Marked By The Mob Novels & Stories

To our salvation. A vision hit me then her eyes in the dark, wide with recognition. The soft gasp of her breath. The press of her palm against my chest. The burn where the bond would mark us both. I stumbled back, shaking. “We meet tonight,” I murmured, chest heaving. We mark tonight, my wolf growled, savage and certain. And no force in this realm or the next will keep us from her. The wind howled around the Pack House, echoing the truth I could no longer deny.

Mark sneered: "Unfortunately, you won't get the chance to see our brothers become the owners of Happy Hill Pub. Now that I appear in a deserted alley like this to meet you in this defeated form, do you still expect to see the sun? " After Mark said that sentence, there were a few more gangsters in the car. In their hands are sharp, cold cones. Don't talk about getting beat up by these gangsters. Just taking a hit from that cone, Eric's slender body probably couldn't take it. Eric didn't take long to think and started to run away. Mark only had time to shout "Chase!"; the other gangsters were like black panthers following Eric.

Too many hands. Too much weight. For the first time in years... Mark Romano was forced to one knee. Rain streamed down his face. Blood stained his shirt. Still... He lifted his head. Defiant. Unbroken. The attackers stepped back. A path opened through the crowd. Alessandro Moretti walked forward slowly, applauding. "Magnificent." He stopped in front of Mark. "I've heard stories." He smiled. "They weren't exaggerated." Mark met his eyes without fear. "If you're going to kill me..."

We followed the sound to the far edge of the field where the oldest practice dummies stood — reinforced stone and wood constructs etched with pack markings. Or what used to be pack markings. The dummy lay shredded. Not smashed. Not broken. Torn apart. Deep claw marks gouged through reinforced stone. Wood splintered outward as if ripped by something that knew exactly where to strike. And carved into the chest, precise and deliberate, was a symbol burned into the surface. Blackridge. Not defaced. Claimed. Silence fell heavy around us. Liora crouched beside it, fingers hovering just above the markings. “This wasn’t rage,” she said quietly. “This was demonstration.”

I have been marked by a stranger. In our lives as werewolves, being marked is supposed to be a joyous occasion, a celebration of love and unity. It’s supposed to be of happiness, shared between two mates who love each other. It’s a claim, a bond that no other wolf dares to challenge. But this… this was nothing like that. This was a violation, a mockery of everything I had ever hoped for.

Mark was running; even though his muscles were tired and his body was now drenched in sweat, Mark continued to move where Aimie was, but as he was busy finding Aimie, a loud curse was heard on the phone. “Sh*t, the direction in which Aimie had turned is a blind spot.” An alarm started to ring inside Mark’s mind, and as he turned to the blind spot, Mark prayed that he could still catch Aimie. But what he saw had made Mark dispirited since what was in front of him was the large crowd of tourists having some sort of celebration.

Luckily, Mark held the girl's body before Melody fell to the floor. "Don't worry, I didn't kill women and children!" added Mark with a meaningful smile. Seeing that there was no movement at all from Melody, Mark chuckled softly, he then lifted Melody's body and took her to a room that was much tidier and quieter than the previous place. Mark put Melody's body on the sofa in the room. How could Melody forget? Mark is a mafia boss, it's not difficult for the guy to shoot the gun. "What's wrong with your expression?" Mark squinted at Melody confused.

I need to make my claim to Shadow as solid as possible. Mark has been texting me on and off over the past few weeks. Apparently, he’s becoming uncomfortable with what’s happening inside the pack. My father has opened the pack lands to rogues, and Mark thinks they’re running drugs. He says the southern border is swarming with rogues and they’re tunnelling underground, building warehouses and cabins. It sounds suspicious. It makes my skin crawl. Apparently, some of the younger pack members have been taking the drugs and dropping out of school. He says the pack is starting to fall apart.

The Marked One. ​As I reached them, Noah placed a hand on the small of my back. It was a gesture of protection, but my heart told me otherwise. ​"Tonight, you the neighbors," Cassian whispered, leaning in as I stood between them. "Try not to look so much like a rabbit, little wolf." ​"Why am I here?" I hissed, my hand instinctively going to the collar of my gown to hide the mark. ​"It’s a celebration of strength, Aria," Noah answered, his voice smooth as silk but hard as the marble beneath us. "The Blackthorne Gala". Our allies have traveled far to witness the stability of the Blackthorne territory. Don’t embarrass us."

Outside, the guards were ushering me back toward the car when the fire alarm suddenly blared through the shopping center. People started streaming out of stores, and the guards tensed, one of them speaking rapidly into his earpiece while the other scanned the crowd. That's when I felt a hand on my arm, pulling me sideways into the chaos. "Arya. Don't scream." Marco hissed. My heart stopped as pulled me behind a pillar, he looked so much different than the last time I saw him. There was even a scar underneath his eyes that wasn’t there before and a faint stubble dotted his chin.