Marked By The Mob Novels & Stories

I move closer, drawn by something I don't understand, my fear momentarily eclipsed by fascination. The carvings are beautiful and terrible. Wolves with their heads thrown back in silent howls. Crescent moons in various phases, waxing and waning across the stone surface. Symbols I don't recognize but that make something deep in my chest tighten with recognition. How can I recognize something I've never seen before?

From the burn marks on her skin, she was still alive when they marked her. “Is there any evidence that could put the mafia in this case?” I asked, gazing at Gutierrez right across from me. A con artist could mimic the Spanish mafia’s mark just to stir chaos in this town. Emiliano Alonso used the same MO back in his time, only he had A marked in the middle of that handprint. Sol is the name Andrya gave us. It makes me sick, the thought of someone reviving the nightmare the mafia brought to this town.

How could they ever see these people as evil? She sighs because she knows the wolf is right. Lately, they have encountered so many rogues, but they are different. Rogues usually have a mark that they have been banished from their pack or has a scent of one if they have willingly abandoned their pack, but their Pack mark fades after a certain time. The rogues that they have been fighting with lately are different. The rogue takes off the scarf that covers her pale face and commands the rest of the troupe. “Let's head East.” and off they move.

"That mark. I've seen it before." "Where?" Silence stretched between us. I watched my aunt struggle with something—a truth she didn't want to speak, a secret she had kept for longer than I'd been alive. "The mark is a brand," she finally said. "Given to Bell witches who violate the covenant. Who use their power for harm, for slavery, for—" She swallowed. "For betraying their own blood." "So this witch is a criminal." "This witch is supposed to be dead." Morgana's voice cracked.

A scout from a neighboring pack, one thought long scattered in the war. In his hand was a sigil drawn in dirt and blood. Not of the Broker, not of Striker. A new mark, unfamiliar but pointed directly at us. Mia stepped forward, knelt beside him, and read the final breath he whispered into her ear. Her face changed not in fear but in recognition. Something she thought buried had just clawed its way out of the grave. “We’re not done,” she said, rising to her feet. “And this time, it isn’t about me.”

And now she would have to let him mark her? Kiran looked up. "The clock is ticking, there will be in here any second from now" The doors were being pushed against. She could hear the angry curses of her father on the other side. "Make your choice." She remained silent, carefully contemplating. "Three..." She couldn't make up her mind "Two.." She couldn't believe she was about to do this. "One." "Mark me."

Her broken stance, and shy-self reflected on my personality, and despite trying to hide it; people, often wolves, saw through me easily. Vivian was quiet for a few seconds longer, studying my expression, taunting me with a fact that she scented. It was one that I was cursed with the second I was born. A wolf who was rogued would be known on sight as they turned vicious and heartless, a rogue born, would have the scent of treason, something which an Alpha curses them with until they’ve been accepted. My mark was on my lower back, where he dug his canine on the night I was born, removing me from my mother’s arms, and yet careful not to injure or kill me as he threw me outside the pack. He gave

Made her believe her life started with him. She listened. Crying. The corruption fought—I could see it in her eyes. The way she flinched. The way pain flashed across her face every time I spoke truth. But she pushed through it. Held onto the photograph. Held onto what was real. "The mark." She touched her shoulder. Where my bite was. Faint but there. "In the accident. You—you marked me." "Yes. I'm sorry. I should have asked. Should have explained. But I was desperate. The mark—it's a mate mark. It creates a connection. A crack in the corruption. It's why you've been having dreams. Why the bond has been reaching you."

“Let’s say, as I am a hunter in the IMC and I’ve done things that got out of hand and it pretty much ends up exposing everyone in the Mafia Underworld, obviously they’d want to kill me. Eliminate the problem. If I keep escaping, and making their lives a living hell, they’ll brand me as the most dangerous and most wanted. I’d be like a runaway prisoner with a death mark,” “What does the mark do?” Asher asked him. “It’s a pretty much indication that whoever sees me with the said mark, they’re to kill me without question. Anyone who knows what the mark entails. It’s more or less a beckon for execution in sight,” I turned back to Miles when it finally registers what he’s plan had been all along.

You would think my father, the Gamma of the pack, would defend me. Instead, he blamed me for embarrassing the family. While they celebrated Seraphina’s mating with Liam, I slipped upstairs unnoticed. No one seemed to realise I’d been gone all night. I was exhausted. Dirty. I needed a shower. As I undressed, my breath caught. There was a bite mark on my neck. A mating mark. How could he mark me? If anyone saw it, I would be ruined. Being marked by a rogue without the Alpha’s approval was considered treason.