Max Russo Novels & Stories

“All right then.” “I’ll call you tomorrow.” I hang up with a sigh, and call Rosa. “About bloody time,” she says. “How’s it going?” “I don’t know.” “What does that mean?” “I guess I’m just confused about everything.” “Well, I’d be confused too if I ended up in the bed of one of the richest men in the world. I can’t believe you told me his name was Nikolai Something or other, when he is Nikolai Smirnov, a fully paid up member of the Russian billionaire club.”

Julia's stomach knotted. "What things?" Massimo crossed to the window, his posture rigid. "The Russians arriving aren't just business associates. Their leader, Damien Smirnov, is... complicated history." "I don't understand." He turned to face her, and Julia saw something she rarely witnessed in Massimo's eyes—old pain, carefully buried. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

That bond was vibrating like a live wire under his skin. “There he is, ladies and gentlemen—Yaroslav Viktorovich Demidov! Captain of team Russia, Moscow's rising player the only non-magical athlete in the tournament, and easily the most disciplined player on the ice. With him, is his team Volkov Ice Dynasty” Disciplined, wow! It's like a kind word for repressed as hell. Demidov walked in with his team while adjusting his gloves with clenched jaw, slicked-back hair, eyes in permanent murder mode. Even seeing this, Kensington's mouth went dry. And god, he was in trouble.

"Do you want to know something Romeo?" "W-what?" "Gustav Russo doesn't feel a thing. He can't. Because he is a monster who traded his own first born child to a rival in order to save the Cross Sword Mafia. All these luxury you see around you Romeo? It is made up of my baby brother's blood." --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Russo asked. "That's none of your business dwa- Mr Russo," I stood up and extended my hands for a handshake. "Here's to a short time of partnership... Hope to see more of you in the future." I smiled... Guess what? I never smile. Mr Russo stood up and accepted the handshake. After that, his short self left my office. That fucker has to be really stupid to think that I would strike a deal with him. I'm Tyler Bresfort, and i don't do deals.

Or would she have shattered—broken apart by the loss of the one remaining piece of her past that still made her human? Her phone vibrated. Marcus. Elena stepped away from the suite, moving down the corridor until silence thickened around her. “Marcus.” “Elena.” His voice came through taut with tension. “I’ve traced the bullet’s origin. Everything points back to the Russo family—Enzio Russo. Long-standing rival of the Salvatores. But something’s off.” Russo. The name conjured the image of young Azzurra with those tranquil blue eyes, sitting beside her mother at Alessandro’s birthday. A family once welcomed inside this very gate.

Alexander growled lowly at Russo's raw words, his face contorting slowly into a frown. "It was very foolish and unwise of you to accept my terms. I mean, who would willingly use his wife as a hock? But, I guess you aren't just anybody. You won't win this, Alexander Marco." Russo took a sip of his wine as his lips curled menacingly. "You're so confident, Russo. Let's head straight into the game, and then we'd see if you'd still be this confident." Alexander's voice was calm and relaxed, a sinister smile playing on his lips.

Dimitri knew she would salivate at the mention of her brother’s name. There were not a lot of soldiers in her cause, so this should not take too long. He spots her as she steps out of the mansion. Dressed in white, her red hair blowing in the wind. She had a holster that housed two Berettas and a knife. This was the woman who told an Enforcer to have his way with Amaranthe. She was the brains and fuel behind it. She walks toward him and draws out her Beretta. “This is No-man’s-land, what is a Bratva prince doing here?” she spits out, and he laughs. Oh, she has been out of the loop for a long time. “Mia Russo, do you know me?” he asked her and she blanched, not expecting him to know her name.