Max Russo Novels & Stories

he tilted his head to the side, "You keep piling up your sins, spitfire." There was no use asking what he meant. I knew he would spill whatever the case was anyway. "As of yesterday, a fresh set of Bratva's army arrived in Russia with Ruslan," he eyed me when puzzlement etched on my face, "You don't know who Ruslan is, right?" I shook my head. "Trust me," he massaged the side of his head, "you don't want to know. You worsened your crimes by pitching your tent with Adler,'

It gave me a chance to see if Russo would be stupid enough to show his face. He was. I spotted him across the ballroom the moment we arrived, standing near the bar, surrounded by admirers and flatterers. Victor Russo, in person, was exactly what I had expected from the research I'd done. He was in his mid-thirties. tall and well-built. He was a poacher. He would buy huge companies, then turn all their assets into cash, making himself richer. It would seem his only aim was to have a lot of money.

Rasmus lightly shook his head in negative. "You think you'll get a..away after killing me?" Richard spoke with difficulty as he wheezed for air. Rasmus paid no heed to him. His sole attention was on Catherine. "You're giving him an easy death. I have prepared something special for him." Rasmus said as his eyes darted towards the other door which opened and a huge guy emerged out of it. He was a black guy. Tall and all muscular. He looked scary with a scar running from his eyebrow to his jaw.

The door creaked open. Russo entered like a shadow come to life, his presence filling the room before his footsteps did. Damian trailed behind him, silent as ever, his sharp gaze fixed not on Sofia’s chains but on her eyes. “You’re quieter today,” Russo observed, pouring himself a drink from the cart by the window. The clink of crystal against glass echoed like a taunt. “Not planning another escape attempt?” Sofia’s lips curled, dry and cracked. “Give me a blade and see what happens.”

the assistant asked. Mimi was taken aback. Then, she smiled bitterly. “It’s impossible between Elias and me… As for Mr. Russo… I haven’t made my decision yet.” “If you want my opinion, you should agree to Mr. Russo’s request. I’ve always seen him as a stern director and a workaholic with no empathy, but after he stood up for you and cleared your name from that gossip, I’m guessing he’s probably a good man. Besides, he looks very honest, and he’s not a f*ckboy like Elias at all. He suits you.”

“What’s your plan, Russo? We can’t afford any more setbacks. We need to strike back at Viaan Adams before he gains any more ground.” Mr. Russo’s jaw clenched with barely-contained anger, his tone dripping with frustration. “I’ve decided it is time for me to step into Adams Corps finally,” he declared, his voice low and menacing. “I’m done playing this cat-and-mouse game with Viaan Adams. After the humiliation he inflicted upon me, I refuse to cower in the shadows any longer.”

Alessia's breath caught in her throat as the man approached, his heavy footsteps echoing off the walls. As he stepped into the dim pool of light, Alessia felt her anxiety spike. This wasn't the polished, suit-wearing Nikolai she had imagined. The man before her was built like a brick wall, easily over six feet tall with broad shoulders and thick, muscular arms visible even under his leather jacket. His head was shaved, and a jagged scar ran from his left temple to his jawline. Cold, steel-gray eyes regarded her with a mixture of suspicion and amusement. "Dr. Russo?" he said, his voice deep and gravelly, with a thick Russian accent that made her name sound foreign to her own ears.

Russo admitted with a tone of regret underneath his statement. "Well for your information, your mistake has produced a child for you and his name is Carlsen. I certainly hope you know this?" Russo was taken aback by her speech. He didn't expect things to transcend so quickly. "He is a year plus now and I have been finding a means to let you know, but whenever I try, you always shun me off with your busy life!" Russo felt heat raising from within his skin. "So you are trying to tell me that I have a bastard son?" Russo asked.

Russo muttered, sounding almost apologetic. Russo finally made eye contact with me, and instantly, I got goosebumps, but at the same time, a wave of fear washed over me. He looked bigger somehow, and his face had a slight bruise—definitely a sign he’d been in some kind of fight. And he was tipsy. I couldn’t help but wonder what he might do in this state. “Tori…” he said, his voice much softer now. I tried not to stare at him, but seeing Russo in that state both fascinated and scared me. There was something unsettling about the way he looked, the bruises on his face, the alcohol in his system—it made him seem unpredictable like he could go either way at any moment.

At least I know the reason for my pain, I have memories of us, to help me go through each day, but what does he have nothing, just some blurred visions, that torture, emotions that do nothing but confuse him, and make him question his morals? Things he is going through, he can't even share with someone. And suffering all alone. He is the Alexander Russo. Whose mere sight, made people shrink in fear. The man used to ooze power and confidence. And that very same man is right now in my arms, so powerless and shattered. The hug made me feel so much at peace, and I am only crossing my fingers, wishing that I may do the same to him. Slowly we pulled from the hug, but he still kept me in hi