Model Rambut Mafia Novels & Stories

Third Person Pov: Thomas Allen is one of the most ruthless leaders in the mafia gang Hayden Wren heads. Its known as 'Python'. Recently, there's been a fued between the two, hence; Thomas moved to Dubai. The members of the gang thought things would dissolve over time... but it didn't. Communication seized between the two for the past two years. Now, Thomas is back to set things right.

I give my damp hair a quick brush, pulling it back into a loose, messy ponytail. As I stand in my bedroom, my stomach ties itself into knots of anticipation. The mansion seems unusually, eerily silent tonight. The constant hum of the maids, the heavy footsteps of the security detail, it’s all completely gone. Did Cade intentionally send his entire staff away so we could be alone? The thought of the ruthless mafia boss randomly making a home-cooked dinner for me is slightly worrying, and I’m honestly not sure what to expect once we sit down at that massive table.

Perfect target. I swung it. He tried to shift away, but too late, the blade sliced the tip of his ear clean, blood spilling down his cheek. His grip on Camilla faltered as instinct made him reach for his wound. That one second of weakness was all I needed. I was already there. In front of him. My hand clamped around his throat, squeezing until his breath hitched. My face leaned close, my voice low and venomous, the kind of whisper that Mafia men carried to the grave.

(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.

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.