Italian Mystery Writers Novels & Stories

I don't know why, but that young woman reminded me of me, when I was 18 years old, something told me that our lives would cross one day. Now that I'm back in Italy it's a new beginning or the return of the past, a past that I wanted to bury but that is coming to the surface and I'm afraid I won't be able to stop it anymore. TO BE CONTINUEEEE........ BOOK 2 "ITALIAN MAFIA 2/she's still mine NOW AVAILABLE You can find my available information in my profile to be aware of my books, which you can find in Spanish here in BUENOVELA and English in GOODNOVEL.

But nothing explicitly mentioned Rena or Vittoria. Just as he was about to give up, he found a small, leather-bound diary tucked away in the corner of the safe. He opened it with trembling hands, his heart pounding in his chest. The diary was written in Russian, the elegant script of a woman's hand. He recognized the handwriting from the back of the photograph. He began to read, his eyes devouring the words on the page. The diary entries spanned several years, chronicling the life of a woman named Vittoria Rena, her dreams, her hopes, and her growing involvement in the world of organized crime.

I waved him goodbye and left to go see the clueless Luciano. "Finally you're here. I was looking for you. Are you ready to go home?" "Yep, let's go." I said with a bright smile on my face. Luciano POV The date. It had actually went pretty ok. She’d…looked pretty ok too. As I was driving I thought back to the art gallery. One of my friends that are in on the bet had called me to ask about how it’s all going, thankfully Gabriella doesn’t speak Italian.

"Uno, Due, Tre, Quattro..." I shoved my hand into my pocket to take another cigarette, "The five apostles, all in italian numbers were in existence right before I was given the name, The Maestro. Long before the detective at the police station found her way there–" "Her?" One of Elias eyebrows shot up as he looked at me skeptically. "The detective I'm talking about isn't female." "That's beside the point." I glared at him as I picked up from where he interrupted me. And then it clicked, "The detective isn't female?"

"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..."

No thread tied them. Rossi, pushing fifty, knew Milan’s underbelly—crooked cops, greased judges—but this felt like a chess game he couldn’t read. Clara Valenti’s articles, screaming organized crime, were too sharp, her sources dodging names. Her latest on last night’s warehouse hit hinted at insider tips. He marked her for a talk. What was missing? A link between Moretti, Russo, and maybe Dante Bianchi, whose debts and fading estate cluttered old files. Was Dante desperate enough to spark this?

I poured myself a glass of water and drank it in one go. Alessandro "The Devil" Costello, El Padrino. I shook my head, nope, not going to believe it unless I talk to him myself. I made my way out of the kitchen and went straight to the library. Since I had nothing to do, I settled on reading a book. I surveyed the huge library and finally found a book that seemed interesting enough to read. "Mafia and Mafiosi by Henner Hess" With a book in my hand, I walked back to Alessandro’s seat to read but halted in my steps as I saw him already sitting on it.

she asked, her eyes searching for answers in his. "My name is Alessandro," he replied, smiling as he extended his hand in greeting. "Nice to meet you." “why did you save me? Who are those people?” she asked, ignoring his hand. Alessandro picked up her cup of coffee and handed it to her, his eyes encouraging her to take a sip. “you mean Antonio and that toothless consigliere?” He chuckled smoothly as he sipped his cup of coffee. “they are mafia” "Mafia?" Luciana spat out her coffee in shock, her eyes widening in horror as she realized she had spat on Alessandro.

A second later, the screen lit up. A photograph appeared. A man in his early fifties, sharp eyes, expression unreadable. The kind of face that blended into crowds and vanished just as easily. “This is Lorenzo Moretti,” the lead investigator said. Sophia’s breath caught. “He’s Italian,” the man continued. “A professional assassin. Old-school. Known in underground circles for one thing, clean jobs. No witnesses. No loose ends. No emotional involvement.” He paused, letting the weight of that sink in.

The next day, Mateo and Alissa were sitting in front of Giovanni with the information that Mari had given her. "Mari worked as a partner of a chief of police in Parma, a city here in northern Italy. He hid important information from the Russian mafia in exchange for money, after all, no one would suspect a police officer from the interior." Alissa began to tell the story that had been passed on to her.