Massimo Mancini Novels & Stories

Yes he is the Consigliere just like Vincenzo and Gabriele he was looking dangerously handsome. The other man was a man named, Massimo. He was the caporegime of the clan. “The Russians are demanding for their territory, those motherfuckers are becoming too loud,” Massimo sneered. “Those ungrateful bastards. It’s been long since I slit some motherfuckers throats,” Gabriele spat with a sarcastic smirk on his face. “Seems someone wants their balls chopped off and fed to them,” Lucas uttered, glaring into Space making Gabriele chuckle.

She whispered under her breath, “You told me to salt the earth, Nonno, but tonight, we plant something new.” Down in the courtyard, Massimo waited. He was dressed in a dark suit, the cut precise, the elegance natural to him, but his eyes betrayed something else, a nervous anticipation he rarely allowed himself. He had stared down De Marco, torn through Donatello’s empire, yet tonight his hand brushed the inside of his pocket like a man uncertain of the outcome.

We've still been going on runs because asshole traffickers didn't stop their shit even throughout the worst outbreak of the pandemic, so we couldn't either. It all works out; I guess because Mancini has been using this time to prepare Lyon for his new role as head of the squad. Yes, it had taken this long for Colton to accept, though we all knew it was coming, the guy is a born leader. A bit hotheaded, but still, he has the bearing and potential of a true ruler.

About half an hour later, my car wheeled into the old riverside warehouse in Brooklyn, Carlo and my other men following behind. We all stepped down from our cars, and I had already sighted him from a distance. Salvatore Mancini. A tall man in a neatly tailored black suit. He stood near the edge of the warehouse, hands clasped behind his back, as though rehearsing control. Leonardo hovered close, half a step behind. A counselor’s place. As I reached closer, Salvatore smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Luca Moretti's cub.” He said. “Italy finally decided to visit.” His accent was faint, Russian buried under years of New York air.

Marcel didn’t say a word, he didn’t object on his beta, and clearly his best friend, staying in the room. “Do you want to get something to drink?” He asked me, and I shook my head as I looked down at the man who I knew was fighting back his own blood. “Thank you for calling me.” I said, looking at Vladimir who nodded. “I should be the one thanking you for trusting me.” He said, watching as Marcel fought back his own demons tonight, fought back his pain and anger. Whatever had caused this trigger, I knew that it was not easy for him to control.

Alessandro had to check the details thoroughly and it took him two hours to find where Miroslav messed up. Alessandro didn't relax even for a few minutes after he landed in Russia. He looked tired. Miroslav is feeling like crap. Just then, someone knocked on the office door. The knock is soft. Miroslav became tensed. Alessandro specifically instructed not to disturb him. But still, someone dared to disturb him and he is worried that Alessandro might kill that person in the mood he is now.

She sat on the other side, and a tall, lithe man took the seat opposite me. Enzo claimed the chair at the head of the table, his hand finding my knee as soon as he sat down. I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding. “Scarlett, this is my Gamma, Devin.” Enzo nodded to the tall man opposite me. It wasn’t that he was exceptionally tall that made his height so noticeable; it was more his build, slim and chiselled for a werewolf, especially when he was sat next to Enzo, who was all broad shoulders and bulky muscle.