Gabe Morales Novels & Stories

It was almost comical, but then again, I wouldn’t expect anything normal from that guy. “You deranged motherfucker . . .” I murmur, crumpling the note in my hand. I should have expected this. He’s a Morozov—the head of Morozov. That unforgiving Russian Billionaire who got his eyes as a curse. They say it’s the color of every blood he drained off of his victim’s bodies—the only bad thing that revealed a murderer was behind that beautiful, godly face. I shouldn’t have become too reliant just because of a provocative lap dance, or how he carried me back home.

Isn't it Mia? {R} I don't care if she's not a lamb, but Bambi here is mine. "Pl...Please don't hurt me. I'm about to free you...Oh my god, then you're going to attack me because that's what a predator does. You stupid girl, It's a bad idea." {R} No it's not! Just be brave, you can trust this wolf. "Oh screw it, at least I get to free you and then go to heaven right? It's not such a bad way to go?"

His need for vengeance had devoured every part of his humanity. "Why?" she thought bitterly. "Why do I have to suffer for a crime I didn’t commit? Why am I condemned to this hell?" Don Gray’s voice, weak and rasping, broke through the silence. "Hector Morales..." He coughed, blood flecking his lips. "I should have killed you when I had the chance." Hector chuckled, a dark, mirthless sound. "But you didn’t. And now, look at you." Don Gray’s strength gave out, and his body sagged. His breathing turned shallow, his eyelids fluttering until finally, he fell into unconsciousness.

Just quiet, precise movements — men who didn’t need to prove they were dangerous. At the center stood an older man. Pale face, gray hair slicked back, coat buttoned up to his neck. He didn’t smile when we approached. “Welcome,” he said in accented English. “You came.” “I’m not one for ignoring invitations,” Vittorio said dryly. The man nodded once. “I am Mori.” I felt the air shift around us. That name. I remembered it from Estella’s confession — the man who’d handled her, who’d made her pretend to be Fiorella.

Thirty minutes for them to explain what the hell is going on. "Come on, let's go sit over there." She leads me towards the living room. Reece, Aaron and Reece's dad follow behind us. We all sit and they give me weird looks not saying anything for a while until Reece decides to break the silence. "Do you believe in werewolves Morgana?" He asks gazing intensely at me. "What, like from the movies?" I ask with a tilt of my head. "Well, not exactly but yeah from the movies." He says.

"But you can achieve a one year plan in one day." His smirk darkened. "And who the fuck are you to educate me about the mafia world?" I tilted my head, lips curving. "Then answer me this....what’s stopping you from holding a war with Mordecai?" The grin fell. For the first time, seriousness cut through his mask. "Mordecai isn’t just a normal mafia. His skill… is triple mine." "Okay?" I mocked, leaning back with a smirk, letting my tone drip arrogance. His gaze hardened. "Your little mindset won’t understand me."

Just me, Damian, the three thugs, and a growing cloud of fury that hung thick in the air. The silence was shattered by the sound of the front door creaking open again. I turned my head slightly, my gun never moving from the hostage's temple. A man walked in, followed by two more bodyguards. He wore a tailored black suit, black gloves, and dark sunglasses. But even without seeing his eyes, I knew who he was. Santiago Morales. The notorious Don of the Morales crime family. I had heard stories about him. Stories of what he did to men who crossed him.

Literally, his teeth looked like he could devour anyone in next to no time. "Oh, I'm so scared" Morale said with a smile of his own, almost chuckling in the process. "You think a set of contact lenses are gonna fool me. I'm a PhD holder in medicine boy. With a second degree in psychology. I've dedicated almost twenty years of my life to the art of experimenting and perfecting the drugs that give me powers that only gods could possess. This, my friend…” he used his tongue to caress his teeth, “…is just one of them. And you think it's going to change because you flickered a red iris at–"

“I’m already old and have nothing. I don’t want to live. But she’s young. Her death will hurt you people more—especially my old friend who never stops praising her.” He pressed the knife harder. I felt the sharp sting against my neck. He took another step back, and I glanced down. My heart sank. No… he’s planning to jump. Alejandro moved closer. “Stop!” Morales shouted. “I’ll jump with her if you do anything stupid.” “Morales, there’s something you don’t know,” Alejandro said, subtly moving his hand toward the side of his neck—trying to communicate with me. “And what?” Morales scoffed.

"I'm not sure because I didn't pay much attention to the news either. But wasn't the cause of Garrett's late father's death actually an accident?" The year 2017 was indeed a year when Elice was not yet involved in the business world and all its hustle and bustle. But for some explosive news, she certainly would not overlook it. Take, for example, the news of PT. Lameela's bankruptcy. To confirm her suspicion, Elice opened the G****e search engine on her computer. Using the keyword "cause of death of Allan Alexander Morales," she searched for the news she needed. One by one, Elice opened each article that appeared. And Elice's suspicion was right. The cause of Allan Alexander Morales' death w