Government Gangsters Book Review Novels & Stories

2 The first murder happened on New Year’s Eve—Gregorian calendar, not Chinese. The police wrote it off as gang violence, but even they knew it was too grisly for gangs. At least that was the word around the deli counters and bars of Little Italy. In Chinatown, nobody talks about the gangs. Certainly not with white guys who smell like pork. The underground gambling parlors in my neighborhood are all run by rival Chinese gangs overseen by the tongs, semi-legitimate Benevolent Associations. Above these groups are the international triads, organized crime syndicates that rival the Italian mafia with deep roots in Chinese secret societies and Southeast Asian drug cartels.

I try to get up from the table, but the mobster stops me. “I need you in this business, love—espabilo—, Erick, I need you to arm some bombs for Gian Lucas's whorehouse; love, you will be my bait, I need you to seduce the new boss in charge of the place. Italian asshole stole my merchandise and I want it back.” He wants to bring down the night club with them inside. Damn son of a bitch! ********

This son of a bitch thought he could come here and survive the torture? Did he think he could die before he paid me my money? I waited until Lott got closer to Cooley. Then I shot. One shot on the floor. I walked in. “Boss,” one of his men spat, panic lacing his voice. “That’s the bastard from the Dark Horse Society who saved him yesterday.” Another chimed in, “He probably already screwed him.” Lott sneered. “So he’s already dirty? Well, good. Take him. Go screw him with your brothers on the same level as you until he stops breathing.”

Gunnar mused with a pensive expression masking his rugged features. "It could be someone in competition with them," I pointed out which had Jericho and Gunnar both peering down at me with raised brows, "I've been on the force long enough to know that if a gang goes down it's generally another gang orchestrating its downfall. Maybe there's someone new coming up and they're trying to get rid of one competitor at a time." "In this case, maybe they're trying to get rid of two birds. That book might have records of the dealings between the mafioso and dad and me. Whoever this is is also probably hoping we're so distracted by this that we won't notice him trying to fuck with us."

He'd make sure to keep the bastard alive so he could make good on his promise. By now his men would be in their respective positions and waiting for his command. "Kill them all, keep Luis alive." He murmured through the comms. His deep voice carried over the abrupt silence as one by one the biker gang dropped dead with a bullet hole on their heads on the dusty ground. Getting up, uncaring of the state of his designer shirt and pants, he pointed his gun at the fucker's shoulder and shoot. Once, twice. And again on each of his thighs.

And they have already begun to censor the surroundings. Zach went first and pretended to have someone to talk to inside, only now there was a guard at the entrance of the Battle Underground. "I just have someone to talk to inside," Zach said calmly to the four guards, gangsters as well. The two looked at him with a doubtful look. "Who are you going to talk to, Dos?" Zach's name is Dos in Gangsters World. "I'll just talk to Uno," The four gangsters looked at each other as if something was planned, and he didn't make a mistake when they suddenly released katanas.

Grayson frowned. Trent was a gangster who dealt in some pretty messed up businesses. He had a ton of gangsters under him who were willing to do anything. They had all given up on life. They were willing to do anything because they no longer cared, which meant that they were extremely ruthless. A lot of Maltford's elite weren't afraid of them, but they were too lazy to start anything. After all, getting on the wrong side of a criminal was much worse than getting on the wrong side of a gentleman.

Being gangsters, these people should have expected to be killed, but at whose hands. And these gangsters are not good birds. Real gangsters aren't as elegant as Marlon Brando's Godfather movies. The real American mob is a bunch of murderous, cannibalistic, bone-spitting bastards. Finally, the old black did not escape Li Jie's chase, Li Jie caught up with him from his position in the heart of the direct blast out of a punch. A blow with internal force to the common man is completely irresistible. Old black

He underestimated me. “I have information that will interest you boss.” He quickly said. He must’ve noticed my hand lingering on the gun beside me. “What makes you think I want to listen to you?” I raised my eyebrow. “Everyone in the underground is talking about it. A book.” He takes a deep breath, “There’s a book that has all the secrets of all the gangs in the city. Even that of El Alma.” The mere mention of the top mafia group in Chicago grabs my attention. Even though it was mostly non-existent and hidden, El Alma remained the biggest mafia group to ever exist. It’s been around since my father was still a boy.

“Anyways, from there I took over the girls, bought them drugs, treated them a bit better, dressed them better. We became a menace, killing other pimps, taking their territory and girls. We climbed the ladder, got recruited into this gang. By fifteen I was a trusted soldier, still had my pickpocketing business and my pimp business. I felt like I was on top of the world, and was making enough money to get me, my boys and my girls two good apartments. We began dealing drugs, and took over so much territory. I didn’t care about dying. Every day I went out ready to make more money or die. I was ruthless, reckless, and hungry for success. I attacked many in the streets, wanting more and more terri