feel the physical pain. “If you didn’t replace the evidence, why are you working for a woman who set that demon free?! Do you know how dangerous Emilio Vitale is? He has killed hundreds of thousands of men, and he started when he was barely a teenager. Do you realize he will take revenge on all of us for putting him in jail?” My father yelled.

“They're all dead.” “Are you a cop?” My breath rasped in my throat. “Who are you?” “Marco Vitale.” He said coolly. His eyes remained on me like he wanted to catch my genuine reaction. “Like…you mean…the Black Requiem? The infamous Italian mob boss—Marco Vitale?” He grunted a deep approving sound from his throat. “You're well informed.”

“I just want you to know that I don’t want you to regret something. It’s okay if you can’t find you’re the one. It’s fine if you’re not interested in it. But if you feel something strange inside. That something is growing deep within—” “Mocha frappe, please,” said a man who had a baritone voice. My eyes widened and I let go of Mrs. Dory's hand and look like an idiot as I face him. Mrs. Dory chuckled and tapped my shoulder before shifting in the man’s direction. “My apology, Sire,” she replied. Instead of making his coffee, I asked him a question. “Are you done with the reflection paper?” The corner of his lips twitched, implying a smirk. A devilish one. “Full many a glorious morning have I s