Metro Man Cape Novels & Stories

Capo hoped that sharing his pain with the Master might bring some relief to the burden he carried within. The vehicle arrived, and the driver hopped out to open the door. Capo, holding his cane and balancing himself, stepped outside while Ramona circled the car, trying to help him. He never used to bring the guards here; he never liked to be watched when he came to meet his companion, Master. As they made their way, Master was sitting on the patio. He placed his phone on the coffee table and looked in Capo’s direction. “Ivankov,” he muttered with a warm smile, but his gaze hardened, watching over at Ramona. She was given a straightforward task to kill Margarita, and what the heck is she doin

I want every man in this city to envy me. So, I wore a burgundy gown and walked into the ballroom. I thought I deserved to witness my own success. Instead, I saw Silas standing in the center of the room with the Elders, beaming. Camilla was clinging to his arm in a champagne dress, the emerald necklace resting perfectly on her chest. "...The success of this operation is all thanks to Camilla," Silas announced loudly, raising his glass. "A toast to our Famiglia's finest Capo!"

The Moretti estate felt like a tomb the next morning. Adrian sat in the study while his phone lit up and went dark again. By sunrise, the news had spread through every corner of Chicago’s underworld. [Former future Donna leaves Moretti in an old red cape. Her red silhouette becomes the internet’s latest punchline.] [Celeste returns. Elena Vega gets pushed out.] [Twenty years of Moretti training ends with one broken scooter.] In the video, Elena wore the red cape and walked barefoot down the stone steps before climbing onto the old Vespa. Reporters laughed around her. She never lowered her head.

EMILIA POV The front door burst open before Marco could argue further. Five men in Crimson Reapers colors strutted in like they owned the place. I recognized their president immediately Victor "Viper" Kane, a man whose reputation for cruelty was legendary even by MC standards. Kane was tall and lean, with pale eyes and graying hair slicked back from his angular face. Expensive suit instead of leather, but the gun under his jacket was visible to anyone who knew how to look.

Madam stares in disbelief, I look down, focusing on my plate. Seconds later, I hear the retracting sound of her clicking heels followed by the slam of the door. Lucia and I clearly jump but the men remain unfazed, "check the hinges, I don't want any broken doors in the house" Senior Capo orders one of the maids whose standing on the side. She quickly checks them, obliging the Capo's command. I'm surprised how chill he is, he truly doesn't care about his wife but about the door.

This was the last place Matteo's hounds because of the man who ruled it. I've never seen him once and I don't know what he looks like, but I've heard stories, and whispers about how he thrives in blood and war. Romano Cappellucci. The Capo of Chicago Mafia. And the only man Matteo is dead scared of. It's why I ran here, because Matteo won't dare come, but his was also the easiest place I could get killed. What a fool I am I glanced around the bar I had wound up in. It was nearly empty, a good place for me to drop my head and cry, but so far, since I walked in on Matteo, not a drop of tears had slid down my face.

I’d gutted men for less than the tone that fucker used. Look at her, and bleed. Touch her, and die. Think about her again, and I will erase your bloodline. Deo Romano sat slumped in the rusted metal chair, arms yanked behind him with piano wire that had already cut halfway through the skin of his wrists. Across his chest, the name CAPONE was seared into the skin, charred, bubbling, angry. He looked up at me through swollen eyes, blood dripping from his mouth like spit. I’d knocked out the molar that held his cyanide cap, just to send a message.

He was dressed in a tailored suit, his expression hard and vicious. "Go buy breakfast. Sophia wants the caviar crepes from that place in the city. And coffee. Hand-ground. If you don't bring it back, don't bother eating." The card hit the floor with a sharp clatter. I glanced down. It was my secondary card, the one loaded with two thousand euros a month for living expenses. I didn't pick it up. I leaned against the doorframe and looked at him calmly. "Mr. Lovera, are you still half asleep? Or did you not understand a word I said yesterday?"

But the men were barely bothered by the sounds. The man in the cape had a moderate mustache, which was a sharp contrast to his head that was void of any hair. The musky air filled his nose as he swept his gaze around the room. Everything was just as it was supposed to be. A door opened in a flash, and two men barged out of it, dragging a third behind them. “Please. Please, no. Please,” the third was crying. His attempts to break free from their grip were futile as they dumped him in front of the man with the cape.

ISLA'S POV The Metropolitan Correctional Center sits in Lower Manhattan like a concrete warning. Barred windows, guard towers, razor wire cutting lines against the gray sky—it’s a fortress designed to strip away humanity. I approach the main gate, my Hunt Capital CEO credentials sweating in my palm. The guard takes my ID, his eyes flicking between the plastic card and my face. "Ms. Bennett. You're here to see Maria Castellano?" "Yes. Priority visit. Corporate legal matter."