Italian Mob Books Novels & Stories

"He doesn't even know I was coming to Italy." Max's smile turned predatory as he lowered the gun, reaching into his pocket with his free hand. He pulled out his phone, scrolled through it for a moment, then turned the screen toward me. There, plain as day, was a contact entry: 'Cassian (Boss)'. My heart plummeted. The room seemed to tilt on its axis before my eyes. All these months, all the gentle touches, the soft words, the promises of love and safety—all lies. "No," I whispered, shaking my head. "That could be anyone. You could have put that in your phone just to mess with me."

Skye asked with a soft and gentle tone as if they were friends. “Yeah, she was one kick-ass of a woman. You know, back in the day, women were less active than men, unlike today. But she was different. One of the obvious reasons was because she was the only child of the most feared Mafia Lord at that time,” Vincent answered with his head bending forward as if it was too heavy for him to lift his head up properly. “How about Brandon Ford, also known as “Don”?” Skye asked again. I moved with extreme cautiousness not to create any sound for fear of bothering their conversation as I fetched a bottled from the fridge in the minibar. I handed one to Skye, then one to Marco. We sat side by side as w

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.

C83 – MORAL DILEMMA. The club was almost empty. And at the back, Judge Matthieu Chevalier held his whiskey glass, swirling it calmly before speaking. "My little kitten has already agreed to get it for me," he said, taking a long sip. "Once those ports and trucks are in my hands, they'll be for your boss." The judge had been on the Italian mafia's payroll for years—turning a blind eye to certain "businesses" in exchange for generous sums of money.

I wanted to yell but I kept it in. Luca’s jaw twitched, and something like .… pity flashed across his face. He didn’t apologize of course not, instead he opened a drawer and brought out a book. He handed the book to me. A thick, black, heavy manual. The kind you’d get if you were being hired as a personal assistant for a mafia boss or a royal descendant.

"Is that so? Tell me, Claire. Have you had an encounter with a mafia boss before?" "Well..." She shrugged. "Not really. But I've read books." I frowned. "Books?" She peeked at me from under her lashes and sighed. "I know it sounds stupid, but believe me, I've read a lot of books about mafia dons. And trust me, you don't look like one. No offense." "None taken." I chuckled. "But tell me, how do they look in the books you read?" She fiddled with her hands for a moment before answering. "Well, they're mostly Italian or Russian. They're dark and mysterious. They're always with a gun. They have several women..."

The voice of the news anchor filled the room, crisp and unwavering: “Coming up next, more details on the release of Vincenzo Espósito, a man with extensive ties to the Italo-American mafia, convicted in 1997 for multiple crimes...” Then, without warning, the screen went black. My head snapped toward the remote, now resting in Gojou Morunaga’s hand. His expression was stone-cold, unreadable, but the weight behind it was suffocating. Just when I thought he had finally left for the evening, here he was, sitting across from me with that damn book in hand. “I never had the patience for the news,” he said, lifting a well-worn paperback to eye level. “I prefer a good book.”

“What I’m going to tell you isn’t precisely secret, but it is something that’s not widely discussed. Now. How many mob families are there in this city?” “Five,” I say, instant. Everyone knows that. “Good,” he murmurs, setting out five salt and pepper shakers in front of me. “Five families.” As I watch, he moves the two pepper shakers to one side. “Romano and Abruzzi,” he says quietly, tapping them. And then he moves the salt shakers to the other side. “Bonnetti and Pesci.” He taps on the one pepper shaker still in the middle. “Who is this?”

Gianluca Martelli, an Italian Mafia lord based in New York could be seen making his way out of his company and into the car that was waiting for him. He was a handsome man with deep blue eyes that reminded one of the deep blue seas. He was built like a demigod, with height-6'5. He had a chiseled jawline too. His eyebrows were neatly carved. His light skin which was almost pale did well in complimenting his deep blue eyes.

Max replied bluntly. "And why?" "It is the Mafia capital of Italy and the home to the Napoli Licantropo Archivio della Mafia. I thought we could pay it a little visit." "Naples Lycan Archive of the Mafia. And that is where you think the book is, I presume?" "Clever girl," he remarked looking at me before patronisingly patting my head. I rolled my eyes. Three months with this man was killing me and here's why: 1. he has only two moods: cranky and sarcastic or slightly rejuvenated but still incredibly sarcastic.