Italian Mystery Writers Novels & Stories

ALMA As I stared at the woman before us, all I could feel for her was pity. There were many overzealous detectives like her that had disappeared in the course of trying to convict Mafia bosses. Whenever they were getting close to finding answers, they just disappeared and were never to be found. And I feared the woman right here would suffer the same fate. “Good luck, detective,” was all Lazzaro said before winding up the glass. “Move,” he told the driver since the policeman had already cleared him.

Unfortunately, it was something I never thought I would have to do. I left the bedroom not long after, taking my time to memorize the hallway as I walked. Every expensive sculpture and painting was a clear sign of just how wealthy these men were. Money oozed from everything I passed by, even the marble floors I walked on. Money that probably didn't come by honestly, but money nonetheless. Dylan always said the mafia was everywhere in Italy, and that they sometimes find you even when you aren't looking for them. Courtesy of her reading way too many mafia-related romance books. But... was she wrong? I mean...

Cassie said, looking where Blake had stormed off, then back at Damian. “I kept him too close.” Damian said, passing a hand through his hair. “Does he know what you do?” Asked Cassie, taking a step closer to Damian. “Do you?” Asked Damian, turning to face Cassie. With an eyebrow raised. Cassie remembered all those newspaper headlines she read when she was a pre-teen. Ricci’s untouchables, Ricci strikes again? Italy under the mafia thumb and Suspected wanted criminal from the mafia walks peacefully in English territory.

"Fucking Italian”? I slurred. I was baffled as to why he was following me. Last time I checked, nobody knows my identity in this city. Not even getting a job done as an ex militant , Have been very careful. I keep trying to figure out who the Italian guy was and why he was on my trail but I was clueless . I closed up my track properly after the escapade at the military base. At this point, I could think of only one prime suspect: Temper.

I try my best to sound confident, but there are instances that I’m failing. There’s also one question I can’t think of any believable alibi though: “How come you don’t speak and sound Italian when your ID states that you're Italian?” Then they murmur at each other in Italian, before declaring, “You’re under arrest for alleged burglary.” Marius steps forward, not letting them handcuff me. “What kind of investigation is that?” “Signore, if you can provide a law-approved explanation as to why an American known as Hazel Thorne suddenly becomes an Italian with a non-existing recorded name in this country, then we won’t arrest her.”

MATEO The abandoned house sat at the end of a narrow road surrounded by dead grass and twisted trees. The sky above was gray, and the cold wind made the branches scrape against one another like old bones. I stood beside my car for a moment, staring at the house Elara had grown up in. It looked smaller than I expected. Older too. The paint was peeling from the walls, and several windows were cracked. Nothing about it looked dangerous, yet a strange feeling settled heavily in my chest. It felt like the house was watching me. I told myself that was ridiculous. It was just an old building. Just wood and stone and dust. But after everything I had learned during the past few weeks, nothing felt si

Every Italian guard senses something has shifted. I fold my arms. “So everything you know is from rumors?" “No,” Matteo reaches for another document. No one reaches for a weapon. He slides several photographs toward me. Dead men, different countries, different years, different organizations—Russian, Italian, Serbian, Greek. One thing connects every file: each investigation ends with nothing—no arrests, no witnesses, no Belladonna. "He starts wars; he doesn't fight them." I flip through the pages. "This family destroyed each other.”

I needed Gavril, just like Ilsa needed Roman. I found a study that smelled like Roman’s cologne, and my heart twisted as it looked eerily familiar to Gavril’s. The moonlight streaming through the French doors gave me enough light to start rummaging through the drawers, attempting to find anything that would give me a way to contact my husband. After a few minutes, I came across a slim black book, surprised when I opened it up to find numerous well-known Mafia and crime bosses around LA. I had just found the ultimate little black book!

So he’s an Italian, huh? Giordano nodded, “Like what you’ve said... Still the same. Europe is in my control.” Adam stood up. He went to where the alcohol is while I am just wandering around, fascinated with unique books and literature. My eyes went on the specific. It was called The Doctor by Nikki Sloane. I arched my eyebrows, thinking the owner of this book is probably reading Nikki Sloane’s story. “When are you going back to Italy?”

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