Mafia Seat Novels & Stories

Third Person Pov: Thomas Allen is one of the most ruthless leaders in the mafia gang Hayden Wren heads. Its known as 'Python'. Recently, there's been a fued between the two, hence; Thomas moved to Dubai. The members of the gang thought things would dissolve over time... but it didn't. Communication seized between the two for the past two years. Now, Thomas is back to set things right.

Mafia Meeting Rafael and his men arrive and sit in the leader's chair. Many of them did not want Rafael to be the leader; he had inherited the chair, which only his family members sat in. His face was expressionless, and he stared coldly at everyone. Everyone looked up to him; some were scared of him, and some despised him. Only one of them was his competitor, and he thought he deserved this chair. Andrew Wood "So the leader is finally over his tough day; maybe now he can focus on work," said Andrew Wood.

" I yelled, my words hanging in the air like a threat. Just then, I saw the Triplet Mafia men walking towards me, their black tuxedos exuding an aura of confidence and elegance. "What's going on?" I asked curiously. One of them spoke, his voice firm. "You have violated our code of conduct. You lied about your address and now you're acting dumb." I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Hey... Are you mad about just a simple lie? We lie all the time, don't we? After all, we are mafias!" I said, raising my hands in the air.

I’d had four guns pointed at me within a short amount of time. I shook my head. “No. That’s fine.” I took my phone out, sliding it to him on the counter. He caught it, but his eyes remained on me. “Are you doing okay?” I nodded. “I’m good. I mean, we’re in the lap of luxury for places to hide out in.” I gestured to Octavia. “Though, I’m confused about that place. Doesn’t a different mob family run that?” “Cole Mauricio. They’re active in Chicago, but Trace’s family and mine have an understanding with them.”

LOCATION: BLOODFANG HEADQUARTERS (Capital City) The conference room on the 47th floor overlooked the entire capital. A tall tower of shining glass walls, steel beams, and a massive black table where twelve dangerous mafia leaders from around the globe sat, each wearing the crest of the region they controlled. Documents, ledgers, maps, and blood-signed contracts littered the table. No one spoke over another. Except tonight. Tonight, they were already yelling, guns holstered beside their chairs as casually as wallets.

And to worsen the situation, his bodyguards stood like statues, blocking the exits. Hannah, who had been chatting with someone at the bar, finally noticed what was happening. Her face went pale as she hurried over. "Scarlett?" she asked, her voice shaky. Then she looked at Liam, and her eyes widened in recognition. "Wait, you’re…" Her voice trailed off, and I saw the fear flash across her face. She knew him. Everyone seemed to know him. Liam DeLuca, the godfather of some gang, Europe’s biggest mafia—at least that was what Hannah had told me earlier today in class.

Soon after, Amara walks down the center aisle, arm-in-arm with Luciano. The closer your seat is to the front stage, the bigger the deal your bloodline is in the mafia world. Hailee and I do not even get proper leather chairs—just two small wooden stools in a dusty corner of the left corridor. Amara, riding high on Luciano’s clout as head of the Painting Association, scores a massive prime throne right in the very front row under the golden torches. As Amara passes my small stool, he cannot hide his smug grin and puts on a fake-sweet act. "Rapha, does your poor wolf want me to pull some strings with the guards so you can secure a real front-row seat?"

“Congratulations, Boss!” Without waiting for the celebration, Drake turned on his heel and walked out of the church. Amy followed closely behind, flanked by a sea of suits and heavy artillery. The moment the heavy church doors slammed shut behind them, the priest’s knees gave out, and he collapsed onto the altar floor, completely unconscious. Meanwhile, across the city, the atmosphere was entirely different. Inside the fortified syndicate of the Blood Pact Mafia. The second largest crime syndicate in Italy. Athan, a hardened man in his early fifties, sat high on a leather chair that served as his throne. The air in his private chambers was thick with the pungent, sweet scent of a heavy blunt

"I and Trevor met couple of years before, we were both recruited just like you were, but two weeks ago I got a call to come go a mission, my boss wants Emilio dead" "Why?" "He's been doing business across his border and it's affecting my boss's sales, turns out he wasn't inky laundering drugs he was also laundering dirty money, taking couple cuts out of my boss's pay and all, I was sent to kill him" "And Trevor?" "He got the order from his boss also" "You guys don't work together?" "Nope,each city has it's godfather, there's always a mafia in charge" "Mafia!!!, You don't mean those cold blooded beings"

"Lucian Sterling. Age; 57 years. Occupation; same as fucking Fiore's. Guess who's on that list too. That's right, Peter Harding." "And what does that exactly mean?" Fiore asked. "There's one thing all five of you have in common that doesn't sit right with me. Human trafficking." Lucian snorted. "It's the fucking mafia, kid. What do you think we do? Paint each other's toenails for a living?" "Of course, it's the mafia. I understand that, but that didn't make Angelo Caruso, Riccardo Bernardi, Pietro Greco and Raffaele Catalano get involved in human trafficking, did it?" I asked through gritted teeth.