Mob Books Novels & Stories

His expression showed anger and despondency. Boris is tall, very tall. His body was very muscular, with tattoos all over his body and an ethereal posture. I couldn't deny that he was a handsome and attractive man. His hair was dark, slicked back. Dark brown eyes, almost black. A thinning beard, making his features even more mature. The look the mobster had on me didn't please me. It only made me even more afraid. My mother looks at me and gestures with her hand. She wants me to say something.

"Oh no" *************

Redoing a summary of my life I realize that there is no happier moment than this one, meeting Amy again was like having back a little piece of me that had been ripped off. My desire was to stay there glued to her the whole time but my duty called me, I reluctantly moved away from her and spent the whole morning trapped in the office with Aníbal and two of my security guards. ___"" Do you really think it will work? ___" I'm sure anibal was 15 years of legacy, every mobster around italy and the world knows and fears el diablo, they won't deny me support so easily, people from the south will support us you bet book a dinner with di Paolo

Mobius then unwrapped the red cloth to reveal the stark white phalange—the same one that Mr. Shrode had brought in last night. "This is the spiritron vein I would trade with you, Mr. Lawrence," Mobius then said nonchalantly. "I can even tell you how it works—it can regenerate any wound and any missing body parts." Frank narrowed his eyes at Mobius, words, his fingers touching the card Vicky gave him before he came. There was no mistaking it now, as the card had both the address of this hotel and a photo of what the Turnbulls' lost spiritron vein looked like.

But why let a small detail like that stand in the way? An hour later, she stood in front of her mirror, admiring her makeshift disguise: baggy blue pants, a brown belt with a cobra buckle, a collared shirt tucked under a dark vest, black hat, a fake mustache, and boots that had seen better days. "Not bad," she mused. Her reflection was, at best, unconvincing, but desperate times called for questionable outfits.

"I was hoping I could talk to you before anyone else got here." "Sure, come on in." She steps up to allow me to pass behind her into the vast bathroom to take a seat on the closed toilet. "What's on your mind?" "You know I'd never ask you this kind of thing if I had any other option," I ramble my opening statement. "Nope, because I don't know what you're asking." With a slight roll of the eye, I ignore her interruption and continue. "Moby got this amazing device that helps him walk. Like seriously mind blowing. He doesn't need a cane and when he has it on I can hardly notice his limp at all."

But after days of texting back and forth, I’m starting to see a different side to him. Turns out, he’s not nearly as mysterious as everyone makes him out to be. The guy’s obsessed with Cheetos and watches local football games most evenings. Not a lot of mystery in that. It’s a little after 4:00 p.m. when I step into the small convenience store where Corey’s mom works, which is also the meetup spot for our outing. I make my way to the counter where she has her face buried between sheets of inventory notes. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Brown.”

NOT SO SLIGHT CHANGE: THIRD PERSON POV, going forward. FIVE YEARS LATER: She hurriedly packed bags and lunch, her phone wedged between her ear and shoulder. "Yes, Mrs Brown. I'm so sorry for the delay, we'll handle it and I promise you it's going to be ready as soon as possible.. Thank you ma'am.. Yeah, see you soon." She hung up, tossing the cellphone into her purse. They were going to be so late. Her boss was a kind man but she didn't want to test his limits.