Gotham Ed Nygma นิยาย & เรื่องราว

Her gaze drops briefly to the blood on my hands before lifting back to my face. Around them sit the remaining cornerstone members of the pack – Magnus oversees territory enforcement across Brooklyn and Queens. Enzo controls underground trade and financial routes. Cassandra leads intelligence gathering and internal surveillance. Roman handles military patrol divisions north of Manhattan. I walk toward the head of the table slowly, and the blood drips from my fingers onto the black marble floor. “Alpha,” Dominic says carefully. “Save it,” I cut him off coldly. I place both hands on the table and lean forward slightly. “We have a leak.”

The address was in the Zona Tortona. Not the penthouse district where Vane kept her. Not the glittering financial hub where she’d been seducing bankers. This was the warehouse district 's real headquarters, the place where decisions that shaped entire cities happened behind unmarked doors. Nyx arrived at 8 PM in a black car that Alessia had sent. She’d considered bringing security, then decided against it. Security was a tell. Security meant she was afraid. She was terrified, but she wouldn’t let anyone know that.

He struggles to get his wallet from his breast pocket. “Here.” He hands me his ID card and driver's license. Roger McGrath. THE Roger McGrath. The owner of McGrath Media Company? The CEO of the largest media house in the entirety of New York is ten steps from my crusty rusty front yard. Yeah, the universe is playing some fucked up tricks on me. What the heck would he even be doing here? He must have gotten robbed and dumped up in this ghetto street. Or he is probably a kidnapper masked up in a McGrath body.

Mj said as he looked really confused "I think its because they aren't New York mafias so it will take time to track the bastards" Edward added. Damien just looked at both of them as it amaize him too because any underworld mafias in new York he would have track them down. He fold his palm into a fist.

said Abeni nervously. Elena leaned in closely towards Abeni across the dining table and lowered her voice. "Dmitry Kuznetsov is the leader of one of the biggest mafia groups in New York at just 35..." revealed Elena dramatically. "Mafia!" exclaimed Abeni in shock. "Yes, mafia. He literally owns the whole city - clubs, casinos, hospitals, schools, supermarkets, hotels, cars - literally everything," explained Naledi seriously. Abeni's face froze in fear. "So you're telling me my father borrowed money from a mafia leader..." she said slowly.

I whispered, my fingers zooming in on the lead vehicle's license plate. The plates were solid black with a distinct, silver crest embossed in the center. My oxygen intake halted completely as my photographic memory processed the symbol. "The New York Commission," I breathed, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The highest governing body of the entire eastern seaboard mafia had arrived at Blackthorn unannounced. I watched the screen as Dante Ricci sprinted out of the front doors, flanked by ten heavily armed estate guards. Dante stood in the freezing rain, holding his hand up to halt the approaching convoy. The lead SUV stopped inches from Dante's chest.

We’ve reached the garage level. Dominik stops, but he doesn't pull out. He just holds me there, breathless, suspended on his cock. The doors open. A valet is standing there, holding a set of keys. The valet’s eyes widen when he sees us. Dominik Grimaldi, the most dangerous man in New York, burying his face in the neck of his wife, her legs wrapped around him, his cock planted inside her. The valet turns pale and he looks at the floor immediately.

"Kenji loved his raw cash." "His brother Ichiro knows how to play human nature," Hugo growled. "Total freedom tempts a street boss a hell of a lot more than a weekly paycheck, Dom. Ichiro told them they're the new kings. All he wants in return is their silence when his shooters land. You think your tailored suits can stop that?" Dominic stood up, his posture rigid as iron. "The Yamaguchi-gumi is poisoning our roots." "Let me mobilize the internal enforcement squad tonight," Hugo pressed, leaning over the desk. "We drag that middleman into a basement, haul in the Southside crew, and make them talk before dawn. I'll bring the iron. Give me the goddamn order."

Diego wasn't known as one to show mercy, and he wasn't going to start now. He took a deep breath, as though not wanting to go through with the plan but having no choice left. "Well, since Nico has taken this path, then there's no more reason for me to hold back," he finally decided. "Get me an audience with the leader of the Lord of the Night," he instructed the guard. The latter's eyes widened in surprise. The Lord of the Night was a well-known mafia group that oversaw most of New York. Even with that, there had been recent clashes between the two mafias. And now his boss was suddenly asking for an audience with the enemy himself.

He glanced at the burly men groaning on the ground and at Thierry leaning against the car, his brows furrowing slightly before his eyes finally settled on Amelia. The woman wore simple casual clothes, yet her extraordinary bearing was unmistakable—especially her face and those eyes, calm and unruffled, yet seemingly able to see through everything. It made him feel a faint sense of trouble, but then he reminded himself: this was just LA, not New York, merely a city district. No matter how formidable someone was here, what real waves could they make? After all, he was Nigel Powell, a core executive sent by New York's the Woodward Group to expand into the LA market—no ordinary man himself.