Mha Gentle Criminal Novels & Stories

“As for me, I’m just here to watch your back. Make sure everything goes smoothly. You’ve already got the best position. Gerrard’s heart is wide open for you. “If this is going to be clean, it has to come from you. I’m just here to help you finish the job... and make sure no one finds out what you really are.” Before I could say anything, before either of us could speak again, we heard it. The sharp crash of glass shattering. We both turned. Gilmore stood behind us, frozen in place. The glass in his hand had fallen to the ground, broken into pieces on the stone. He looked between us, wide-eyed and shocked.

"They're a mafia organization affiliated with Crimson Eagle Industries, the competitor to Gil's. These men run the dark of the world. They handle all the 'business' that Crimson Eagle might need to stay off the books. Brutal, connected, loyal only to one man.” Flipping myself back down, I saw the pictures again, flipping through them until my fingers landed on the final shot. I almost let it drop when I gazed on the face in it—man with keen eyes, cocky nearly arrogant grin—and so powerful and ruthless; yet so familiar, gave me chills. It was him. Thorne Crimson.

I walked closer and stood by the bar as I tried to see who it was that had such kind of security. The closer I got to the booth, it became as clear as day who those men worked for. "Jake" the wolf " Moretti, one of the biggest and most feared real estate mogul. His black suit was as dark as the night outside, his eyes cold especially under that chandelier, the blue eyes shown and looked some type of green. Everyone knew who he was or had heard of him. He was good at what he did and he was known for being ruthless and merciless. Both qualities I did not agree with.

He took each voice recorder and set them down. … The next morning, he was doing everything he could to make her drink the milk. All of a sudden, they heard frantic footsteps, and Buck dashed into the dining hall. Maia didn’t have time to greet him when he said in a hurry, “We have a situation at ‘The Gorgeous Detective’s’ filming set, Ms. Maia.” Maia’s back stiffened at that. “What did you say?” Hope was at the ‘The Gorgeous Detective’s’ filming set, and she was the female lead!

I said, my voice low, controlled. One of the detectives stepped forward, a file in hand. “The victim is Kraven Hemsington, suspected in multiple murders but never convicted. He was caught in the act of raping a 19-year-old store clerk who he dragged out the back of this convenience store when our killer struck. The clerk is alive and in route to the hospital but their condition is critical.” I nodded, absorbing the information. “Are we lucky enough for any security footage?” The detective shook his head. “Nah, we checked… these types of places pay under the table and skim cash off the top; they don't want video evidence hanging around for Mr. Taxman..”

She realised afterwards that Officer Parks didn’t need any of these details, but none the less, the young woman had sat and listened to her without interrupting. “…and so I decided to come back home. Or at least the place that had been my home. I couldn’t find a hotel that would take Hamlet and me for the money I had so I decided to sleep in my car. That’s when…they turned up.” Mia went through a play by play of the attack on her truck. Recounting every horrible detail she could remember. Officer Parks nodded and took it all down. “Thank you, Mia. We’ve had a look on our system and these guys all have criminal records. A conviction will be easy.”

"Make the preparations. Double the guards at the mill. Dante wants a war? He'll get a funeral." ********* Miles away, Dante Moretti lounged in his study, the room a sanctuary of dark leather and gleaming weapons racks. The adrenaline from the warehouse raid still thrummed in his veins, his knuckles raw from the fight, coat singed from the flames. Liam stood nearby, coordinating with the crew via radio, his face etched with the weariness of endless operations. The phone buzzed on the desk, an anonymous number, but Dante knew. He snatched it up, opening the message: a photo of Alessia, her wrists raw from ropes, face pale but unbroken, with GPS coordinates pinned to an old mill on the city's f

"Maybe I'm just a Roglas. That seems to be enough." "No." Rafael shifted to face her fully. "This isn't about your family name. I've dealt with the Roglases before. They're small-time, barely worth my attention. But tonight, I watched the Bratva, the Calabrians, and a private military contractor all try to grab you. That level of interest doesn't come from being a minor mafia princess." Cassandra's face had gone pale. "I don't understand." "Neither do I. Yet." The car pulled into an underground garage. Rafael's safe house, a renovated warehouse he used for situations exactly like this. Secure, private, impossible to find unless you knew where to look.

I felt a lump in my throat, expecting him to look away, but he didn’t. Alessio kicked his chair with his feet, grabbing his attention. “This is how it’s going to go—I’ll ask you questions, and you will answer,” Alessio stated, laying out the rules of this interrogation. Isaac closed his eyes, taking a breath as if bracing himself for what was to come. “Is it true you work for the MISA?” Alessio began. “I’m not going to answer your questions,” Isaac whispered, his eyes still shut. Alessio let out a soft chuckle, then his voice turned cold. "Is it true that you were responsible for Stefano’s death?"

The way he delivered that sentence, made it so frightening and still managed to maintain his smile made me shiver Now I see why they call him the devil. This is a man that can kill you, while smiling at you making you believe you are friends. “I do not understand what you are talking about.” I said , shaking my head because surely he was joking. What league of assassins was he talking about? My father was just a businessman and he never involved himself with that mafia. In fact I knew just how much he hated them… so does this man really expect me to believe his rubbish?