Gangster Rosary Tattoo On Hand Novels & Stories

“I never forgot this little round reddish mark of yours. That day in my bedroom that I touched it, tongued it, I decided it reminded me of a little red rose. After I’d broken things off, that sweet spot was burned onto my brain. It killed me that I couldn’t touch yours, so… See what I got.” Ryder stands and lifts his left foot onto the chair. At first, I can’t look past all the inches of his swollen, hungry cock and the swing of his heavy testicles. Then he presses his finger to the inside of his left thigh. In the same spot in which I have my own birthmark, he has something tattooed into his skin. I kneel, leaning in to peer closer, then realize exactly what it is. Shock pinging through my

He patted my shoulder with his tattooed hand. I stared at it, his body was so beautiful, it was like a display of art. Various inks and pictures went up his arms, to his neck and his back. It was truly beautiful, there was a wolf, a symbol, a date, a quote, a picture of some guy and my favorite tattoo was on the back of his hand. It was, 'Fuck you. It's my life' written in italic letters. "Someday you will have something meaningful enough kid." He wound his arm around my neck and practically dragged me to the back of the shop where most of the piercings were done. "Now, wait here while I get the equipments ready."

Iker ran a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated. "What makes you believe in his protection after his own men almost killed you?" Lizzy hugged herself, and her voice cracked. "The contract..." "Lizzy, do you really think Greed will keep his end of the deal? You must remember that he's a gangster, and not just any gangster, but the leader of the most powerful mafia in New York. Trusting him wholeheartedly, based solely on a contract that he could break at any moment, is complete madness." And she knew it. It was complete madness to trust someone so dangerous. But even if he broke his word, she wouldn't break hers to protect herself and her child.

My gaze drifted unconsciously to his collarbone. There was a new tattoo there. Red, still swollen from being freshly inked, but unmistakable. It was my name. The characters were rendered in the most ancient, wild cursive form of script, like an old, binding sigil. My fingers trembled as I touched it. “When did you… get this?” Henry caught my hand and rubbed it gently against his palm. “Last night, after you fell asleep.” “Did it hurt?” “It was better that it hurt.” His eyes darkened, and a satisfied smile curved his lips.

He was on their uniform black sleeves. Boom! The shot was fired… Wait… I paused, slowly replaying the scene The hand behind the killer had a scar on his wrist, quite a unique symbol than it was a mark of victory. Zooming in, I pressed my eyes to the screen to get every fucking details. The scar filled in the large screen, revealing the crescent shape that was slightly covered with the sleeve. Damn it! How the fuck was I missing that for ages?!

He rolled up the first of his sleeves and stretched his hand out so it caught the light. His entire sleeve was a canvas of intricate tattoos, with a clock dominating the design, its inner gears showing and extending down to his wrists. Surrounding the clock was a blooming rose flower, its petals wilting. Delicate rose flowers bloomed around it, their petals hugging the clock, yet also wilting, as if succumbing to the passage of time. Dominating the top part of his hand was what I assumed was an angel, with a dark cloak over his body and a blade buried in his chest

She couldn’t tell which part of the image it was because it was zoomed in. “This is the back of this woman’s hand. We refined the image after zooming in on it. Look at that tattoo,” Adrian pointed to another picture that had a plant with two leaves and a curved moon in the middle. The woman had that tattoo. “It’s only a tattoo. What does that imply?” Alice didn’t quite get it. Adrian elaborated, “A year ago, the Irish police cracked a big drug trafficking case. The gang used religion to recruit people for drug trafficking and gambling. They called their so called religion, Crescentism, and this patron is their symbol.”

The place fell silent after I shot the last man in the legs, bringing him down without killing him. “Bring him to me,” I commanded, and he was dragged forward until he stood in front of me. I glared down at him, scowling when I noticed the familiar tattoo on his hand—the Gambino famiglia insignia. I couldn’t fathom why the Gambinos were targeting us. “You have two minutes to start talking,” I said, watching him with disinterest as he groaned, holding his bleeding leg. I kicked his leg when he remained silent, and he let out a cry.

We’re both pretending like I have some power in this situation, when the truth is, I’ve never been more vulnerable in my life. Who is this stranger? And what the hell happened to him? He turns, moving to the back of his truck. He grabs a gas can and a lantern, flicking the old-fashioned flame to life before handing it to me. That's when I notice his hands are covered in intricate tattoos, including his fingers. The hand holding the lantern is inked with a rose. There are more words and symbols I don't recognize trailing down his knuckles. It looks like pictures I've seen of mafia tattoos. Something to denote membership and rank. Achievements.

He asked as he breathed out his smoke. I take off my jacket and my shirt to show him my tattoo of the Criemsons. The tattoo shows a blood sword that encircles with vipers and roses that symbolizes our gang or mafia name. I swiveled to indicate my identity while his ladies gape at me like the last cupcake in a bakery they wanted to devour. "Holy mother of great mercy" He grinned. "Now can we converse interaction?" I asked before I put my clothes in and I know his kittens will groan for consuming clothes.