Model Rambut Mafia Novels & Stories

(great job) Mira had her hands wrapped around a guy’s bicep. He looks fairly familiar. It doesn’t need a genius to know that this man is in charge. The powerful, domineering aura he portrays is sending shivers all over my skin. With his six foot seven height, ink covered skin and the way his long inky black hair cascade on his shoulder only added to his fearful appearance. A cigarette trapped between his thin lips produces a cloud of smoke that’s making me dizzy. The scar on his left cheek is telling a whole new level of story. His blue eyes remind me of Aleck Orlov and realization soon hits me hard. The lion’s head mark from a few of the men surrounding me is a mark of the Russian mafia.

Also to those that happened to have similar hair color to mine, all of them will always tend to carefully mind their behaviour. Sure, to be real, my Silver hair, is not really uncommon in Fantasma, where even blue haired color is something that can come naturally. So demanding such respect from other people is rather a stretch, but it’s not that I can police everyone about it, it was just their believe and I can just go around being a pain in the ass because of a small matter. Still I can certainly be sure that even if someone happened to have a silver hair, mine can never be duplicated, because the style and luster of my hair is unique only to me, Even T.A.S said so, so, if a system said th

A hand grabbed her hair and she was tugged into a sitting position, ‘Let me go’ She snapped struggling against the cuffs and then yelped as she was backhanded across the back of her head, ‘Silence Bitch’ The Mafia Don stood in front of her, his eyes raking over her body, leaning forward he caught the front of her blouse and tugged hard sending the buttons pinging in every direction ‘That’s better I like to see what I am buying’

He asked me, softly this time, and I chewed on my lips. "He is my childhood best friend. Oh, and do you know he is in the Mafia also? But hey, shush! Do not tell this to anyone. No-one. I have a mafia boyfriend." I said, and he blinked his eyes, and I ran his fingers through his perfectly styled hair, making them a little messy. "You know his hair has the same color as your hair. Oh, and your eyes match his. Are you his doppelganger?" I asked him, curious and excited, clapping my hands and he let out a sigh, but chuckled softly.

He is like a book with a lock that has no key. The man looked much older than Ivan and Dante, his hair in a long ponytail which applied this look as a mafia man even more. He had a slight stubble on his jaw, a frown etched on his face like it permanently belonged there, I guess Mafia men don't know about the word smiling then and no Ivan's little stunts don't count. He was dressed in a black suit just like the rest of them, one thing I can never understand. These men don't get the concept of freedom in your own house, it's scary.

“There are hickies the size of planets on my neck!” He snorted. “One’s more of a continent, really.” “This isn’t funny! I don’t have anything to cover them! I didn’t pack for mafia dinner with a freaking love bite survival kit!” Misha rolled to his side, propping his head up on one hand. “Then don’t cover them.” I gawked at him. “We’re having dinner with my newfound mafia father. I cannot show up looking like I’ve been mounted for thirty minutes straight!” “More like thirty-two,” he corrected, far too pleased with himself.

I question as I slip the pulse ox off her finger. “I’m here to speak with you Miss. Violetta. I come in peace and with a message from Misha Romanov.” Helen informs me. My blood runs cold for a moment at her words before as I let them settle over me. Misha Romanov is the head of the Russian mafia. I think they call themselves Bratva. I don’t know all the various terms tossed about as most in the underworld say mafia or mob and don’t do the specific names. “Oh, is that so?” I raise an eyebrow at her.

He was about to punch me when he stopped and became pale and weaker. The knife I used was small but, it had a deadly poison. "Goodbye, dog of a mafia org." I'm a killer, yeah, I'm not just an ordinary model. I hate Mafia the most. I love killing them. ------- "Wifey, awake, awake!" I woke up when Warren jumped on our bed. "What's the matter Warren?" I asked sleepily. He lay down next to me and moved his foot. "You have a male visitor. His name is Yuhan." He said while pouting.

"I'm not a girl who can accept being given things by a guy who has nothing to do with me." Being under Angga's care, it seemed like Maureen felt like gaining weight especially with the man's attention. Even without being asked, Angga is willing to hug her every time she feels scared of facing the dreams that come. It was nothing more than a hug, even though Maureen knew Angga was struggling to restrain himself. Maureen tied up her long hair that had not received any care in the last few days other than the usual shampooing every time she took a shower. Some of the strands were probably broken because she was not used to wearing a helmet. Maybe cutting her hair will be her choice one day.

My hands itch, my right foot resting above my left starts to wiggle, I sit beside my uncle facing the capos of the mafia with a face that shows the intent of killing. I am mad. I am fucking mad. Someone wants to ruin the joining of the Italian and Russian mafia but why? "I can just tell it's the Russians at work. It's their style to bomb things" someone speaks from the crowd while every other person in the room make sounds of agreement. "They want ownership of our outfit!" another person hollers.