Mafia Ink Novels & Stories

I hand over his phone. He takes it and climbs out of the bed without a care that he's naked in broad daylight. His round ass and muscles flake when he walks to the window to answer the phone. A sudden heat pools in my aching core by looking at his naked glory. He's perfect, carves out of the ancient Greek scriptures. I plop on my elbow and take the time to admire his tattoos. Why these mafia men always have an obsession for inks? My eyes skims over the big lion's head covering most of his upper back and a serpent spitting fire. Something is written in Latin or Greek, I don't know as I'm only acquainted with English, my mother tongue.

asked Hazel. “You won’t believe me,” said Michelangelo. “Tell us,” said Renata. “You must have heard about SMS,” said Michelangelo. “Yes,” said Sameeksha. “Uh… my family is a part of it,” said Michelangelo. “What?” asked Renata. Everyone was confused. What was he talking about? “I belong to a criminal enterprise,” said Michelangelo. “But you are a civil engineer,” said Hazel. “And I am mafia too,” said Michelangelo.

He was really curious about whose name was written on it. The first few pages were about the known mafia in different cities. They are all buying illegal goods almost every day, luckily, they are staying low because of the treaty signed between all mafias and the consequences of infringement of territory. Even criminals know this kind of covenant. The peaceful days reigned when they all agreed to sign the treaty. After he turned some pages, the title of a crumpled page caught his attention. A smudge tint of ink from a black sign pen engraved, CLIENTES ESCLAVOS on top of the page, and his family’s name were written below it.

I was surprised seeing this part of him, When he was done, he discarded the cloth. He joined me on the bed, placing my head on his chest and covering us with a blanket. "Sleep" he whispered". "Talk to me," I said, placing my hand on his chest. He sighed "About what?" "Anything, or talk to me about your tattoos," I whispered. "My first tattoo is the Omerta in my chest—the code of silence for made men. "What do the words under it say? I can't read them.". He smirked "Obviously it is written in Italian; the words mean never take sides against the family, and the family is the mafia". I had watched so many movies about the mafia and how bonded they are, but never in my life did I ever believe I

The man from my kitchen stops walking toward me, then changes direction. Now he's moving methodically through the crowd. Checking faces. Checking hands. Searching for something. The room goes quiet. The kind of quiet that happens when everyone realizes someone they don't like is going to point at them. I try to blend in with the other servers. Duck my head. Make myself small. It doesn't work. He stops directly in front of me. Doesn't say anything. He just pulls out that leather notebook, and shows me what he wrote: Where did you find this?

" Marco said. He really would not mind cutting off contact with his family for Mia. None of his family members Besides his dead nother had ever treated him like a real family. There never had a family bond between them so why should it start now? It was just so pretentious. "Marco! How can you say that? I am your sister for goodness sake. No matter what we are each other's family and we are each other's blood. Don't tell me that you are going to abandon our decades of being family just for this woman? We have traditions here in the mafia organisation and mafia lords are always asked to married the daughter of other mafia lords. I won't let you break that tradition and bring chaos among us. O

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.

I struggled to breathe, every movement sending fresh waves of pain through my battered body. When I finally got up, I wandered to the mess they'd left behind. The coffee table was littered with bottles, cigarette butts, and crumpled bills. Amidst all the mess, my gaze had caught on a slick black card lying. It was dusted with white powder-the stuff used to cut lines. I picked it up, turning it over in my hands. In bold letters across the middle was a name-Valaro-along with a website.

I remembered that the last time I opened the sketchbook before coming to Italy, the sketch was there. What actually happened? I had to ask Mario. He wasn't outside by my door when I opened it so I decided to call him. He gave me his number earlier to call him in case I needed something and he wasn't around. Gabriel's POV With slow dangerous struts, I walked into the punishment room where the rest of the mafia members were waiting for me. As soon as they heard my footsteps, their chatter ceased and there was a deafening silence. I lived for inflicting fear on others. I was only different when I was in my other mask; Gabriel Flynn. But as Luciano Russo, I was ruthless as the devil himself.

Now he was here, successful, handsome, and looking at me like I was still that lonely girl from high school. And Dante, my Dante, had watched the entire exchange with eyes like winter steel. His body was tense, radiating that quiet, dangerous energy I knew so well. Maxim, still lost in his worry for Ivan, didn’t seem to notice the undercurrent. “Did you get anything useful?” Dante asked, voice low, his thumb stroking my side in what should have been comforting but felt more like restraint. I shook my head. “He won’t help. Neutrality policy. He doesn’t want to get involved in anything mafia-related.