Mafia Men: Nikolai's Inferno Novels & Stories

I couldn't help but grin at the earnestness in her voice. Mafia princess by day, pizza chef by night. Why the hell not? Nikolai, built like a damn Spartan, and looking like he just stepped off a Men's magazine cover, was manning the pizza oven with sweat glistening off his muscles. I felt my face flush at the sight of him.

“If we don’t stay united, the soldiers might begin to rebel and we all know what that means,” “Dmitri and Vladimir were more than just bosses to me, they were the brothers I never had. And trust me, I don’t mind going after Alessio alone if we can’t do it together,” Armen chipped in. Nikolai sauntered into the living room, surprising everyone. The last I heard of him was that he was in Europe because he didn’t want to be a part of the mafia even though he was a dangerous and skilled fighter. “Nikolai, you’re here,” Ariel regarded him.

“They think I stole from them.” The answer made me frown. “Stole what?” His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile playing there before he exhaled sharply, his body sinking further into the wall. “Drugs,” he admitted, his tone flat. “Jonny told them I took it. Now they’re after what I don’t have.” I blinked, trying to absorb it all, but the pieces slotted into place too easily. Kidnapped by thugs. The human mafia. Nikolai exhaled sharply as he pushed himself to his feet, his fingers threading through his hair with a kind of controlled frustration that felt more dangerous than any outburst. His gaze flicked to the cracked ceiling, his jaw clenching.

(Niko’s POV) “You know how to shoot?” Alessio’s question hung between us. The weapon felt heavier in my hand than I expected. I checked the safety automatically. “Yes.” His eyebrow lifted slightly. “Where did you learn?” “I have the blood of the strongest mafia boss in my veins," I replied, trying to sound confident, clicking the safety on. “Not as weak as I thought." Alessio's eyes narrowed as he handed me a spare magazine. "Let's see if that blood runs true."

The man who was the main reason why Marco was out in the streets tonight. Marco Marchetti has worked as the right hand man for Zeno Silvestri for years, popular businessman to all who knew him on the television screen, and Mafia King in the underworld. Zeno was young, just about to hit thirty. And young hot blood would sometimes need the feel of the hot blood of the opposite sex. That was Marco's reason for being out tonight. He needed to find a perfect willing woman to please his friend and boss. He could easily place a call, and a willing woman would be ready in the next second, but something about the night made him want to explore.

It showed how much control he had over her. He started talking again and she forced herself to listen. "Where we're going isn't just an ordinary place." He began. "You'll be stepping into the den of powerful mafia men and underdogs." "Is it a bad place?" She asked, her eyes round with curiosity. "Yes. It is. These men can do whatever they want, and it's totally normal in the mafia world. But as long as you're wearing this, no one there can touch you." He touched the pentagram, his fingers brushing her cleavage.

I said, my voice dangerously calm, "your presence here is an insult. And who are you to question my right? By our own rules, you are as unfit as anyone you might accuse. Your family's alliances are fluid, your reach is limited." Vlad chuckled, a dry, grating sound. "Ah, but that is where you are mistaken, Sokolov. I have secured an alliance that not even your ruthlessness can counter. An alliance that brings true power, true legacy, back to the Tenevaya Bratva." He paused, letting his words hang in the air, allowing the tension to coil tighter. "My family will soon be tied to a once powerful mafia family in Italy." A murmur swept through the room. The elders exchanged glances, their impassiv

“Now, Diablo Romano is no hero. He’s the kind of man mothers warn their daughters about.” He taps the photo again, each tap harder than the last. “The Rossi Cartel, April. You know what that is, don’t you?” “The mafia,” I say quietly. “There you go. Mob equals bad, sweetheart, very bad. People in the mob end up like these poor souls. Your white knight there? He’s mob too. Did he mention that while he was whispering sweet nothings to you? Or do you just have a thing for mobsters?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

he asked “The one by the mall, the one in the north where that parking lot is facing…” “That is my best spot, Andres… you cannot do this” Manuel whined “And the east side that is free from the cops. You should be grateful that I am allowing you keep your life, you will bounce back and make sure I never have to take up arms against your family, is that understood?” “You have a deal” Manuel said, sighing. The once strong mafia lord, felled by his own children; thankfully I never did love kids so I wasn’t going to worry about having any with Catherina because I wanted none.

It seems like they were deaf as they were not able to hear the painful screams coming from the place that was burning so badly. The burning building was once a small orphanage, a home for many children without parents and a roof over their heads. It was their life. Mr. George Kingston, the owner of the Kingston Empire, was smiling instead of feeling the suffering of the children and adults who were burning within the orphanage because it was he and his men who were responsible for the agony and destruction. He was not even one percent affected by their agony. He was doing this because he intended to build a large firm in which he could manufacture firearms and cartridges for his personal gro