Gabe Morales Novels & Stories

Rhea's Pov "Mr. Morrieti," I said, my voice steady despite the rush of adrenaline coursing through me. I dipped my head in a respectful greeting, acknowledging the man who had been a ghost in his own life for far too long. Up close, Marcello Morrieti was striking, a man whose features were carved from the same hard, uncompromising stone as his reputation. Even after years of supposed decline, he possessed a magnetic, dangerous handsomeness that made it easy to see why a woman like Hillary would have been drawn to him.

Shaking his head, he let out a sigh and said, “Christian? Guess what, you’re with us.” “Are you serious?” Christian asked, stepping over to join them. “As serious as a stake through the heart,” Aaron assured him. “Ward, this is Christian....” “Henry,” he supplied. “Christian Henry.” “Nice to meet you. Do you happen to know where we can find Morris?” “Yes, he’s that bowling-ball-shaped fellow standing over there,” Christian noted. “Perfect,” Ward acknowledged. “He’s also our Healer.” “Really?” Christian questioned. “Interesting.”

"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

Ana whispered, both prayer and warning, “Santiago Morales.” Javier straightened instantly, his eyes lighting up as he had just seen an old friend – or perhaps a benefactor. “Señor Morales,” he greeted the man with a respectful nod, his tone holding a certain reverence that was hard to miss. Mr. Morales simply returned the greeting with a small smile, as if he was used to this kind of reception. Then he turned his attention to me, our eyes meeting for one charged, terrifying heartbeat. There was something unreadable in his gaze – something molten, assessing, unsettling. It made my breath catch.

Morrigan sat straight and looked at herself through the vanity mirror across her. “I know you know why I ordered for the public execution of the ministers on my coronation,” Morrigan started. “I only know the gist of it, My Queen kindly enlighten me.” Colfre replied to her. Morrigan clenches her fist and it didn’t escape Colfre gaze. “They made me a monster I never wanted to become, it’s a warning for everyone that I, Morrigan of Hymir, will never bow down to anyone nor will cower in fear anymore. No one can step on me like the way they trampled on me before.” Morrigan finds it harder to breathe as the memory rushes in her mind, the pain, the humiliation, and eventually the trauma she had in