Max Russo Novels & Stories

I get a lot of money, but I also invest a whole lot more. I have shares in almost five hundred companies around the world. “He has...but you’re not going to like it.” Chad says and I run my hand through my hair. I haven’t combed it in a while. I usually just place it in a messy bun, and that works for me. “Tell me more.” I say as I walk towards him and the laptop. “Russell Marshall is a successful Russian businessman. He wants you to eliminate a target before the month ends.” Chad explains, and I nod slowly as he does.

“I will… I will talk,” He stuttered, his voice getting breathless, “Please stop. I swear to talk.” I stopped, my gaze not leaving his face. He swallowed a breath, realising I was dead serious. No fucking amount of lies or dragging would save him, but telling the damn truth, “It was Russo. He ordered me.” My brows raised, “Russo?” He nodded heavily, “Francesco Russo.” “What did he order?” I asked calmly.

Every eye went to his signet ring on my finger. “Smile,” he murmured against my ear. “Let them think you’re happy to be mine.” “I’m not.” “Lie better.” Russo found us by the ice sculpture. He was fifty, silver, and smiling like he hadn’t had his son killed last week. “Alessandro,” he said, kissing both cheeks. “You came. And you brought…” His eyes dropped to me. “Forgive me, I don’t think we’ve met.” “Isabella Rossi,” I said before Alessandro could. No fear. No apologies.

“Can I please know where the kitchen is? I would like to make myself something to eat.” “Please do tell us what you need, we are here for your service.” The same girl said, and I smiled. “Can I ask your name, if you do not mind?” I asked, and she blushed. “Sofia Dovanov.” “You are Russian.” I stated, and she nodded. “Russia is my mother city, but I grew up here in America since I was a child.” She said, and I nodded.

The dominance in his eyes made my breathing hitch, and his amused eyebrow raised at my reaction. "Ian will also be coming with us in case anything goes wrong, which it won't because I'm the best" He smiled proudly with a playful glint in his eye, and I chuckled, but his big smile soon faded, turning into a slight smirk. "You look so pretty" He admitted. "Going soft on me again Mr. Russo?" I teased, running my hands all over his chest, tracing the tattoos that were visible through his shirt. A few buttons were undone, and a tattoo peaked out that said 'sedurre e distruggere' Written in cursive.

"Hello, brother," the man beside me said in a dark voice. My head whirled to face him and then I stared between the two men, noting the slight resemblance between them. I couldn't believe I hadn't seen it earlier. "I asked you what you're doing here, Russo." Russo shrugged, a playful smirk pulling at his mouth, "I came to congratulate your pretty wife. How come you always get the best things? I'm envious." His words might have been a joke, but I had a feeling the sentiment behind it was very real.

“Owner of the property identified.” The gates opened. Sam finished the sentence. “Zelenchuck Ruslan.” One of the richest energy tycoons in Eastern Europe. The doors of the mansion opened. Ruslan walked out to greet us. Tall. Gray beard. Eyes sharp as steel. He shook my hand firmly. “So.” “You are John.” I nodded. “And you are Ruslan.” He smiled slightly. “I’ve heard interesting things about you.” We walked inside. Massive oil maps covered the walls.

Rico and Antonio made their way into his study room. "Boss... Adalberto called and said his daughter will be visiting you tomorrow." Rico informed. Adalberto Russo was the former boss, before Xavier had taken over the entire mafia. The title was not given to him easily. He started working for Adalberto at the age of 21. And at 28, he had lost count the amount of lives he had taken. His hands were tainted with blood.

She was lucky they weren’t running down to the other coffee shop because of the bad wifi they had. “You motherfucker! Fuckkk” Roman gritted as he fired, trying his best not to yell “You realized that you murdered my mother and my brother!” he yelled, the waitress took a sharp glance at them again

The private jet’s cabin smells like cold leather and raw alpha power. "You haven't touched your water, Stevens," Magnus says, his voice a low growl of possessive command. "Just jet lag," I lie, my knuckles turning white as I clutch the leather armrest. "I'm fine."