Mafia King Novels & Stories

“That is also a good way to send my lovely uncle off. I will have that conversation with my family after Maria and Keirah are feeling better. Zio it's time. Luciano turns over to Don Mauro he looks deep into his eyes and speaks to him. “I, Luciano Salvatore Alpha King of the Blood Moon pack, initiate you Don Mauro into the pack for twenty-four hours. And after the twenty-four hours are up, I want you to find your way out and come back here.” Luciano turns to James and smiles. “ My brother and I will be waiting for you.”

The handsy man stutters as the man approaches us, “King. She approached me.” “Really? Are you calling me a liar?” The Mafia King’s voice is calm and sharp, like a shard of ice. “ No, my King, but she is a call girl!” I snap, looking back at the handsy man before turning to the King to plead my case. But I pause. The King’s head is tilted as he looks at me. The King’s voice is laced with disappointment and concern, “A call girl?”

*Heidi* I blink once, twice, my brain struggling to make sense of the words that just came out of Cal’s mouth. Irish Kings? What the fuck is that? Why do I recognize this name from somewhere? But where…? Then it occurs to me, like a meteor hitting me straight in the face. Irish Kings… That’s the name of the Irish mafia gang in New York. I have no idea why or where I remember it from, but I might have read about them at some point in the past, or heard about them on TV or in the news.

That was the only thing I could think of. Damiano Valentino was loved by everyone. It was weird how both the men and women adored him—or should I say creepy. Well, except for Alessandro. He hated Damiano's guts. He always said he was just a spoiled brat who was born into money and had known nothing else. And I couldn't agree more. If the world found out that he was working with the king of Porta Inferni, that would be the end of his career and fame. Everyone would hate him, and I'm sure he wouldn't want that.

I kept on repeating while moving stepping back. My fingers were trembling so badly but that was the least of my concerns. This was a nightmare. A sick, twisted joke. I knew what this meant… I had heard the stories. The Mafian King, A man that can put terror on anyone just from his mere presence. He was a ruthless man who ruled with an iron hand. And not just that, the terrible way he treats his numerouse concubines like a plaything is nothing to write home about. I remember a particular story of his fellow rival mafia who refused to obey him.

The first rat didn’t even run. He lounged behind a seafood stall in Alfama, puffing a cheap cigarette, bragging into his burner phone about how the “King” wouldn’t dare show himself in public anymore. He didn’t notice my shadow until my boot shattered his knee sideways with a pop like cracking lobster shells. He shrieked, I silenced it by grabbing his jaw and slamming his skull against the wall. “Talk,” I hissed, my thumb pressed so deep into his throat he sputtered foam instead of words.

" The Mafia King studied him for a long moment, smoke curling from his lips. Then he chuckled softly, like Martin had just told a joke. "Be careful what you offer." He said. He glanced around the room once more, at the blood, at the body on the floor, before his eyes returned to Martin. "You don't have money." He continued calmly. "You don't have power. And you don't have time." Martin shook his head again. "Please—" "I'll take one of your children." The Mafia King said, cutting him off. The words landed heavier than a gunshot. Martin froze. "What...?"

It was too quiet for my liking. Sol would definitely prefer it this way. That’s why my babbo wanted him to lead the family. Babbo was named the Mafia King. Sol took over when he died and now… there’s me. A woman who is leading one of the world’s biggest mafia. After making people know that the king was actually a queen, I thought for sure someone would dare come after me. Perhaps I have instilled fear too much after wiping out those scums. “What’s with that sigh, Cara?”

And this renowned Mafia King crawling back from me as if I’d cooties was the most hilarious thing in the world. “Are you on drugs?” He glared daggers at me. I let my face fall and scooted closer to him. He glared harder. He looked ready to murder my next three generations but I wanted to drill a little more, “Luca, is there someone else?” He scoffed, “There is,” Paused and narrowed eyes at me, “Several women.” So he’s a slayer of hearts. Good for me. “Can’t I be one of them?”